BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense)

by John W. Mefford

  Alisa pursed her lips. I wondered if she could handle hearing this feedback when she was so vulnerable. I just hoped we’d hear something that gave us a clue as to where Natalie was. “I’m listening,” Alisa said.

  “I’m not sure if you know this, but Natalie and Jade have been friends since they both worked at the coffee shop. What, it’s been over a year, almost two, I think.”

  Alisa nodded.

  “Well, I should correct that a bit. Natalie kind of zooms in, then zooms out, so their friendship was off and on. I think Jade thought Natalie really had it together. Had a plan on how to make it in life. Make it real big.”

  “That’s my sister,” Alisa said quietly.

  “Carol…well, I saw it too. Not as much recently, but a while ago, we saw Jade and we could just tell she was strung out on drugs. We’re almost certain Natalie introduced her to that shit. On top of that, Jade always had a bit of a rebellious streak in her, but she started partying more, having all these thoughts of making it in Hollywood. Natalie is the only person who could have influenced her.”

  I could see Alisa literally bite her lip. “All I can say is that I’m sorry, Bucky. Natalie isn’t very mature. Then again, she’s only nineteen. Even if she tries to act like she’s figured it all out, it’s obvious she hasn’t.”

  “At least she has time on her side, like every other young person out there. Jade doesn’t get any more opportunities. They’re all buried in the muck at the bottom of the Trinity River,” Bucky said, his eyes drifting away.

  “Are you here to simply speak with Alisa, since she’s Natalie’s sister?” I asked, needing to understand the origin of his visit.

  “I want to hire you.”

  I held up a hand. “Okay. I think you should know that Natalie is missing. We’re trying like hell to find her. We’ll need as much information as possible from you.”

  “If you’ll help find out who killed Jade, I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”

  We’d yet to hear how Jade had died. I could feel my stomach make an extra twist of the already existing knot, knowing Alisa might have a tough time hearing all this, given Jade’s friendship with Natalie. What else did they have in common?

  “Can you share with us anything you know about Jade’s death? Anything the detectives shared with you?”

  “It was hellish, I tell you.” He swallowed, then coughed so loud it hurt my ears. “I’d never seen anything like it. Ripped her nails off. And you wouldn’t believe what they did to her eyes. Fucking heathens!”

  He looked upward, as Alisa lurched. I thought she might be gagging.

  “You going to be okay, Alisa?” Unusually silent for the last several minutes, Justin had one hand anchored to the bar.

  She held up a hand and nodded. “Dear God, who could have done this?” She looked directly at me, seeming to have forgotten for a moment that I knew nothing more than she did and that it was our job to help find the killer and bring that person to justice.

  “Bucky, are you aware if Jade received any recent threats?”

  The man, who looked like he’d aged another ten years since we’d arrived, pressed his lips together.

  “An old boyfriend or anyone new she’d been partying with lately? Even someone from her past that could have come back into her life?”

  “I haven’t heard about any threats. Overall, she didn’t really share much about her social life, other than Natalie dropping by on occasion. No specific names come to mind. I’ll need to run this by Carol. Sometimes she and Jade would have those mother-daughter talks. Not many in the last couple of years though.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I knew many of the clues of this case would involve forensic data. Was there any DNA of the perp on Jade? The fact that someone removed her fingernails was either a sign of torture or a killer who knew his or her DNA could be buried beneath Jade’s nails.

  But I didn’t have access to that data. I’d once had a contact in the CSI team. Felix Upton, known as FU since our days at the academy, was more of a paranoid loner who never seemed to find his way in life. He’d provided me the key piece of evidence that helped us find the Dallas bomber. Persuaded into helping out a dirty copy in a drug-dealing operation, Felix eventually found himself tethered to the wrong set of people. And it got him killed. I watched the whole thing go down.

  I did know Paco well. Since I joined the private ranks, I’d yet to ask much of my former partner. We were still close, but not blue-blood close. Wearing that uniform each and every day created a life-or-death bond that couldn’t exist without the same level of commitment. I realized I might have to call in a favor, or three. He wasn’t part of the CSI team, so acquiring information on the evidence from this case would be extra complicated, if it was possible at all.

  “I don’t mean to blow off your request for our services, but I need to understand your motivation,” I said.

  “Paco is a good man. I’m sure the DPD has a lot of good officers and detectives. But there’s a lot to cover in a city this big.”

  “They won’t ignore a murder investigation, especially when something like this hits the press. The public will want answers, just like you and your wife.”

  “I hope like hell they do find who did this. But will they find all the answers? Let’s say they find someone based on DNA evidence, but we never get the full story of what happened to our little girl.” Emotions filled Bucky’s voice, as he punched a finger into his knee. “We want whoever did this to burn alive. I’ll even light the match. But we’ve got to know why. It will be hard to keep living otherwise.”

  Peering into Bucky’s eyes, I hoped his emotions had pulled those thoughts from his drained body. Homicide never undid any vile act. But I understood his feeling of helplessness.

  “And you want us to find out why?”

  “Yes. Who, why, how. Everything you can. That’s the only way we’ll be able to deal with this shit and try to piece our lives back together.”

  I checked the time on the phone, saw that it was after two in the morning, and made a couple of mental notes.

  “Are you worried about us paying you? I’m a saver. We got extra money stashed away. Don’t be worrying about that.”

  “That’s fine. No concerns. Alisa or I will send a contract to you tomorrow. Real quickly, just so I can start thinking about the timeline, when did you say Jade went missing?”

  “I didn’t. The last time we saw her was a week ago yesterday.”

  My eyes locked with Alisa’s, both of us staring blankly, making the obvious connection to when Natalie had last been seen by her roommate, Sarah.

  “Was she alone?”

  “Didn’t tell us who she was meeting up with. Frankly, we really don’t know any of her friends other than Natalie. Don’t even know if she’d been dating. If she was, he’s not come to our house,” he said. “Last week she just went out on the town like she’s done a million times. Never came home. Didn’t alarm us too much at first. She’s done that a whole bunch. That’s one of the reasons she moved out a while back. So this time we tried to be more open-minded and not jump to conclusions. Sad irony. I wonder if we’d acted faster, if there would have been any way to stop her from being…you know.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult a time this is for you and your wife. Blaming yourself, though, won’t help. Someone took Jade’s life. They are to blame. They will be punished.”

  Bucky nodded, closed his eyes for a second, and released a breath. “Thank you.” He looked to his left. “Can I go now?”

  Helmet Hair opened his arms and mouth, glancing at me then back to Bucky. “Your vitals are looking better. Technically, I can’t stop you from not going to the hospital. But I think you should.”

  “It’s late. Let’s call it a day and all go get some sleep,” Bucky said, swinging his legs over the side of the gurney.

  The paramedics removed the IV and unhooked every other tube and wire connected to Bucky.

  “Would you mind if we dropped by tomorrow?�
�� I asked. “We’d like to look through Jade’s room, try to find something that will give us an idea of what she did in her spare time, who she hung out with.”

  Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Alisa. “It might be too soon for Carol.”

  Alisa raised a conciliatory arm. “I’ve got plenty to do with my day job. No worries. Booker can handle it.”

  I whispered to her, “Thanks.”

  Bucky buttoned his shirt while the paramedics packed up their equipment.

  I heard a couple of mugs clink together behind me. “Finally closing up shop,” Justin said. “Got a long day ahead tomorrow. I’ll be up bright and early prepping the food truck for a midday event they’re holding up at Reverchon Park. So, Alisa, Dax will be working the bar tomorrow.”

  “Great,” she said, with nothing behind it.

  I watched Alisa approach Bucky, whisper something to him, then give him a hug.

  Everyone walked toward the front door, and I sidled up to Bucky. “I’ll have more questions tomorrow. But one more quick thing. Did Jade hold down a day job? She still working at the same coffee shop?”

  “Hell no. Quit that a while ago. She got the same itch Natalie had. No offense,” he said, glancing at my partner. “Jade has…had this vivacious look about her. Someone finally saw in her what her mother and I have seen since the day she was born. In the last few months, she’d been working for a modeling agency. Nothing too big time yet, but she did get a part in a Dairy Queen commercial.”

  “Which agency?” Alisa asked, stopping in her tracks.

  “Uh…begins with a P. Picture something or other.”

  “Picture Perfect Images?” I asked.

  “That’s the one. You’ve heard of it?”

  It felt like a cold, wet rag had touched the back of my neck. “Yes.”

  I locked eyes with Alisa. “We’re making a visit to the PPI offices tomorrow.”

  “Damn straight we are.”

  6

  She brought a trembling hand to her mouth, felt warm air leaving her lungs. She was still alive.

  For now.

  Touching the chilled, metal edging of the foldout cot under her back, a gagging odor infiltrated her senses. She scrunched her face. It smelled like she was lounging in a litter box used by nine cats, and it hadn’t been scooped in a month.

  Nothing like urine being shoved up her nose.

  Wait. A sudden, jolting memory of feeling watched, someone standing over her. No movement, just a presence. She had started rocking back and forth, her head feeling like it would explode into a million pieces, sweat pouring out of every pore in her body. Images floated across her cot—ghostly, transparent figures with mutant features, like she was trapped in some type of Jack Kilborn horror novel.

  Her mind had known it was all a hoax, but she couldn’t help but swipe at the imaginary figures. Self-control was as elusive as a grease-covered pig as she swatted and lunged at flies as big as basketballs and a pink serpent that coiled into a snail.

  Was any of that real?

  She’d felt something bump her lips and nose. And then that high-octane pee scent. Could it have been ammonia? She’d smelled this crap before during her stay in Hotel Hell. Each time, she’d awakened, her heart motoring so fast she thought it might lift her off the floor.

  “Fuck,” she said out loud, trying to raise her body. Restraints kept her tied to the cot.

  No one responded, so she assumed she was all alone in her pitch-dark room.

  She twisted her neck and tried to catch a glimpse over her shoulder. Couldn’t see a damn thing. Her mind cleared a bit, and she heard a familiar hum. It wasn’t an air conditioner or a fan. She searched for a match, her brain sharpening its focus. She let the noise saturate her senses, feeling what it was like to truly be blind. She snapped her fingers. It was power lines. Not sure she could do much with the information, since she was cut off from the free world. But she felt a dose of satisfaction, a smidge of hope that her brain had figured something out.

  Just as quickly, she felt a crack in her shot of confidence, realizing her crazy mind had been able to fool her so many times before. She’d always figured out a way to get out of so many predicaments, lived to fight another day. But not this last one. Her manipulative charm had failed her. Big time.

  Licking her lips, her throat felt razor sharp. She couldn’t recall her last drink of water. With the sweat now cold, her face felt like a cracked sidewalk. She was only nineteen, but her inner core had been sapped, worn well beyond its years.

  She hadn’t seen a mirror since she was getting ready for her last jet-setting trip. Clumps of matted hair draped across her chest, reaching the tips of her fingers. The strands felt like day- old spaghetti. She was certain her signature golden locks with hints of brown sugar weren’t suitable for anything more than a haggard, old mop. As her old pals from Nacogdoches might say, “Girl, you look tore up.”

  She took in a shaky breath, thought about how she got here, her pulse peppering the side of her sticky neck. She couldn’t undo the whole journey, but fuck it, why didn’t she listen to that voice in the back of her mind before she took off in the Learjet 35 headed to the East Coast? With nothing left of her vanity and no self-inflicted distractions to avoid facing reality, she knew why—because she was being flown up in a Learjet 35 to see a powerful man. She’d always had a weak spot for luxury, even if a round, ugly man with a foamy mouth had paid for it.

  Which meant there had been expectations. She knew it, but at the time, she refused to listen to that meek existence of the true Natalie…again.

  She took in a breath, hearing herself sniffle. Tears had been shed since she started this journey when she dropped out of high school, but usually they were contrived or in response to smearing her nail polish, running out of eye makeup, not having just the right dress for a certain event. As she thought about it now, they were only life’s minor inconveniences. Even when asked to do things she didn’t want to do, her mind created a nice little sock drawer to cram those thoughts and memories into. She’d turned into a professional in so many ways, although she still couldn’t use the real term. Her self-esteem might only be about two inches high, but it was still existent.

  When she was young, maybe five or six years old, her daddy had once played her a song, something about “happiness is Lubbock, Texas, in the rearview mirror.” He’d chuckle, recall when he was younger, spending countless days working in the searing heat, building oil rig platforms on the flat, dried-up creek bed known as west Texas. He’d moved east, attended Stephen F. Austin State University, and fell in love with the Piney Woods and rolling hills of East Texas.

  But that was Natalie’s dad.

  All she’d known since she could remember was the feeling of suffocation, from the sky-high trees to what she saw as closed minds, no one willing or capable of thinking big, of making more of themselves and their hick-ass existence. Even at age six, hearing that song her daddy played might have been when the seed was planted, the idea of leaving that dreary, slow-minded, backwoods existence of Nacogdoches in her own rearview mirror.

  She’d always been enamored with sparkling lights. The mere thought gave her goose bumps, infused her with…hope. She’d never felt comfortable in darkness—her current situation a perfect example. Almost every hour of the last several days had been spent in total darkness. She’d experienced things she couldn’t bear to replay in her mind. In darkness.

  But in some respects, this darkness had served as a cloak. What she couldn’t see couldn’t hurt her, right? Not always, apparently.

  Glitz and glamour had driven every one of her thoughts and goals, the lights of the big city permeating her core while caking on layer upon layer of her fake, self-serving way of life.

  If…no, dammit, when she got out of this hell hole, she would develop her inner self, show compassion and interest in other people, what they were feeling. She would reach out to old friends and make sure she didn’t put others down just to give herself a false sense
of self-worth. She would read more—poetry, romance, women’s fiction, even a cozy mystery. She’d always had an inkling to write. Maybe she would finally have the courage to follow through to put words on paper.

  She swallowed back a ripple of emotion, accepting that she missed her mom and dad, even that flawed hometown of hers. She’d once described it to her uppity Dallas friends as “Naconowhere filled with Naconobodies.” What she wouldn’t give right now to hang out at the drive-in theatre, all the young people sitting in lawn chairs in the back of pickup trucks. Many folks tipping back bottles of cheap beer, even a few under age. It was a simple life, one that she’d never appreciated.

  But that would change. All she wanted was a second chance at living the life she was meant to live.

  A sound, like someone smacking sticky, gooey lips. Her neck grew stiff, her ears on high alert. Wasn’t she alone? What kind of animal would release that type of noise?

  An image shot through her fuzzy mind, and she felt her pulse take off, but this sprint wasn’t drug induced.

  “Oh God,” she said as water filled her eyes. Breathing became sporadic as still pictures fused together like metal being soldered, burning a hole through her cloudy mind, coming into full focus.

  Her body had been violated again and again, in ways she would have never fathomed. Rape doesn’t even begin to describe the torture. They’d tried to suck every ounce of self-worth from her body, where she would completely succumb to their every order and desire.

  But she knew they could do so much more. Threats of not surrendering her mind and body would lead to further torture. Or, they said she could have another life in a foreign land—of their choosing—as nothing more than a slave.

  Gripping both fists while she gritted her teeth, she knew she had to stay strong. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t give in.

  Then she heard a slithering hiss, and her chest exploded.