Framed and Burning (Dreamslippers Book 2)

by Lisa Brunette

  At that, Jacob woke up, popping Cat out of his dream and unsettling her sleep as he turned over in the bed they were sharing.

  “Jacob,” she whispered. “You awake?”

  “Umpf, yeah,” he said groggily.

  “Me, too.”

  “I had the weirdest dream.”

  “Yeah? What was it.”

  He cuddled into her. “I think it was about my uncle.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “He wants me to move to San Francisco.”

  Cat realized this must be the thing she sensed Jacob needed to figure out down there in Miami, away from New York and his magazine job.

  “What would you do there?”

  “Work in his gallery. Take it over someday.”

  “That’s huge.”

  “I know.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to make this about her, not at all, but if he moved to San Francisco, he’d be in the same time zone and a couple hours away by plane from her in Seattle. The thought made her feel simultaneously excited and apprehensive.

  “Could you leave the magazine?”

  “I don’t know. There’s more money for me working with my uncle.”

  “And more future, too?”

  “Yeah. I mean, journalism… Not exactly software development. Or health care.”

  “But your life in New York…”

  “I know. I thought I’d never leave it.”

  She braced herself for him to say something about the two of them, about the proximity thing, but he didn’t. Soon, he fell back to sleep.

  She was awake, though, and reflecting on the evening. Ernesto had not spent the night, Cat noted, and her grandmother had claimed a migraine. Cat had never known Granny Grace to suffer from them.

  Cat got up quietly, careful not to wake Jacob, grabbed her laptop, and set herself up on the chaise lounge. As much as she’d enjoyed the break for the party, she was eager to do whatever she could to help Alvarez and the Miami PD find out where Pennington got that material.

  Cat knew something about the darknet from her criminal-justice courses. It was a parallel Internet to the obvious one, but with a great deal more encryption and security to protect anonymity. This was a good thing when it came to whistleblowers, political activists, or anyone else trying to remain anonymous for legitimate reasons. Anyone with a private account online was part of the so-called “darknet,” as it was loosely defined as any content not searchable by a public browser. But these otherwise inaccessible, untraceable portions of the Internet were also a safe haven for illegal activity. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, even human organs—one could find anything through the darknet. It was notoriously difficult to catch lawbreakers using it, though.

  Deeply involved in her research, Cat didn’t hear Granny Grace until her grandmother was standing beside the chaise lounge.

  “You’re looking into the dark corners of the Web, aren’t you?”

  Up on Cat’s screen at that moment was a video game she’d downloaded from a darknet site after consulting with a hacker friend of hers back in St. Louis, who verified that it didn’t have any viruses.

  “You’ve got to see this, Gran,” Cat said. “It’s called ‘Sad Satan.’ Here, listen.” She offered Granny Grace her earbuds so the dissonant sound wouldn’t wake Jacob, who was still sleeping behind the partition.

  Cat let her walk through the first few scenes, which took about ten minutes. Having already played through it, she watched her grandmother’s face as she made her way down the long, dark hallway. Cat knew the ominous sound of what was supposed to be her grandmother’s footsteps were replaced by distorted music and then a growl.

  Grace yanked out the earbuds. “Cat, this is really disturbing. Does it ever end?”

  “Wait, you’re just about to the part where it really gets weird.”

  “This isn’t it already?”

  “Just keep going.”

  And there it was. For a couple of seconds, a man wearing antlers appeared at the top of a long flight of stairs, the walls lined with the same antlers.

  “Shut it off,” said Grace.

  “But it’s almost over.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  Her grandmother seemed upset, her forehead creased in worry.

  “Sorry, Gran. It’s kind of a darknet mystery. As far as anyone knows, this is the only game of its kind, and it’s free. No one knows who uploaded it. It contains references to child abuse, but not in an exploitative way. Like whoever made the game is trying to caution or warn people. But then there’s also this vague Satanic imagery, like that guy with the antlers—creepy, huh?”

  “I really didn’t like that,” Grace said. Her grandmother pressed her hand to her chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Cat, are we alone?”

  “No. Jacob’s still here. Sleeping.”

  “After he leaves, I want to talk to you.”

  “Don’t mind me,” said Jacob, who appeared from behind the partition around Cat’s side of the room. “I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  Cat watched her grandmother shake off whatever was eating her and brighten as Jacob appeared around the partition wearing rumpled shorts and a T-shirt, his hair standing out in crazy angles.

  “You’re not going anywhere till you’ve had something to eat,” Grace insisted.

  Cat, surveying the disheveled room and, feeling her own stomach growl, said, “I think we need to go out for breakfast.”

  They agreed, and after a subdued but friendly breakfast at a café nearby, Cat kissed Jacob goodbye. She wanted to ask him more about the dream but felt she already knew too much.

  Cat expected Granny Grace to quiz her about Jacob after he left, or at least to have picked up on the dreamslipping, but her grandmother was focused on whatever was bothering her.

  “I hate to say this, Cat, but I think Ernesto knows something.”

  It was as if she’d scratched her fingernails across a chalkboard. “What?”

  “I don’t know, maybe I’m mistaken. I hope I am. But I think he lied to me last night about representing the Langholms in their art dealings. And it occurs to me that he’s been overly curious about this case from the beginning, as if he’s been monitoring our progress to make sure we stay away from something.”

  Cat couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t like feeling suddenly as if she’d missed something about him.

  “Are you sure, Gran?”

  “No, but my feeling on this is too strong to ignore.”

  “Whoa. Okay. So what do you want to do?”

  “I need your help getting a picture of what exactly he does for the Langholms.”

  Cat’s pulse quickened. “The Langholms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Cat said, “I’ve got this.” She picked up her laptop and went to work. The Internet was like a gigantic haystack, but if you knew how to look for things, you could start to pull out the clues, straw by straw. After about an hour or so of digging, she found that Ernesto Ruíz had been the trader of record for a number of his clients who invested in stock. Her own grandmother’s name was there, Cat was interested to find out, for stock purchases and sales he made on Granny Grace’s behalf back in 2007, before the crash.

  And there they were: the Langholms. They had been his clients for quite some time, in an on-and-off manner, and he wasn’t the only financial advisor they engaged. There were many, it seemed. The Langholms had a complex financial life.

  Cat presented her grandmother with the information, which was hardly surprising, as they knew that Ernesto counted both them and Serena Jones as clients.

  “What about art-related transactions?”

  “Nothing came up, but I can keep looking. There isn’t much of a financial trail in the art world.”

  After more searching produced a blank for Cat, they decided to go down to the station and talk to Alvarez.

  The sergeant greeted them eagerly. “I w
as about to call you in myself.”

  “Oh?” asked Granny Grace.

  “We’re not having any luck linking Pennington James to the arson.”

  Cat had known this was coming. She nodded.

  “Mick will be disappointed not to have Donnie’s murder solved,” said her grandmother.

  “That goes for all of us,” Alvarez said, with a hardness to her voice. “The other matter is that the Feds are now involved.”

  Cat should have seen this coming, too, but she’d missed it. The darknet, Pennington’s stash… It was only a matter of time.

  “They’ll want you to stay out of the case,” Alvarez said. “But of course I can’t stop you.”

  “Someone else torched the studio because they were afraid Mick saw something.” Cat felt the case crystalizing before her. She cast a glance at Granny Grace and then at Alvarez. “We think Ernesto Ruíz might be involved, at least financially.”

  “Ernesto!” Alvarez said. “You’re kidding.”

  Cat handed her a few printouts showing the stock transactions. “He advises Kristoff and Carrie Langholm. We think he’s also managed their art dealings, but he felt it necessary to lie about that last night when my grandmother questioned him.”

  “Oh, the party…” Alvarez said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I just…well, maybe I wanted a break from you all. Please don’t take offense.”

  “None taken,” said Granny Grace. “We’ve been your cross to bear for weeks now.”

  Alvarez returned to the case. “So we’ve got Ernesto Ruíz, who’s involved in art brokering. Was he at the party that night?”

  “Yes. And there’s more. There’s a maid who works for Serena Jones. We showed her the image of Mick’s painting, and she recognized the girl.”

  “When was this?”

  “Before Mick went rogue and caught Pennington,” Granny Grace explained. “We were following up on something I’d found out about Serena Jones, about her past. It’s not connected to the case, but it gave me an excuse to show the image to her maid. I didn’t think anything would come of showing her, but she acted as if she’d seen her image before. Undeniably.”

  “But then she clamped down,” Cat added. “We couldn’t get anything out of her.”

  “Let’s get her in here before the Feds take over,” said Alvarez. “I’ll impress upon her what an important case this is.”

  It took some time, but that afternoon, Mariana Medina was brought in for questioning, followed by Serena Jones and a lawyer who looked as if he charged a hundred dollars a second.

  They successfully barred Serena from the room, but the lawyer of course had to be present. Alvarez insisted Cat and Granny Grace join in as expert consultants.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate the seriousness of a case involving murder and arson…” Alvarez began.

  “Of which absolutely nothing links to my client,” said the lawyer. “We’re happy to help if there is anything relevant for Ms. Medina to contribute, but you’ll have to prove that.”

  Alvarez held up her hand. “There’s more if you’ll allow me to finish.” She gazed not at the lawyer but directly at Mariana. “The case now includes charges for possession of child-abuse materials.”

  Mariana’s eyes grew wide. She seemed genuinely caught off guard, and that surprised Cat. She’d assumed the woman had seen the girl in examples of child-abuse material, and that’s why she had reacted that way.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the lawyer said. “But again, unless there is something relevant to my client, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

  Alvarez continued. “Ms. Medina, these ladies say they showed you an image of a girl, in a painting. It was on their phone?”

  No answer, so she prodded further. “You remember, don’t you.”

  Mariana looked at the lawyer, who nodded.

  Finally, she answered. “Yes, I remember this woman showing me the picture.” She gestured toward Granny Grace.

  “They tell me you looked as if you recognized the girl. Was that from other pictures you’ve seen?”

  “No.”

  Cat felt frustrated that the woman continued to lie.

  Alvarez pushed her. “Let me remind you that we need you to tell the truth. You don’t want us to call you to the stand in court, have you swear on the Holy Bible, and then have to lie again there.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Mariana said. “I was not reacting to seeing that girl in other pictures.”

  Cat could feel Alvarez’s breathing pick up next to her. “But you’ve seen the girl, then? In person?”

  Mariana looked at her lawyer, who did not seem to know any longer what this was about.

  “They already know, anyway,” Mariana said, gesturing toward Cat and her grandmother. “Serena said so. They want to blackmail her with her past. After what she’s accomplished! It isn’t fair.”

  “Ms. Medina,” Alvarez said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s Angie!” Mariana cried. There were tears in her eyes. “Angie Ramirez.”

  Cat broke in even though she was supposed to stay silent. “The girl in the picture is Angie Ramirez?”

  “Yes. She dyed her hair red back then. Grade school. Even then she wanted to be someone else.”

  Cat explained Serena Jones’s hidden childhood roots to Alvarez. And as she did, the same thought occurred to both of them, as they said in unison to the woman, “Did you know about the child pornography?”

  “I don’t know what that is about, or what it has to do with Angie.”

  “How do you know this… Angie, er, Serena Jones?” asked Alvarez.

  “She is my cousin. She came back to Del Rio last year and asked me if I wanted to escape, to come away with her. But I had no skills. She wanted me to live off her, let her pay my way while I go to school, but I didn’t want her charity. So I’m her maid. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

  There was a pause as they absorbed what she said, including Mariana’s lawyer, who seemed irritated to have been out of the loop on this information. He remained silent, which, judging by his facial expression, did not come naturally to him.

  “I don’t understand,” said Mariana. “Is this a mistake? I don’t know anything about child porn. Please, I want to see my cousin now.”

  “Her parents…?” Alvarez asked.

  “Addicts,” the woman said. “Angie did not have a happy home.”

  “What about you? Couldn’t your parents take her in?”

  The woman looked away. “I didn’t have a happy home either.”

  Alvarez was quiet a moment. Cat figured the sergeant was debating how much to divulge to Mariana Medina. Then Alvarez took a deep breath. “Ms. Medina, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but the girl in the picture they showed you is the same girl who appears in images of child-abuse material known to law enforcement.”

  Mariana’s hand went to her mouth, and she shook her head. “No, it can’t be. Serena said she got away…”

  She broke down in tears.

  They gave Mariana a break from the questioning and brought in Serena next, but only after she held counsel with her lawyer. They also ran some tests on the photographs to determine whether or not the redheaded girl could really be Serena Jones as Angie Ramirez.

  “Ms. Jones, I can imagine how difficult this must be for you,” said Alvarez once they were seated.

  “I will cooperate as much as I can,” said Serena. “But I hope you understand that my privacy has been seriously violated. That makes me a victim again, do you see that?”

  “I’m very sorry, Ms. Jones,” said Alvarez. “But I hope you understand that our intent here is to catch the psychopaths who took those pictures of you back then, not to mention whoever’s still selling them.”

  Serena closed her eyes. “I cannot believe this. You can never escape, can you? It keeps dragging you back.”

  Alvarez placed a manila folder on the table. “These are the photo
s, Serena. You do not have to look at them. But you can if you want to be sure they are you. We’ve examined them using software, and we’ve concluded that they could be you, but you must have had plastic surgery. You’d also have to be wearing colored contacts.”

  Serena ignored the folder on the table in front of her. “All of that is true. I’ve had my nose and chin altered. And my natural eye color is hazel. My father was white, my mother born in Chihuahua. And my cousin told you I dyed my hair red when I was just a girl. That’s when the photos—” She broke off.

  “Thank you for that,” Alvarez said. “I’m very sorry to ask you to revisit such a painful time in your life. And I hate to ask you this, but we’d like you to remove your contact lenses.”

  “Are you asking me to prove what I don’t even want anyone to know?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Alvarez. An attendant brought in a plastic contact case, a mirror, and a bottle of saline solution and set it on the table.

  Serena stared at them. “I can’t do this.”

  Her lawyer spoke up. “Surely you’re asking her to do too much.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alvarez said. “But we need to be sure.”

  Slowly, Serena reached for the contact case, squeezed saline into the tiny cups, and then leaned over the mirror to remove her contacts. Her eyes went from brown to that washed-out hazel. Cat gasped, recognizing them from the girl in the painting—and in her dream that night in New York. She had seemed like a ghost girl, yet here she was. Cat felt admiration for her, to have recovered so much from the girl she had been, captured in those terrible photos and then in Pennington’s dream and Mick’s art.

  After Alvarez took a few photos of Serena without her contact lenses, she waited while Serena put them back in.

  “What can you tell me about how those photos…came into being?”

  “With my parents’ blessing,” Serena spat out, still wiping saline from around her eyes with tissue from a box Alvarez retrieved from a corner of the room. “They needed the money. For drugs. They didn’t care what those creeps did to me. ‘It’s just pictures of you, Angie,’ my so-called mother said. ‘Like you’re a model.’”

  Alvarez got Serena’s whole story over questioning that took several hours. There wasn’t much she could tell them about where the photographing took place or who did it. She said she believed she was drugged and raped at that time as well, but the truth of it had been hard for her to fully piece together, which she did through years of therapy sessions.