Sentencing Sapphire

by Mia Thompson

  “So we’re seriously not stopping for donuts?”

  Not that one.

  “When do you think I’ll make Detective?”

  That one. Aston exhaled and looked at his cell. “Well, today is Friday, so… never.”

  “Never?” Barry’s mouth opened in shock. “Why?”

  “Because,” Aston said, “you have no balls.”

  “I have balls.”

  “Shut up, Barry.”

  “Okay.”

  “I rest my case.”

  Barry was silent for the remainder of the drive, giving Aston ample time to play a mind game called Reasons Sapphire Isn’t Connected to the Nor Cal Bodies. A rough game considering Meadows gave him zero details on the phone.

  “Look, Detective Meadows,” Aston said, watching a woman with a beagle rehash things to another cop. “Not that we don’t appreciate you inviting us, but I doubt four male bodies in Modesto have anything to do with the Serial Catcher, where ninety-five percent of all the cases took place in Southern California.”

  He wiped his forehead and the Detective in front of him did the same. Modesto was generally cooler than L.A., but the California heat wave showed no mercy to even the northern counties. Some thought the earthquakes, the drought, and heat were connected—signs of the approaching Apocalypse. Delusional fucks. Every sane person knew the only realistic way for the world to end was by zombies.

  They stood in the middle of the sweltering woods, surrounded by dozens of dirt holes.

  “Right, it would seem they’re unconnected.” Detective Meadows pointed his pen at a hole to the left. “Except after we ID’d the first body, we found six boxes containing female hearts in his home. When we ID’d the second body, we found duct tape, rope, and acidic residue in his bathtub. We just ID’d Bennett Rivers here, and evidence at his house suggests that he was the Online Dating Killer.”

  “Who’s the fourth guy?”

  “Landowner.” Detective Meadows pointed at the woman and her beagle. “Her husband went missing during a hunt a few weeks ago. Yesterday, the dog took off and the wife found him here, digging up her husband’s corpse. We’re thinking he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have.”

  “Again, why am I here?” Aston stared at the tearful woman absent-mindedly petting the beagle.

  Meadows pointed to a skeleton. “A lot of the evidence is suggesting this is the work of a vengeful vigilante. By the angle this guy died, CSI is estimating someone shorter, likely female. Some of the boys were thinking the Serial Catcher got bored of trapping them, and started killing them instead.”

  Aston looked down at the skeleton. Just like he knew she didn’t murder anyone intentionally in the cigar lounge, he knew his Sapphire would never have done this. She didn’t have it in her. The last thing he needed was the media to get a whiff of this. It had to be shut down, ASAP.

  “PMI?” Aston pushed, watching Barry still attempting to fish the butt out of his coffee.

  “Rough estimate without lab results, a month since Bennett Rivers and the owner of the land died, and over two months for…”

  “We-he-hell,” Aston exclaimed. “As entertaining as your little display of deduction was there, Sherlock…” he paused for effect, “the arrested woman was in Europe two months ago.”

  A sharp beep guided his attention to his phone. A text from the chief—All units to 2053 N. Beverly Glen. Eloise Parker.

  “Sorry I botched your theory, Detective,” Aston patted Meadow’s arm, “but it’s obvious this has nothing to do with the arrested Serial Catcher.” He turned. “Come on, Barry. Let’s pick up a box of donuts for the road. I mean it this time.”

  He walked off and Barry trotted after, finally looking chipper.

  “I’m well aware!” Detective Meadows shouted after them. “I’m proposing one of two things. A: You arrested the wrong person. B…” he paused. “We’ve got a Copycat.”

  Aston and Barry looked back at Detective Meadows, then at each other. Their minds lined up in the very complex way only cops’ minds could.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Aston murmured.

  “Yeah,” Barry nodded. “Maple glazed.”

  Okay, maybe it was just Aston then.

  • • •

  The pastries in the middle of the oblong mahogany table were as stale as the conversation.

  Aunt Heather, Petunia, and Uncle Gary sat on one side of DubCorp’s conference room, and Sapphire and Vivienne on the other. A few of the company’s higher-ups sat at the base of the table. Nobody had mentioned the trial, but it lingered on everyone’s minds and was evident in their silence.

  “Boobs,” came a whisper.

  Sapphire turned to her mother, the only smiling person in the room. “Care to elaborate, or was that all you wanted to say?”

  “That’s what I’d like to give you when I get the money. Boobs. You’re much overdue.”

  Sapphire glared at Vivienne. “Thanks, but I’m pretty fond of the originals.”

  “We’ll see. My money, my rules,” Vivienne gloated, then cleared her throat. “Not that I care about materialistic things anymore.”

  Bullshit. Her mother was practically salivating in anticipation. She’d waited for his wealth to become her wealth for nearly two decades. She looked drunk with greed instead of booze today. Strange considering it was already noon.

  “Why are we even here?” Petunia groaned, looking up from her phone. “The will is standard. Aunt Vivienne will get the fortune, which will go to Sapphire once she dies. Dad will get Charles’s forty-nine percent of DubCorp which will go to me when he retires,” she said the last part haughtily, “and Sapphire will get some bonds, maybe a minor estate…” Petunia went back to texting and dropped her voice to a mumble. “Not that she deserves it.”

  Sapphire agreed with her cousin for once. The thought of receiving anything from the man whose death she caused was nauseating. She wanted Charles back, not his bonds.

  “All right!” Mr. Goldstein walked in holding Charles’s will. He stared at Petunia until she put her phone away, then began the morbid group read.

  Sapphire gazed out the window thinking of her father, Chrissy, the recording, and breathy phone calls. She had a Copycat on her hands. This woman was dangerous, a threat, and somehow, the least of Sapphire’s problems.

  A series of gasps filled the room.

  Sapphire turned to find all eyes on her. “What?”

  “This is insanity!” Petunia motioned to her. “Did he fail to notice she has the attention span of a goat?”

  Mr. Goldstein looked back at the will and repeated. “My major estates, my complete fortune, and my 49 percent in DubCorp, goes to Sapphire Dubois.”

  Sapphire’s jaw dropped. She had never agreed to, and was never expected to, run the company. As far as her family knew, she wasn’t a Dubois by blood. And she certainly hadn’t expected to receive, what, forty million?

  “What about me?” Vivienne’s botoxed forehead attempted to frown. “I was married to the man for eighteen years! I get something, don’t I!?”

  “Oh yes, sorry.” Mr. Goldstein nodded.

  “Oh God, you scared me,” Vivienne sighed and relaxed.

  “All major estates go to Sapphire. The Dubois fishing cabin by the lake, goes to my wife, Vivienne Dubois.”

  Vivienne laughed until she realized Mr. Goldstein wasn’t joking. “I get… the fishing… fishing…”

  Sapphire couldn’t force down the smile fast enough. Her mother hated fishing… and cabins… and lakes. This was Charles’s final revenge for the years she’d mistreated him. Sapphire on the other hand, loved the old fishing cabin. She even got Charles one of those mounted singing fishes for his birthday to hang there. He hummed “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” for months before he suffered the stroke. Sapphire’s mood dropped at the stinging memory.

  “Wait a minute!” Vivienne shouted. “I was there when the will was made fifteen years ago and that’s not what my husband put in it.”

 
Mr. Goldstein nodded. “In the days before he passed, Charles came to see me in New York and made some alterations.”

  Sapphire remembered it. Charles had been paralyzed for about seven years, during which Vivienne had cheated on him, and refused to sign him up for treatments to improve his health. When Sapphire intervened and signed for the treatment, Charles got better. After that, he’d gone to New York to see Mr. Goldstein. Sapphire assumed it was to file for divorce. Obviously not.

  “This doesn’t make sense!” Petunia shouted. “She’s not even a real Dubois! Uncle Charles pretty much found Vivienne and Sapphire. They were like strays in Oregon!”

  “And if Sapphire gets everything of value, why did he insist we all have to be here?!” Vivienne questioned.

  Mr. Goldstein clasped his hands. “Charles wanted to make sure you were all here to understand who Sapphire is.”

  “Pardon?!” Vivienne jeered.

  Mr. Goldstein glanced at Sapphire, then took a breath. She realized shit was about to hit the fan.

  “Sapphire Dubois is the biological daughter of William Dubois, and therefore a legal heir of DubCorp.”

  Eyes bulged, air was huffed, brains exploded.

  “No.” Aunt Heather covered her mouth in disbelief.

  They all turned to Sapphire, who realized she looked too calm so she gasped and slapped her hands to her cheeks, Macaulay Culkin style.

  Mr. Goldstein gave her an amused look.

  Petunia turned to her father. “Who the hell is William Dubois?”

  “How didn’t I see it?” Gary stared across the table. “You look just like him.” He leaned into Petunia without taking his eyes off Sapphire. “William was Charles’s and my younger half-brother. We don’t… talk about him. He left Beverly Hills years ago, before you were born. No one has seen him since.”

  Wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” Vivienne giggled and stood. “Not that I don’t appreciate Sapphire inheriting her fair share of DubCorp, but this William Dubois is not my child’s father. His name was Will Green.”

  “Charles informed me that William Dubois also went under the alias of Will Green. As I understood it, Charles married you as a favor to William.”

  Vivienne stared at Mr. Goldstein, then giggled. “So, my ex-husband was Charles’s and Gary’s secret younger brother? My daughter is actually a Dubois by blood, and my second marriage was set up by my first husband who abandoned me?” Vivienne’s giggle turned into a hysterical laugh, then her face went catatonic and she collapsed in her chair.

  Sapphire waved a hand in front of her mother’s blank face, then turned to Petunia. “Don’t worry. I’ll sign my half over to Gary.” With or without hunting, Sapphire could never imagine working alongside Petunia who was set up to take over Gary’s fifty-one percent when he retired.

  “It was Charles’s utmost wish that you, Sapphire, should take your rightful place at DubCorp. I have a feeling he felt it was like a part of William coming home.” Mr. Goldstein cleared his throat. “Therefore, the will states you may not sell, trade, or give away your percentage of DubCorp unless it is to your own legal heir or you’re legally incapable. Though you technically will remain incapable until you win your trial, which means your share lies temporarily with your uncle and gives him full authority.”

  As Mr. Goldstein closed the will, Gary stood up and looked between Petunia and Sapphire. “I was going to announce my retirement today and hand my share over to Petunia. However…”

  Petunia gasped.

  “For a few months now, DubCorp has been losing valuable contracts, allies, and today it got worse. I don’t feel comfortable handing it over at this moment. Now, if, or once Sapphire’s and DubCorp’s situation gets resolved, I’d love to see the two of you tackle the business as a team, not foes. Until that day comes, I will hold onto the whole company.”

  “It’s because of her, isn’t it!” Petunia pointed at Sapphire. “Our allies are pulling out because her crimes are giving the Dubois name bad press!” She sprung up. “It’s all your fault!”

  The blame burrowed in Sapphire’s chest as her cousin stormed out, texting with rage. Gary and Heather followed behind her.

  Mr. Goldstein pulled his eyes off Petunia and nodded at Sapphire’s mother. “Is she okay? I can’t tell with the botox.”

  Sapphire snapped her fingers in front of Vivienne’s face. Her mother blinked. “Broke… broke.”

  Sapphire helped her traumatized mother toward the door, playing with the idea of putting an Out-of-Order sign around her neck.

  “Will… fishing cabin… fishing,” Vivienne rambled. “What will I live on, cod?”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mom.” Sapphire patted her mother’s back and she seemed to relax. “There’s no cod in the lake. Trout maybe.”

  Vivienne wailed and Sapphire shut the door. Of course she wouldn’t make her mother live on trout; she just didn’t have to tell her quite yet. It was a mild punishment for two decades of poor parenting.

  Sapphire walked up to the window next to Mr. Goldstein and studied the giant sky scrapers that surrounded DubCorp’s small building. She was touched by what Charles had wanted for her, but whether she wanted DubCorp or not was probably moot. Even with Goldstein, the odds of her future fashion-statements involving orange was big. The memories of Lynwood came back, causing shivers.

  “Hey,” she looked at Mr. Goldstein. “Do you know who paid my bail?”

  Mr. Goldstein nodded. “Fella named Archer Woodland.”

  “Who?” She’d expected her ally to be someone she knew.

  “The guy walked in with a bag of cash and signed you out. I did a background check. He’s some sort of decorated vet.” Mr. Goldstein grabbed her shoulder. “Anyway, mazel tov. The money, unlike the company, is yours no matter what happens with the trial. It will take a while for the amount to transfer, but I’ll get all the paperwork going right away.”

  Sapphire snorted at the ridiculous notion, then realized what the money meant. Once it transferred, she could bribe a pilot to take her overseas. She didn’t have to go back to prison; she could run.

  “Oh, here. This was dropped off at the reception desk for you.” Mr. Goldstein handed her an envelope.

  Sapphire took it and looked down at L.A. The vast city spread out behind downtown’s bustling financial district and appeared borderless. Before she could even begin to plan her escape, she had to find Chrissy and stop her father.

  “Oy, long day.” Mr. Goldstein rubbed his belly. “I bet we could both go for a nice Rugelach right now, you know what I mean?”

  Sapphire stared at the envelope.

  “Rugelach? No?” Mr. Goldstein sighed, then walked off with a headshake. “Gentiles.”

  She waited until the door closed before she opened the Happy 8th Birthday card.

  Her next instructions had arrived.

  • • •

  Chrissy instructed her eyelids to blink, but they refused to follow her command.

  Her body was heavy and unresponsive. Her muscles were frozen, but her mind could take it all in. She stared at the door again, waiting for it to burst open.

  She’d lay in a bed forever now. She’d heard him cook his food in the other room, then he came in and sat down to eat at the small table in front of her. She wanted to yell at him, but every time she tried only a deep grrr escaped her throat.

  “Mmm…” The man licked his knife then set his plate aside. “Nothing beats a good meal after a long day, don’t you think, Chrissy?”

  The anger stirred in her. Didn’t he realize she was hungry and thirsty too? She wished she could wrinkle her nose at his plate so he would understand that when he was going to feed her, he couldn’t feed her that. The food looked like it came from a can. A can.

  “What are you thinking? Let me guess,” the man’s voice turned impish, “Why? Why? Why?”

  No. Chrissy was super smart. She’d already figured out he was holding her for ransom. Someone must’ve reached her daddy in Abu Dhabi by now.
He’d come bursting through the door at any second with FBI agents and police people, maybe the President too. She was sure of it.

  Chrissy stared at the door, waiting. She wanted to order the man to give her some water this instant.

  “Rrrhhm. Rrrhm,” she tried to yell at him.

  “Ah,” he nodded. “You don’t say.” Then he laughed at her and came over while twirling the knife in his hand.

  How dare he laugh at her? She was a Kraft. She didn’t like his attitude, or the place he was holding her in. It smelled like people who used store-brand deodorant. The walls were old and made of wood, and the rest of the place was full of classless knick-knacks, like the one above her bed. Correction: “Bed.”

  “You know, Chrissy Kraft…” He moved smoothly. “I went to school with your father.”

  Then you should know who you’re dealing with, Chrissy thought. Her daddy was going to be furious when he got here. He might just have the President execute the man on the spot.

  “Your father was one of the most spoiled men I’ve ever met,” he snorted. “Then again, the only worse people in Beverly Hills next to the Krafts are the Vanderpilts.”

  Hey! Chrissy thought. Her father, spoiled? Never. There are people and then there are Krafts.

  The man turned the knife in his hand and watched the blade catch light.

  “Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy… this is new to me.” He spoke more to himself than her. “What to do now that you’re here?”

  He could turn on the TV for starters. Some entertainment would be nice.

  As the man looked at her, his eyes seemed to darken. She didn’t like it, so she refocused on the door.

  He nudged her chin, forcing her eyes to him. “I promised I wouldn’t kill you…”

  He took her hand with a grin and his eyes grew muddled. She was surprised at how charming and calming his smile was. She wondered who his teeth-guy was.

  “But I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt you.” He studied her manicured nails until he chose her index finger. He positioned the knife on the tip of her finger where the nail and skin met.

  Chrissy’s heart sped and her eyes drew to the door again. This isn’t funny anymore. She wanted to go home now. She wanted her daddy, the FBI, the President now.