by P. D. Martin
I’m glad of the light mood. “You and those piña coladas.”
He waves a dismissing hand in front of me. “They were tiny and they’re watered-down in Vegas. Don’t tell me you’re feeling under the weather.”
I’m conscious of how close we are. “I have a slight headache.” I raise my thumb and forefinger and pinch them together, indicating how small the headache is.
“Man, you agents are sissies.”
“In my day I could have drunk you under the table.”
“Dream on.”
“I actually used to be able to hold my drink in my early twenties.”
He laughs. “Didn’t we all? Slippery slope, you know.”
Darren and I are both in our midthirties. I’m thirty-five, and I’m not entirely sure exactly how old Darren is, but he’s definitely between thirty-four and thirty-eight, despite his baby face.
He signs his American Express receipt. “Breakfast?” He scoots over so I can sign out, too.
I hand the clerk my key. “Definitely,” I say to Darren, already feeling more at ease, despite the kiss. In fact, I’d say the tornado of butterflies has downgraded to a gentle breeze.
The guy at the reception suggested two places within walking distance, and we opt for the closest. It’s plastered with pictures of “The King” and other memorabilia. I order two poached eggs and Darren orders the “Big Breakfast”, which comprises of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns and toast.
“Tell me you’re not going to put maple syrup on your bacon.”
“You betcha.” He winks. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No. But I can imagine the taste and that’s enough for me.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.”
Nothing will ever get me to try it. “What are we going to work on today?” I say, now fully at ease with him. This is for the best. Friends…we can be friends.
“Good question.”
“How far is Yucca Valley?”
“Cindy’s hometown. About three hours by car, or twenty minutes by plane. You think it’s worth going? I mean, she hasn’t been home in five years, I don’t know if they’ll be able to tell us much.”
“Her sister came and stayed with her. Maybe they’re in regular contact.”
Darren follows my line of thought. “And if she told Janice something—”
I nod. “She may have told her sister.”
“Let’s try her on the phone first. See if we can’t save ourselves a trip.”
Generally it’s better to interview people face-to-face. You can read their body language and tell if they’re lying; they’re also more likely to open up to you in person. But with Cindy dead, her sister’s probably going to do everything she can to help us. “Okay, we’ll give it a go. I’d like to speak to her though. I think she’s more likely to open up to a woman, given what Cindy went through.”
Darren grimaces. “The rape.”
I nod.
The waitress arrives with our coffees—straight filtered coffee. I miss my lattes in the States. Here you have to go to Starbucks to get an espresso. Still, the bottomless cup ain’t all bad.
Darren stirs in sugar. “We can make Cross’s office our base. He’s expecting us anyway.”
“I wonder if the re-examination of Janice’s case will turn up anything.”
“Maybe the apartment will have something for us.” He puts his spoon back on the saucer. “Forensics swept it before we arrived yesterday. Nice to get a print.”
I take a sip of coffee. “Nice, but unlikely. Like we said, the job on Janice was professional. Professionals wear gloves.”
The waitress arrives with our breakfasts. “That was fast,” I say, half to her, half to Darren.
She smiles. “Most people like it fast. So’s they can get back to the slots or tables.”
Vegas is a conspiracy.
Darren picks up the maple syrup and waves it in front of my face. I put my hand up, blocking out the view of him pouring it over his toast and bacon.
“Man, that’s disgusting,” I say.
“Over two-hundred-million people can’t be wrong.”
I smile. “So, why don’t you eat with chopsticks? Over two billion people can’t be wrong.”
When we arrive at the Vegas police station at quarter to nine, Cross is already at his desk and looks settled, like he’s been there awhile.
“So, did you get to sample Vegas or did you work the case?”
“Bit of both actually,” Darren says, even though we hardly spoke about the case.
I furrow my brow, guilt-ridden. We should have worked on the case last night. I should have been going over the files and trying to induce a premonition, despite being freaked out by the thought of Cindy’s ghost or whatever the hell it was…. I shudder.
“So you up or down?”
“Down a few bucks,” Darren says.
I come back to the conversation, forcing myself to at least appear normal. “And I won twelve bucks.”
Cross looks at Darren. “Better luck tonight.”
“We hope to be on a plane by tonight,” Darren says. “We’re checked out and all. Any word from the ME?”
“They’re taking another look at Janice’s body before lunch today.”
Darren nods. “Great. And forensics?”
“Nothing yet. We probably won’t have anything back from the lab today. They’re pretty backed up down there.”
It’s the same the world around, the scientists can’t keep up with the criminals.
“Family?” Cross hits the nail on the head—family is our only real starting point.
“Yeah.” Darren puts his briefcase down. “Anderson wants to speak to Cindy’s sister.”
Cross looks at me.
“I’m hoping her visit a couple of years back wasn’t the only contact between Cindy and little sis,” I say.
“Well, state troopers informed the family two days ago, and I haven’t heard boo from them. That’s some falling-out if murder hasn’t even brought them together. Normally parents would be calling every hour.”
I shake my head. “I guess they still believe their friend, not Cindy.”
Cross opens up one of the files on his desk and writes down a phone number on a Post-it Note. He hands it to me. “I’m going to make sure Gary’s alibi check outs and then catch up on my other cases. My weekend’s coming up.” Today’s Sunday, but obviously Cross’s shift work has him rostered off Monday and Tuesday this week. Besides, there’s not much more to do until the ME and forensics come back.
“You can use that desk today.” He points to a cluttered but vacant desk.
Cross leaves as we settle in. Darren fishes out a file from his briefcase. “I’ll go over these files again while you’re talking to the family.”
“We also need to go back to the woman’s first victim, Cameron Michaels.”
Darren nods. “Call first.”
I lift up the phone and dial.
“Hello.” It’s a woman’s voice, but it sounds older. Probably Cindy’s mum.
“Hello, this is Special Agent Anderson from the FBI. I’m working on the murder of Cindy Bass.” I use Cindy’s real last name, as the parents may not even know she changed it to Star.
“Yes?” The voice is tentative.
“Is that Mrs. Bass?”
“Yes. I’m Cindy’s mother.” The tone is cold, detached. Like she’s ashamed of admitting Cindy was her child.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bass.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not sure how much the state trooper told you…”
“Just that Cindy was dead. That she’d been murdered.” Cold again. So much for maternal instincts.
“That’s right. We’ve linked the case to some other murders, too.”
“Oh.” A hint of surprise and curiosity in her voice.
“How did you think Cindy died, Mrs. Bass?”
“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, may the Lord forgive me, but
Cindy was trouble. And I figured she’d got herself into trouble with some man.”
It’s hard to believe she’s talking about her own daughter. I also notice the phrase she chose, “got herself into trouble,” like it was Cindy’s fault. Even if Mrs. Bass believed part of Cindy’s story, that she was pregnant by their family friend, she could have easily assumed Cindy brought it on herself. I clench my fist, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand. This kind of ignorance drives me crazy.
“It looks like Cindy was the victim of a serial killer,” I say.
“Oh.” This time perhaps a hint of sorrow—or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.
“When was the last time you saw Cindy?”
She pauses. “Five years ago. When she left Yucca. She got herself into trouble here.”
“Really?” I want to hear it in her words.
“She…she was pregnant.” She lowers her voice, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks someone will hear or because it’s still a source of shame for her. “The baby must be about four years old now.” This time she’s definitely a little sad.
I hate to break it to her, but she should know. “Cindy had an abortion, Mrs. Bass, here in Vegas.”
“No. No. Impossible. Cindy was…lots of things, but she would never have an abortion. Her religious upbringing wouldn’t allow it.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bass.” I decide to let it all hang on the line. I feel sorry for Cindy. Like Darren said, she had a tough start in life and then she got mixed up in…well, whatever the hell this is. Her family should know the truth. “It’s very common, when the pregnancy is the result of rape,” I say.
“Someone’s been filling your head with lies.” She’s no longer angry about the abortion, now her emotional energy is fixated on Cindy’s “lies.” It’s possible Cindy did lie, possible that the sex was consensual or that the baby’s father was someone in her school. But my gut tells me Cindy was traumatized. When people make false sexual assault allegations it’s usually for revenge or attention, and Cindy’s behavior shows neither. Rodney was the only one from work who knew about the rape, which shows me she was ashamed…she didn’t want attention. Mrs. Bass and her husband are fools.
“We’re finding out as much as we can about Cindy, in the hope that something will lead us to her killer.” I try to keep the anger out of my voice.
Silence.
“So you haven’t had any contact with her at all in the past five years? No phone calls, Christmas cards?”
“No.”
“What about your husband?”
“Certainly not.” There’s a hint of mocking in her voice.
“Can I speak with him?” Ideally I’d like to talk to all family members.
“He never speaks her name. He won’t talk to you or anyone else.”
“What about your other daughter and your son?”
“What about them?”
“Well, maybe they’ve been in contact with Cindy.” I damn well know that at least her daughter Laurie has, but from the mother’s reaction I’m not game to get Laurie into trouble. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if her visit to Vegas was a secret.
“No. Neither of them has spoken to Cindy since the day she left.”
“Can I speak to your other daughter please?”
She hesitates. “I don’t see the point.”
“It’s just procedure, Mrs. Bass.” I sigh loudly pretending I’m bored. “You know, red tape. I’m supposed to talk to everyone in your family, including your husband and even Cindy’s aunts and uncles.” I pause, letting it sink in. I bet she doesn’t want her extended family finding out about Cindy’s pregnancy and abortion. “But I don’t want to bother you with all that. I don’t want to disturb you any more than I have to, so if I could just speak to your daughter and then your son, I’ll leave you alone. If I’ve got at least three family members on my form here, my boss won’t give me grief.”
She pauses. “I guess…I guess I can get Laurie for you. Hold on.”
I hear a slight rustle.
“Laurie!” she yells.
The rest of the conversation is muffled, so I assume Mrs. Bass has put her hand over the receiver.
A minute later a voice comes on the line. “Hello?”
“Hi, Laurie. I’m Agent Sophie Anderson from the FBI. I’m working on your sister’s case.”
“Uh huh.”
“We could really do with your help.”
“Mmm.”
I can picture what’s happening on the other end of the phone: her mother is standing right next to her, making sure she doesn’t say something she shouldn’t, and for no other reason than it might dam age the family’s reputation. This is going to be tricky.
“We know you visited Cindy here in Vegas.”
A small intake of breath.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t tell your mum.”
“Okay.” Relief in her voice.
“Is your mum standing right there?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t get away?”
A pause. “No.”
“Okay. But I really need to talk to you. For Cindy’s sake. Have you got a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m going to call you on your cell in about half an hour.” Somehow I have to get her number. “It would take me quite a bit of tracking down this end to get your cell number, but I know it starts with seven-six-zero.” I say her area code. “I’m going to run through numbers and you stop me when I get to the right first number. One…two…three…four…”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” I repeat this process until I have all the digits of her cell phone. “Great, thanks, Laurie. Now pass me back to your mum.”
Mrs. Bass comes back on the phone. “I told you we couldn’t help.”
“Yes. You’re right. Well, I guess there’s not much point talking to your son. I’ll tell my boss that two names on my form is enough.” I pause. “And I’ll let you know when we find your daughter’s killer.”
“Yes. Do.”
So she is interested.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bass. Goodbye.” I force a pleasant tone into my voice.
“Bye now.”
I hang up.
Darren looks up. “Sounded painful.”
I shake my head. “Don’t get me started. I’m glad we didn’t visit in person. I think you would have had to hold me back.”
“That bad?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m calling Laurie back on her cell in half an hour. Let’s hope she can get out of the house.”
“Mom keeps the apron strings tight?”
“It’s a miracle Laurie even managed to visit Cindy.”
Darren doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds up the Cameron Michaels file. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
18
I dial Laurie’s cell phone number.
“Hello.”
“Hi Laurie. It’s Agent Anderson.”
“Hi.” Her tone of voice is totally different than half an hour ago. Now she sounds relaxed and more like a normal teenager. “Thanks for that,” she says cheerily. “You totally saved my ass.”
“Your folks that bad, huh?”
“What do you think? We can’t even mention Cindy’s name in the house.”
“You know why she left?”
“At the time I didn’t.” The cheeriness fades from her voice with each word. “For a couple of years I even believed all the crap my folks told me about Cindy tarnishing our good family name.” She’s using her parents’ words, not hers.
“Then what happened?”
“Ronald.” She spits the name. “But I was luckier than Cindy. My brother came in just at the right time. He pretended he didn’t see anything and wouldn’t even talk to me about it, but that fuck Ronald must have been scared,’ cause he hasn’t tried to touch me since.”
I pause, suddenly feeling a little nauseous.
An older man’s on top of a young
er-looking Cindy. Cindy’s crying, but he doesn’t stop.
I push the repulsive image away, shoving it deep down to wherever it came from. But I’m left with anger so intense that I want to slam my fists on the table and start throwing anything and everything I can find.
“Are you there?”
Laurie’s voice brings my attention back the interview, back to my job.
“Yes, sorry. Hold on a sec.” I take a deep breath. Back to the questions. “Did you know Cindy was pregnant?”
“After Ronald tried it on me I knew something was up. I managed to find Cindy in Vegas and she told me the whole story.” She pauses. “That bastard. I tried to tell my folks, but they wouldn’t hear it and my brother wouldn’t back me up. I had to drop it. I’d seen what happened to Cindy when she told the truth.” She sighs. “Another six months and I’m out of this dump.”
“Really? Where you going?”
There’s silence for a moment before I hear the unmistakable sound of tears. “Cindy.” A sob breaks her voice. “Cindy’s been saving for me all this time. Saving for me to go to college. It won’t pay for everything of course, but it’s enough with me working part-time.”
“Sounds like she loved you a lot.”
“Growing up we were so close. I was devastated when she left. Then I got confused. Started to believe the lies.”
“It’s hard not to believe your parents.”
“Uh huh.” She sniffs. “I went to visit Cindy in Vegas just under two years ago. Told my folks I was going on a religious retreat. God, if they knew I was going to sin city itself…” She trails off.
“And you’ve been in contact with Cindy since then?”
“Sure. We talk on the phone a couple times a week.”
“What about in the last few weeks?”
“No. She was away.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Sure. She tells me everything.”
“Yes?” I actually lean forward in my seat. The movement catches Darren’s eye and he studies my facial expression intently.
