Contents
Copyright
The Protector
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Criminal Negligence
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mega Dead
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgments
The Protector - Copyright © 2014 Danielle Lenee Davis All rights reserved.
Criminal Negligence - Copyright © 2015 Danielle Lenee Davis All rights reserved.
Mega Dead - Copyright © 2016 Danielle Lenee Davis All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Desert Rain Press
300 S. Highland Springs Ave., PMB #247
Banning, CA 92220
Printed in the United States of America
Author Photo by Adriana Pilonieta of Visual Imagery Photography
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
The Protector
A Sydney Valentine Mystery
Danielle Lenee Davis
To my parents: Thank you for keeping plenty of books around the house when I was a child.
Chapter One
Her body lay near the bottom of the stairs, sprawled sideways, her neck twisted in an ugly way so that she stared up at the ceiling with dull hazel eyes. The concrete-walled stairwell smelled of human excrement and cheap janitorial soap. A yellow wet-floor cone sat off to the side near the wall. A County Social Services photo identification badge for Ann Baker, MSW-Supervisor, was clipped to the strap of a black Coach purse. Some of the purse contents had scattered below. I moved past a pair of ankle-breaking red heels. I’d worn heels half that height as maid of honor at my sister’s wedding. A pastel dress with puff sleeves completed my transformation into an enormous Princess Barbie. I stepped past Baker's body and noticed the door at the bottom of the stairs. I went down and pushed it open with my hip. Two Forensic Unit techs squatted amidst the trash several feet to the left near twin brown dumpsters.
Graham looked up as he picked up a cigarette butt with lipstick tinting its tip, then dropped it into an evidence bag. "Hey, Valentine. Lots of debris out here. And this." He held up a condom and put it into another bag.
"Okay. I'll leave you to it." I went inside and up to the body. I turned on the recorder. Our scribe, Officer Carlisle, stood to the side ready to take notes.
Bernie walked down while looking at the ceiling corners. "I don't see any security cameras."
I kneeled and pointed. "You see that?" A tip of an object protruded from Baker’s lips. I squinted and edged closer to get a better view.
"What is it?" Bernie leaned in, crouching like a baseball catcher. "A plastic bag?"
"We'll have to leave it for the ME."
"Her lip's swollen." Bernie rose. "Her earlobe is ripped and she’s got a nasty bruise on her cheek."
"Probably a broken nose." I stood. "Had enough time for a bruise to form on her cheek, so it happened a while before she died."
"Not much blood on the forehead gash." He faced me. "Maybe from the fall."
"Yeah. Like she had a fight some time before she came out here." I started up the steps.
"Maybe she was leaving for the night." Bernie trotted past me and hopped around the scattered mess on his way to the door. A young male uniformed officer stood at the entrance. The door had been propped open with a door kickstand.
I tiptoed around her belongings, and then ducked under the crime scene tape and into the hall. "Let's check her office."
We removed our paper booties and disposable gloves. Bernie asked the officer to point us toward Baker’s office. We passed the Forensic Unit and they told us they‘d do Baker's office once we finished our walk-through. After pulling on fresh disposable gloves and booties, we showed our shields to the officer and went in. The fluorescent lights flickered and something hummed.
"Why is it so hot in here?" I peeked around the desk. A portable ceramic heater behind a chair warmed the air. Did she forget to turn it off? Had she planned to return? Honda car keys and a cell phone sat on her pristine desk blotter. Either she didn't do much work here or she was an organized neat freak. I hate those people. The calendar showed no appointments. The phone looked generic, similar to the one my sister, MacKenzie, had been issued for work. Baker's phone might be CPS propert
y, like Mac's cell. Two sharpened pencils and two pens lay parallel to one another, and spaced equally apart. The tips pointed in the same direction. A flying stars screensaver flashed on the computer sitting on the desk. The trash contained an empty Starbucks cup and lid. Pink lipstick stained the cup's rim, but only on one spot. Who drinks from one spot on a cup?
"Anything in there?" Bernie ambled around the office.
"Just the cup and lid. No receipt."
A luxury black leather briefcase with a combination lock sat under the desk. She had two lateral filing cabinets and a bookcase in the corner. A pink angora sweater hung from one hook on a polished mahogany coat rack. I went through the pockets—empty. The sweater smelled of an expensive perfume I couldn't place. There wasn't much for us to do here without permission from CPS or a subpoena, so we headed out.
I strolled through the County Social Service building's parking lot. Bernie had gone to track down someone from CPS and to let the Forensic Unit know we’d finished in Baker’s office. Lots of employees had access to the building. We wanted to know who had keys to the door. A member of the two-person cleaning crew had called in the crime.
I approached Officer Bates, who had been first on the scene about an hour ago. He had found Raul Gonzalez in front of the building. Gonzalez appeared to be in his mid to late 40s and wore a shabby gray T-shirt and dirty Nike sneakers. He leaned against the tan brick building as he spoke to Officer Bates.
I turned on the recorder and got out my notebook. "Mr. Gonzalez, I'm Detective Sydney Valentine. Can you tell me what happened?" Stale cigarette smoke seeped from his clothing. One of his front teeth was missing, the others stained.
Gonzalez eyed the Sig Sauer in my shoulder harness, then peered at Officer Bates, who gave a slight nod. "Sí. I move wet floor sign in hall and stair."
"What time was that?"
"Uh, maybe six o'clock? I am not sure." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I have many floor to do." He scratched the gray stubble on his chin. His nails were bitten to the quick and his fingers calloused.
"What time do you start work here?"
"Five-thirty P.M. Before the guard leave because I have no key."
"Does anyone help you clean the building?”
"My brother. He stay home yesterday."
"You cleaned alone?"
"Sí."
"Had you already mopped the stairs where you found the body?"
"Sí. Earlier." He nodded vigorously. "I come back to get sign."
"Did you get the signs before you found the body?"
"I start to pick up sign, then I see mess." He slid his hands in his pockets. "I got mad..." He lowered his eyes. "I clean there already. I want to go home to see soccer game." He glanced at me, then away. "I did not know."
"Okay. Did you walk down the stairs?"
"A little." He lifted one shoulder and gave me a worried look. "To see why there was mess."
"Did you get as far as the body?"
"No. I..." His brow furrowed. He nodded. "Sí," he said reluctantly. "I did." He looked past me.
"What did you do next?"
"I run up step. I fall."
"Did you recognize her?"
"Sí. I empty her garbage in her office. Sometime she still there."
"Did you see her in her office last night?"
"No." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But, maybe she there. I see light on in there."
"Did you see her leave last night?"
Another head shake. "No." He looked around the parking lot again.
"Is something wrong?" I watched him.
"I'm okay." He rubbed his face. "She was nice lady."
"All right. Thank you, Mr. Gonzalez." I got his contact information, scanned the parking lot and looked to the north at the snow-covered mountains. Gorgeous morning for a murder. Way too gorgeous. I continued to scan the parking lot. I observed a uniformed officer in a discussion with a woman. The woman waved her arms about and stood in a defensive manner. I hurried toward them. The woman, stylish in a dark green pantsuit, tapped one of her low-heeled spectator pumps. A battered and overstuffed brown briefcase sat next to her feet. When she spotted me, she turned her attention my way, hands on her hips.
"Can someone tell me what's going on? Why can't I go inside?"
"I'm Detective Sydney Valentine." I pushed my jacket away from the shield clipped to my belt. "And you are?"
"I'm Carmen Delgado."
"What's your reason for being here, Ms. Delgado?"
"Mrs." Her eyes snapped. "I'm a CSS supervisor with Child Protective Services." She narrowed her eyes. "What's going on?"
"We're investigating a crime. Is this the time you normally arrive?"
"Yes, give or take a half hour or so, depending on traffic."
From my sister, MacKenzie, who's a CSS social worker, I knew they worked four 10-hour days and had Fridays off. However, their ten-hour days could turn into twelve hours or more since they spent a lot of time on the road doing home and school visits.
"Do you normally work Fridays?"
"Sometimes, but I try not to." Her lips thinned briefly. "It's inevitable with budget cuts and increased workloads though." She sighed. "I come in on my days off to get work done or I'll never catch up. Are you going to tell me what happened in there?"
"Someone died in the building."
"Oh, my God! I thought there was some type of theft or vandalism. Who died?"
"Ann Baker. Did you know her?"
She gasped. "I do. What happened?" Her lips quivered.
"We're trying to determine that. When was the last time you saw her?"
Her eyes had moistened and she swiped at a tear easing from the corner of her eye. "Yesterday. Before I left for the evening."
"What time was that?"
She looked to the sky and bit her lip. "I had a 5:30 appointment, so I believe it was about 5:10, maybe quarter after."
"Where did you see her?"
She sniffled as she dug through her purse. "Downstairs. I got off the elevator and she was coming through the front door."
"Did you talk to her?"
"We just said good night. Her hands were full and she was rushing. I held the elevator for her." She removed a Kleenex and blew her nose.
"What was she carrying?"
"Let me think." She closed her eyes, then bowed her head. More tears had trickled out when she looked up. "She had her purse, a pile of files, and a briefcase."
"Was she alone?"
"Yes."
"Does she work evenings?"
"We all do if we're doing our jobs. There's a guard at the front desk that lets people in during the day. Well, they're not technically guards in the sense that they patrol the building. They just sit at the desk to sign visitors in and out." She shrugged. "They work nine to six."
"It's not nine yet and you're here. Who lets people in before then?"
"Someone in Facilities sits at the guard desk until the guard comes. Some of us have keys to the outside doors to the building. Others swipe their card keys for some of the inside doors that have restricted access. The main doors are automatic with sensors. No card key is needed once the building opens."
"How do the guards or people in Facilities know who's allowed in, even with an employee ID badge?"
"After we show our badge they're supposed to check it against the list kept at the desk. They don't always do that though. If they recognize you, they'll buzz you in without checking the list."
"Where does the list come from?"
"HR. If there's a termination or resignation, that person's name is removed from the list. If there are no changes the list remains the same, but it'll show the current date so the guard knows it's current." She pursed her lips. "I guess if someone didn't return their badge, they'd still be allowed in, if the guard didn't check the list."
I requested the names of those responsible for monitoring the desk, but she didn't know everyone's last name. She gave me the Personnel Director's phone number. Her name was
Edith Jones. "Is there any other way to enter or leave the building?"
"There are doors on the sides."
"Can you show me?" I made a quick sketch of the outside of the building as we walked around the left corner. I'd been here before and knew it was an open square. The four wings surrounded a center courtyard with concrete planter boxes and benches. Employees often went there for breaks and lunches when the weather was decent. Three brown dumpsters lined the west side. It stank of rotten food and urine.
"There." She pointed to a battered gray metal door with no doorknob on the outside. I marked the door's location on my drawing, along with the dumpsters.
"Please stay here." I walked closer to the door, tiptoeing around cigarette butts, candy and gum wrappers. "Smoking is prohibited on county government property."
"Right." She rolled her eyes. "People sneak out these doors and do it anyway. When you end up working outside your scheduled work hours you feel a sense of entitlement."
I nodded. "Excuse me." I called dispatch to request a uniformed officer to secure the area. I also called the Forensic Unit techs. Carmen showed me a similar door located on the east side of the building. I’d opened that door from the stairwell. We walked to the front parking lot and I asked her to walk through Baker's office with me. We went upstairs after she placed her belongings in the trunk of her car.
After signing the log and pulling on rubber gloves and booties, we entered Baker's office. The Forensic Unit had come and gone. It was a small office. "Except for the fingerprint residue, is this the way it normally looks?" I asked.
She pursed her lips. "Pretty much."
"Did she do any work in here? It's so organized."
"Well, that was Ann. Everything in its place." She skimmed her hand across the desk. “Does her sister know?"
"The coroner's office will contact her." I pointed to the briefcase under the desk. "Is that the one she had when you saw her?"
"I think so. I never saw her with anything else." She picked it up and popped it open. "Hmm. It's unlocked and it's a mess."
I peeked inside. The papers were in disarray. "Does she lock it, as far as you know?"
"I can't imagine her leaving it unlocked. I keep files for cases in mine. It looks like she does...did...too. Confidential stuff." She observed the perfectly aligned pencils and pens on the desk, and smiled.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 1
