"Do you know Beatrice Menifee or Ann Baker?" I asked.
"No. Should I?" She tapped her foot, crossed her arms over her chest. Oh, please.
I stepped up, got in close. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but this is a homicide investigation. People are dead." I glared at her. "Got that?"
"Yeah. Sure." She rolled her eyes, glanced at the door to the store, then at her watch. "I don't know what else to tell you, but I need to get back to work."
"We'll be in touch if we have more questions." Bernie held out a business card.
She stared at it for several seconds, then reached for it. "Okay." She jogged toward the door, but turned and stared back at us before stepping through the doorway.
"That didn't go well," I said. "Let's go talk to her manager." We went back into the store and found Mr. Thomas.
He came toward us. "Is there anything else, Detectives?"
"Did Veronica Tenley work last night?" Bernie asked.
"She was here," he said. "Is she involved in this homicide you're investigating?"
"We're still investigating," I said. "Does she have to punch a time clock?"
"Yes, it's right through that door." He pointed to an 'Employees Only' door between a Chase Bank ATM and the customer restrooms. "I'll show you." We followed him. The time clock was electronic. No time cards needed, but employees could obviously punch each other in and out if they had the other person's code. The records showed that Veronica had been at work during the time of Mac's attack. Had she really been here?
"So, you don't know whether she, or anyone else, was here for their entire shift?" Bernie asked.
"No, we don't. Not every minute. It's the best we can do." He shrugged. "We considered time clocks with thumb scans, but couldn't afford them. We're a small group of stores, not a corporation."
"What time does she go to her lunch, or I guess it would be dinner break?" Bernie asked.
"They rotate from 7:30 to 9 o'clock. They get thirty minutes."
"What time did Veronica go?" I asked.
Mr. Thomas went into his office, looked at his schedule, and told us she went at 7:30. Well, it didn't seem that she would've had time to get to the scene of Mac's attack and back to work. Unless, of course, someone else punched her in, and maybe out, for her break.
"All right. Thank you, Mr. Thomas." I gave him a business card. "If you think of anything." We left the store. I spotted the red bike. She must’ve gone home on her break to pick it up.
"How about Denny's next?" Bernie said. "According to Tenley, Josie's supposed to be there."
"Sure. I'll drive."
We went to the Denny's where Josie had told us she worked. Once we spoke to the manager, we waited outside on the corner of the building, away from the entrance. He brought her to us.
"Hello, Josie. I'm Detective Valentine and this is Detective Bernard. We spoke to you at Charles Tenley's apartment." We showed our IDs to her.
"Yeah, I remember." She leaned on the building.
"Why did CPS remove your son from your home?" Bernie asked.
"How did..." She sighed. "Oh, Chuck told you."
"Why is your son in foster care, Josie?" I asked.
"I love my son! I do!" Her eyes filled. "It's hard."
"What's hard?" Bernie asked.
"Takin' care of a kid. People don't understand." She swiped at her tears. "They don't know what I went through tryin' to do that stuff for CPS."
"And your son's father. Where is he?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know." She was mumbling. "Is that all? I gotta go back to work."
"Josie?" Bernie spoke softly. "Is Charles Tenley the father of your baby?"
Her head snapped around. "No!" She sighed. "Can I go now?"
"One more question. Did you participate in the CPS reunification program?" I asked.
"For a while. Got kicked out." She sniffled. "They make it too hard. Always changing things. They mess with you."
"When did they terminate your reunification services?" Bernie asked.
"A few months ago." She looked back at the restaurant’s entrance. "I have to go back to work. Can I?"
I nodded. "Sure. Thank you, Josie."
"Yeah." She looked down as she shuffled away.
"Wow." I didn't know what to think about that. "That's sad. For Ricky."
"He's young. Maybe he'll get adopted."
"You're naïve." I scoffed. "I might be wrong, but I don't think children of color get adopted out of foster care as easily as white children."
"She made it all about her," Bernie said. "Did you notice that?"
"That's the problem. Selfishness." I headed to the car.
"Selfish people shouldn't have children," Bernie said.
I slid into the driver's seat. "We should see what we can dig up on Josie." I started to drive, then slapped the steering wheel. "Hey, can you check to see if my car is finished?" Bernie called the garage and they told him my car was ready. It was about time. We decided to go to the station, pick up Mac's car and return it to her. Bernie would follow me in his car, then drive us to the garage to pick up my car. A mobile glass repair company had already replaced the windshield and the guys at the garage repaired my flat tires. I felt like we were maybe making progress with the case. I hoped so, anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
Soon after picking up my car, I pulled into Mac's driveway. I rang the doorbell and the doorknob turned moments later. Locks engaged and disengaged, then the doorknob turned again. The door opened and Josh tumbled out.
"Aunt Syd!" I scooped him up and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He smelled like strawberries. The kid always seemed to smell like fruit. I set him down and he scampered inside.
"Hi, Syd." Mike had been standing behind Josh. "Mac's inside watching TV." He waved me in. "I'll be in the family room if you need me."
Mac was sitting in the corner of the sofa, her broken arm propped up on pillows. Her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail and she wore no make-up. She looked pale and I noticed more freckles since the last time I'd seen her barefaced. I didn't often see Mac that way. She was always 'done up', as I liked to call it.
She lifted a hand in greeting. "Mike's not much good at doing my hair." She pointed to her ponytail and shrugged. "And forget makeup. I don't care about that now, anyway." Mac patted the sofa cushion. "Have a seat."
"It looks okay." I lied. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I sat next to her on the sofa. Gently.
"Yes, it does. A little. I have pain medication, but they make me tired."
Josh, who'd been sitting on the floor near the TV, hopped up and bounded across the room. "Aunt Syd! Look what I wrote on Mommy's cast." He pointed to his name. The 'J' was backwards.
"That's nice, Josh. Good job!" I put my palm up for a high-five and he leapt up and slapped it.
"Mommy, show Aunt Syd my drawing!" He tried to lift Mac's arm, but she had to help. "Look!" He pointed to something that looked like a truck to me.
"It's a dump truck. I love it." I smiled.
He poked his bottom lip out and scowled at me. "It's a turtle."
I turned my head sideways. "Oh! Yes, it is. I see that now." I didn't, but I put him on my lap and squeezed him. "And you drew a pretty flower next to him."
He scowled again. "That's a butterfly." He scooted from my lap and hopped like a bunny into the family room to join Mike.
I shrugged. "How long will you have to wear that?" I pointed to the cast. It looked heavy and awkward.
"They told me six to eight weeks." She adjusted her arm on the pillows.
"Do you need anything? Something to drink?" I looked around. "More pillows? A hairstylist?" I laughed.
"I know." She laughed and patted her stray strands, tried to shove them into the ponytail holder. "It's okay. He tried." She shook her head, then laughed again.
It was good to see her in good spirits. "I'm glad you're going to be okay."
"Me, too." She sighed, then brightened. "Did Mik
e tell you I thought the bike was burgundy?"
"Yes, he did. It might help. We don't have a suspect yet."
"Do you think it's connected to your homicide cases? The CPS murders?"
"Yeah, I think it's connected."
Mac nodded. "I thought so." Her eyes closed briefly, then opened slowly. She really was tired.
"I'm going to let you get some rest." I leaned in, gave her a hug. "I should see Josh before I go."
She waved me away. "No, he's fine. I thought the turtle was a truck, too. He drew it while I was asleep. Surprise!" She gave me a weak smile.
"See you later." I turned to go, but heard her start to get up. "Don't." I pushed my hand downward the way people do when they're telling a dog to stay. "Stay where you are. I'll lock the door."
"All right." She plopped back down.
"See you later." I headed for the door.
"Syd?"
I turned. "Yeah?"
"Get the sonofabitch that did this to me." She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes.
I stared at her. Blinked. She rarely cusses. "You bet I will." I twisted the lock on both the inside door and security door on my way out. I took a deep breath and let it out. "That's my girl."
The next day, I sat at my desk in the squad room drinking green tea. We had received the ME report for Franklin. He'd suffered a coronary and a massive loss of blood. The Scrabble letters in his mouth were 'E' and 'I'. I browsed through the CSS information we had on Menifee. Camps' notes indicated Beatrice had missed several therapy sessions. She'd tested positive for meth at least once. She'd had six months of reunification services in the beginning. She'd made enough progress for them to extend her services for another six months. Her child's name was James, but was referred to as Jamie in the notes. There was no mention of the father of her child. Why was Jamie in foster care and not with his father? Bernie came in and I asked him if he'd read anything about Jamie's father. He hadn't seen anything either. I suggested we take another trip to CSS and ask in person. We headed out, with Bernie driving.
It took us an hour to get to CSS. It would've normally taken thirty to forty-five minutes during that time of day. There'd been a three-car accident and one of the disabled vehicles hadn't been cleared yet. As we passed it, it appeared the California Highway Patrol had the situation under control, so we cruised by. We entered the building and approached the guards' alcove to sign in. Homer Cooper was on duty, replacing Barbara, I assumed.
"Hi-ya, folks." He waved.
I signed in first. "Hello, Mr. Cooper." I liked him. "How are you today?"
"Good. That gal...your other partner..." He scratched his head and frowned. "The black girl."
"Detective Sinclair?" I asked.
He slapped the counter, pointed at me. "Right. She told me her granny used peppermint oil on her hip."
"Yes." I nodded. "I remember that."
"Well, it worked for me. Tell that gal I said thank you. Will ya do that for me?"
"Sure. She'll be happy to hear it."
Bernie cleared his throat. "Mr. Cooper, we're here to see Mark Camps."
"Go on up." He pointed to the elevator, then eased back into his chair. I swore I heard his bones creaking.
The elevator door slid open on the second floor and a woman walked on and bumped into Bernie, then bounced back into the hall.
"Oh! Excuse me," she said. It was Fran Camps. She wore a floral knee-length dress and pink pumps. How spring-like. It matched her light floral scented perfume. Jasmine, maybe. Camps stood in the hall, hands on his hips. He must've walked her to the elevator.
"Detectives. You remember my wife, Fran."
"Yes, excuse me, Mrs. Camps." Bernie stepped into the hall and held the elevator door open for her.
"It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention." She scooted past him into the elevator. "Bye, honey. Don't forget about our date." She smiled and gave Camps a three-fingered wave. I expected her to say 'toot-a-loo' with a Southern accent. The elevator doors slid shut.
Camps turned to us. "What can I do for you, Detectives?" We followed him back to his office. Bankers Boxes cluttered his desk and floor. His disconnected computer cables dangled over the desk edge. His printer sat on one of his guest chairs. He'd moved the other guest chair to a corner.
"Going somewhere?" I asked.
"I was promoted." He pulled his desk drawer open, and removed staples, pens, and paper clips. He dropped them into a small box.
"Oh, yeah?" Bernie asked. "What's your new job?"
"I'll be a supervisor now." He continued packing.
"Is that Ann Baker's old job?" I asked.
"Sort of. It's a different title, but it's the same job duties, basically."
"They move fast, don't they?" Bernie moved the empty guest chair closer to the desk.
"I don't think you're here to talk about my career aspirations. What can I do for you?"
"I've read your notes about Beatrice Menifee's therapy and drug issues." I sat on the corner of his desk. "I didn't see anything about her son's father."
Camps nodded. "Yes. Ms. Menifee wasn't forthcoming, initially, about him or any other family members."
"Initially?" Bernie started writing in his notebook. "Meaning she did eventually talk about him or her family?"
“Yes.” He sighed, then sat. "Initially, she didn't want her family to know her son was in foster care."
"Why not?" Bernie looked up.
"The shame. It happens often." He pushed pencils and markers into a pile. "Typically, parents in her situation give little thought to what the child is experiencing. Fear and confusion. Living with strangers."
"Yeah, we get it," I said.
"The information on her child's father is in the files you've received."
Bernie frowned. "No, it isn't."
"I'm sure it is. You have everything that I have."
"Well, I'm telling you it isn't there." I stood and leaned on the desk. "Can you please check your files again?" I waved my hand over the boxes. "You can check your system, right?" I stared at his unplugged computer and shook my head.
"Just tell us his name." Bernie sighed. "Don't you know it?"
"I can't remember his name." He turned his palms up and shrugged. "I have a lot of cases."
"All right. Who has the authority to get into the system to tell us his name?" I asked.
"Carmen Delgado can help you."
"Before we go, can you tell us if the father has visitation with the child?" Bernie asked.
"I can't remember the details of every case, but I think so."
Bernie sighed. "Where's Carmen Delgado's office?"
"Make a right out the door. Her office is down—"
“I know the way.” I headed for the door. “Thanks.” For nothing. I was in a foul mood. He didn't know anything. We walked down the hall. "I hope she's more on the ball than he was."
"I don't know how she could be any less on the ball than him. But, in all fairness, I think they have hundreds of cases." Bernie, the damn optimist.
"Yeah. Mac said the budget's been cut and workers were laid off. The rest had their workload increased." I shrugged. "Okay, I guess I can cut him some slack. I'm not that happy about it though." I wanted to growl, but thought better of it since we were walking amongst those who work in the mental health profession. Bernie would let them take me away, screaming and kicking.
We reached Carmen Delgado's office and she wasn't there. "Now what?" Bernie asked. "Her light's off."
"Is her computer on?"
He stepped into her office and peeked around her desk. "Nope." We got back on the elevator, headed downstairs.
As we rounded the corner, we saw someone we both knew bopping toward us. "Detective Cupid!"
"Tenley. What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Just visiting."
"Who are you visiting?" Bernie asked.
"Jamie." He headed toward a glass door and reached for it.
"Hold on, Tenley." I put my hand out to stop
him. "How are you able to see Beatrice's son?"
"The court said I could." He reached for the door again.
"Are you his father?" Bernie asked.
"My name is on the birth certificate."
"That doesn't answer the question. Now, does it?" Bernie placed his hands on his hips.
"What was the question?" Tenley shifted from one foot to the other, looking away.
"Are you Jamie's father?" I asked.
He sighed. "Yes and no." He looked inside the door he'd tried to enter. "Can we talk later? My appointment."
"What the hell does yes and no mean?" Bernie stood near the door.
"She didn't want his real father's name on the birth certificate."
"Why not?" I was getting impatient.
"Said he was an asshole. Didn't want nothin' to do with him." He peeked at his watch. "I'm gonna miss my appointment."
"How long is your appointment?" I asked.
"One hour." He glanced at his watch. "I missed time talking to you though."
"Go ahead." I pulled the door open for him. "We'll wait out here for you." I watched him walk to the receptionist, who was behind a protective glass wall with a speaker grate. He leaned down toward the speaker, said something to her, then signed in and sat down. There were other people in the waiting area. Some had children with them and others sat alone. Some of the children played at colorful child-sized tables. Bernie and I sat on a bench near the guards' alcove. Mr. Cooper was not at his post.
"So, what do you think about this newest bit of information?" Bernie asked.
"Why the hell didn't he tell us this when we talked to him the first time?" I stood and paced. I wanted to hit something. A young couple, wearing shabby clothing, came out of the door Tenley had gone through. The woman was crying and the man wiped his eyes.
"He'll say we didn't ask," Bernie said. "And we didn't."
"It might not matter...except." I plopped down. "What if his wife knows about Jamie?"
"He said Veronica didn't know about Menifee and Veronica told us she didn't know Menifee." Bernie turned in his seat. "But, if she did. Motive."
"Big time motive, Bernie." I grinned and nodded. "Big time motive."
The glass door finally opened and Tenley came out. He looked around. I waved him over. He was smiling.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 13
