Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  "He's getting bigger every time I see him." He sat on the bench. "Thanks for letting me go." He looked every bit the proud papa.

  "Does Veronica know about this?" I asked.

  "Hell, nah!" He scowled. "She'd kill me!" Or kill Beatrice, I thought.

  "Tenley, why do you think she doesn't know?" Bernie asked. "Don't you get papers from CPS in the mail?"

  Tenley stared at Bernie as if he'd never met him. He frowned. "I hide the CPS mail. Jamie was born before I met Veronica."

  Bernie sighed. "And you think she doesn't know."

  "She ain't tell me she know."

  "Do you have reunification services?" I asked.

  "Used to, but...the drugs. I get supervised visits."

  "Forever?" Bernie asked.

  "Until he adopted. But, maybe with Beatrice gone they give me another chance?"

  "Okay. We won't keep you any longer. Thank you." I turned to leave. "You seemed sure that Veronica knows about Beatrice and Jamie," I said to Bernie.

  "I just don't believe he's as clever as he thinks he is."

  "And that gives us motive, again," I said.

  "For Menifee, but what about Baker and Judge Franklin?"

  I didn't have the answer, but I felt like we'd turned a corner today.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back at my desk at the station, I read more of the CPS documents on Menifee. I'd found the information on Jamie Menifee in Baker's notes. Camps had been right. I'd put aside everything except her therapy sessions with Camps. She'd told Camps she believed Tenley was the father of her son, but she'd never had it confirmed. A picture of Jamie was included in the report. The lanky boy had curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin the color of peanut shells.

  "Who's that?" Bernie leaned over my shoulder.

  I tapped the picture. "Jamie Menifee."

  "Didn't give him Tenley's last name. Looks like a younger Tenley, though." He scratched his chin. "You see it?"

  I squinted. "Nope."

  Bernie took the picture. "Yeah, I think so."

  I began filling out an affidavit for a search warrant form to have a buccal swab taken of Jamie's mouth. "This is for Jamie. Can you do one for Tenley?"

  "On it. We might not need it, though." He strolled back to his desk, whistling.

  The next day, we found out the search warrant for Jamie's DNA test had been granted. We headed to the foster family's home in Moreno Valley.

  I read the address we'd been given. "Get off at the Perris Boulevard exit."

  Bernie merged over and drove down the ramp. "Right or left at the light?"

  "Make a left." I told him the address.

  "Oh, I know where it is." He made a few turns, then went down a residential street. "This is it."

  Toys cluttered the lawn. The sound of children playing drifted from the backyard. Bernie rang the doorbell. An older Mexican woman opened the door. "Yes?"

  Bernie showed his ID. "I'm Detective Bernard and this is Detective Valentine." He reached in his pocket and came up empty. "Syd?"

  I stepped up and handed her the search warrant. "We have a search warrant to get DNA from Jamie Menifee. We just need to swab the inside of his mouth."

  She stared at the warrant, gave us a brief, wary look, then turned away. "Miguel!" She said something in Spanish. A middle-aged man came to the door and took the paper from her. He read it, then peered at us, nodded, and even smiled.

  "Please. Come in. Jamie is in the back. This way." He led us to the backyard. "Jamie is over there. By the slide." He pointed.

  I glanced at Bernie, who'd been staring at me. "I see it now." I nodded. Jamie was playing with an African-American boy with buzzed hair, making roads for toy trucks in a pile of sand. He looked like a young Tenley with a tan. Did Tenley not see it? If his wife ever saw the boy, she'd know Jamie was Tenley's son. The shape of his face, the eyes, even the way he moved was Tenley. "Let's do it."

  Miguel rounded up Jamie, brought him inside where we waited.

  Bernie held up the swab. "Jamie, I'm going to rub this inside your mouth, okay? It won't hurt."

  Jamie stared at Miguel, his eyes wary.

  "Open your mouth, Jamie. It's okay," Miguel said.

  Jamie opened his mouth wide and we did what we came there to do. He was a nice kid, puzzled by us, but cooperative. As soon as we were done, he bolted back outside to his game. Five kids under the age of twelve were playing in that backyard, sounding happy. As foster homes go, this seemed like a nice one. Not all of them are. We thanked Miguel and the woman and took the swab to the station.

  We left for the Harringtons’ home after sending the swab to the lab. As we turned onto their street, Cynthia rounded the corner heading toward their home. She was walking the Labrador puppies. Once the pups noticed us, they scampered over.

  I kneeled and rubbed their chubby tummies. "Hi there. Look how big you two are." I peered at Cynthia, who had flushed cheeks and a broad smile. She glowed. She wore Capri leggings and Keds sneakers. Her dress had been more casual each time we'd stopped by. Interesting.

  "I try to get at least one walk in every day." She patted her chest and gasped for air. "I've lost six pounds since I've had them. I even joined a Pilates class." Who was this person?

  "You all look like you're having a good time," I said.

  "Did you decide to keep them after all?" Bernie had knelt to pet them. They put their big wet paws on his slacks and he laughed.

  "Down! I'm sorry, Detective." Cynthia tugged on the leashes. "Yes, I decided to keep them. The company is delightful and it gives me something to do." She started walking toward the house. "Please, come inside. I need to get them some water."

  We followed her inside and sat in the same chairs in the great room while she cared for the pups. She came back several minutes later carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade. I watched the condensation run down the sides. The ice cubes sparkled. She'd placed a glass stirrer in each and a lemon slice clung to the rims. Until now, I hadn't realized I was thirsty. She picked up two glasses.

  "Lemonade? It's fresh-squeezed." She handed a glass to each of us.

  I sipped mine, but wanted to gulp. "Thank you," we said in perfect unison.

  "Now, you're here to give me an update?" She leaned back on the sofa, crossing her legs. "Is there anything new?"

  I placed my glass on a coaster on the coffee table. "Mrs. Harrington, we're making progress, but there hasn't been an arrest yet."

  She nodded. "All right. Do you have any potential suspects?"

  "We can't discuss that. We'll let you know when we've made an arrest," Bernie said.

  "What was your husband's relationship like with your sister?" I asked.

  She stared at her glass as she stirred her lemonade. The stirrer tinkled on the sides of the glass like wind chimes. We waited. "As I mentioned before, they'd had an affair a number of years ago." She looked up.

  Bernie and I nodded. "Go on," I said.

  "Well, he admitted something to me, after much prodding on my part, I might add." She replaced her glass on the coffee table and studied us. "They'd had an encounter since then."

  Bernie frowned. "Are you saying they had a one-night stand?"

  "That's what I'm saying. Yes."

  "When?" I asked.

  "He said it was last year, but I suspect it was more recent than that. And more than the one time."

  "Has something else happened?" Bernie asked.

  "It was the call from Annie. He said he couldn't remember the conversation." She shook her head. "I don't believe that. He doesn't forget much."

  "Why are you telling us this now?" I asked.

  "I asked him to leave. I need to think. Without him."

  My eyebrows shot up. "When did this happen?"

  "A few days after you were last here." She shrugged. "We're seeing a marriage and family therapist." Her eyes filled. "I will never know what happened between them. Quite honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to."

  "I'm sorry." I didn't know
what to say to her. She was better off without him, but she wouldn't be ready to hear that yet. Wasn't my place to tell her, anyway.

  Bernie coughed. "We'll let you know when we have a suspect in custody."

  "Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Harrington," I said. We left, got back in our car with Bernie behind the wheel.

  "I bet you're not surprised about his infidelity again." Bernie backed down the driveway.

  "Of course not. Are you?"

  "Not at all." He stopped at the end of the driveway. "Why don't we stop by Tenley's to see if he'll give us a swab without a search warrant?"

  "Sure. I'm game." So, off we went.

  Bernie parked in our usual visitor space near the leasing office. I rounded the corner toward the stairs leading to Tenley's apartment and ran right into his bony chest.

  "Detective Cupid!"

  "Hey, Tenley," I said. "Do you have a minute?"

  "Always got a minute for you, Detective Cupid." He winked, then noticed Bernie. "And Detective Cupid's partner." He laughed.

  "Right." Bernie pulled the consent form from his pocket. "Can we step into your apartment, please?"

  "Okay." Tenley sprinted up the steps, two at a time, then unlocked the door. We all went in and sat on his filthy furniture. I didn't smell weed this time. No beer bottles sat on the table. The place looked tidy. In fact, Tenley did, too.

  "We'd like your consent for a DNA test."

  "Huh? DNA?" He leaned away, narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

  "We want to determine if you're Jamie's biological father," I said. "We need your permission to do the swab and DNA test."

  Tenley patted his pocket. "For child support?"

  "I don't know about that. It's part of our investigation," I said.

  "Why did you ask about child support?" Bernie asked.

  "I hit the Lotto!" Tenley patted his pocket again. "I'm gonna be rich." He grinned broadly.

  "Congratulations," I said. So much for fairness in life. I've won like maybe five bucks in the Lotto in the last ten years and he hits the jackpot? Sheesh.

  "Maybe I'll do something for Jamie."

  Bernie pushed the consent form toward him. "All right. We just need you to sign this." He gave Tenley a pen.

  Tenley picked up the document and read it, or pretended to. He signed it, then placed the pen on top and slid them both back to Bernie. "How long it take to come back?"

  Bernie shrugged. "It depends on the backlog. Could be a few weeks."

  "Where do I go to get the test?"

  "Bernie will swab the inside of your mouth now and then it will get sent out to a lab for processing," I said.

  Bernie pulled out the swab kit from his jacket. He swabbed Tenley's mouth, dropped the stick into the tube, and sealed it. "That's all there is to it."

  "What about Jamie?" asked Tenley.

  "We swabbed him already," Bernie said.

  "Maybe you should think about the money, seriously, in case he's your biological son," I said.

  "Like open a bank account?"

  "For starters." I didn't have much hope that this guy was going to do anything but drink it up and buy weed with the rest, but I guess miracles can happen. "Maybe get some investment advice. My sister's husband is an accountant. He might be able to help, or at least point you in the right direction."

  Tenley nodded. "Okay." He reached in his pocket and pulled out the ticket. He kissed it.

  "Did you sign it yet?" Bernie asked. "I heard that's what you should do first."

  Tenley examined the back, smiled, and turned it over and showed us. He'd signed it. I don't know why, but that surprised me. I found myself rooting for him. Hey, maybe he wouldn't blow it all in an instant. He was growing on me, I suppose.

  "Are we done?" Tenley hopped up. "I was gonna go cash it in."

  "We're done." Bernie stood and walked to the door. "How much did you win?"

  "Almost two hundred thousand dollars!" He bounced on his toes and led us out.

  "I'll call you with the information I get from my brother-in-law. Congratulations."

  "Thank you, Detective Cupid. You all right." He smiled.

  I returned the smile, feeling a little bitter about it, though.

  As we walked to the car, I thought about what Tenley had said the other day about him getting another chance at reunification services. CPS wouldn't have checked DNA since both he and Beatrice indicated he was Jamie's father. His name was on the birth certificate as well. Although this wasn't part of the investigation, I'd planned to speak to Mac about whether there was a way for him to complete his services. First, we needed to confirm he was Jamie's biological father.

  "Well, I think we're done for the day. I know I am. By the way, I'll be a little late for work tomorrow. Doctor's appointment." Bernie tossed me the keys. “You can drive.”

  When we returned to the station, we dropped off the DNA kit. Once off-duty, I called Mac, then headed over to her house. I had dinner with them and talked to Mike about Tenley's need for financial advice. Mike was glad to help and gave me his business card and the card of the financial advisor they used. While Mike got Josh ready for his bath, I sat with Mac. She looked better than she'd looked the last time I saw her. Her hair still left room for improvement, but she looked less drained. She had another drawing on her cast.

  "Josh?" I pointed to it.

  "Of course." She smiled. "My little Picasso."

  I laughed. "I have a hypothetical situation for you. A CPS question."

  "What is it?" She leaned forward.

  "If a parent's reunification services were terminated, is there a way to get it started again?"

  She tightened her lips. "Well, I've had cases like that."

  "What happened?"

  "Is this a hypothetical or is this a real problem?"

  "It's real. One of the people we interviewed was in a reunification program, but was terminated from it."

  "And she wants another chance?"

  "He. The mother of the child died. The dad, well we don't know yet if he's the biological father, but he wants to try again."

  "Typically, there's no going back once they've been terminated. Are they moving to terminate parental rights?"

  I shrugged. "Is that the norm?"

  "Well, if someone's going to adopt, I'd think that would be the next step. I've seen parents go in and out of rehab and some type of services though. The state doesn't want to keep children with a foster family if there's any chance that a family member can take them."

  "What if they won't offer him services again? Will he lose his son?"

  "Not necessarily. Sometimes, the parent could do the therapy, parenting classes, or whatever on their own. They'd have to pay for them though."

  "Oh." I started to feel bad for Tenley. And Jamie. Then, I remembered the Lotto win.

  "Does he have the money to pay for what he needs to do? They usually don't...or won't."

  "He just won some money in the Lotto."

  "He's the one you were talking about at dinner?"

  "He is."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Why is the child in foster care?"

  "The mom was leaving him alone. Partying. Drugs."

  "And why does the dad need reunification services?"

  "Drugs. I'd say immaturity, too. I don't know."

  "Oftentimes, when someone abuses drugs at a young age they remain that age." Mac didn't sound hopeful.

  "In other words, they never grow up."

  "Not unless they make a real effort to do so. Extensive therapy can help some people."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Arriving at the station early the next morning, I decided to read Judge Franklin's cases. I separated those related to parents who'd had their parental rights terminated over the past six months. What I read told me these parents had had many chances and some still hadn't gotten it together. Their priorities clearly hadn't included their children.

  After a lot of reading, I couldn't find a connection between the parental rights
terminations and the homicides. I wouldn't have expected Menifee to be one of the victims if parental rights had anything to do with it. Hers were still intact. Also, Camps had said the judge was pro-parent, which meant he tended to favor giving the parents too many chances. If that had been the case, and the judge didn't terminate parental rights too often, it seemed unlikely that there would be many angry parents out to get him—and to get him in that ugly manner. However, there might have been a decision that drove a parent over the edge. Perhaps someone suitable had been willing to adopt the child in foster care and the biological parents were not advancing in their reunification efforts or their reunification services had been terminated. The parent could want vengeance.

  I wondered if any other CPS therapists and social workers thought Judge Franklin had been pro-parent. If not, perhaps Camps, alone, had an issue with him.

  Right before lunch, I began reading the ME's report for Baker. Dr. Lee estimated Baker's time of death fell between eight and midnight. Why was she still in the building that late? Carmen Delgado had told me she also worked in the building in the evenings. She also indicated that they needed to work beyond normal hours in order to keep on top of their workloads.

  Bernie thought Baker might have been leaving for the night, but we found a car key for her Honda and a work cell phone on her desk. Had she forgotten them? It's possible. But, her office lights had been on. I would think that if she had left for the night she would've turned off the lights and the little heater, even if she had forgotten her car key and cell phone. Where was she going with her purse and no car keys? What had Gonzalez said about moving the wet floor signs?

  I didn't even know where to begin with the Scrabble letters. We needed more letters, but that would mean more attacks and deaths. Not good. My chair shook and I almost leapt in the air. That's what happens when you're focused on solving a puzzle.

  "Hey, Syd." Bernie had grabbed the back of my chair and shook it again now. "How's it going?"

  "Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Where have you been?"

  "Doctor's appointment. I told you yesterday."