"What about Ann Baker?"
"Detective Valentine, stop!" Camps said. "Just go."
"Did you try to kill Detective Bernard, me, and my sister?"
Todd smiled eerily and his eyes widened—lots of white showed around dilated pupils.
Where the hell was Theresa? "Why did you—"
Todd leapt across the room and hit me like a linebacker. We fell over something. He growled, eyes wild. I punched him in the face, but my aim was off. It didn't faze him. He swung and I twisted to the side. The punch grazed my shoulder. I shoved him off me. As he tumbled away, I rolled over and knelt, about to stand. He hopped up, breathing hard. He pushed me down with his foot. I fell to the floor. He stood there, bent over with his hands on his knees, still catching his breath. He grinned. I lifted my leg and brought the heel of my boot down on his bare toes. He yelped, clutched his toes, hopping until he fell to the floor.
I kept my eyes on him and removed my cuffs from my purse. "On your stomach."
He didn't budge. I grabbed his wrist, pulled it behind his back.
He narrowed his eyes. "Get. Off. Me."
I cuffed him.
Camps, pale and wide-eyed, had rolled to the edge of the room during the fight. That's self-preservation for you.
Theresa opened the door, then scanned the trashed room and the bodies on the floor. "Well, shoot. I always miss the fun. Are you okay? You're going to have a black eye tomorrow."
"I'm fine." I touched my eye and winced. "What took you so damn long?" I wanted to hit her as well.
"It wasn't that long. It's been less than five minutes."
I looked at my watch. She was right. Crap. I peeked outside. The Prius and Fiesta were in the driveway, but no Psych Unit. "ETA on the Psych Unit?"
"A few minutes. What happened in here?"
"Janey switched to Todd and he attacked me." I reached down and grabbed Camps' arm. "Help me get him on the sofa." I wanted to get to the bottom of this now. I was done messing around with these people. I checked my recorder. It had been knocked over and turned off in the fight, so I picked it up, switched it back on and sat it on the table.
"That's him?" Theresa pointed.
"Right. Camps knew about Todd. That's why he tried to get rid of us. Right, Camps?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." He wrestled with the cuffs. "Get these off me."
"Not gonna happen. You don't know what I'm talking about? Well, let me enlighten you. You knew about Rebecca, Janey, and Todd. You knew that Todd was violent."
"So?" He shrugged.
"You had information that you should've shared with us."
"I warned you. I told you to leave, but you wouldn't listen."
"Earlier, I asked you about Fran’s appointment with her doctor." I gazed at him. "Remember that?"
He stared, wary. "Yes."
I stared him down. Everyone who I ever saw drive the cars in the driveway was here, except Fran. "The doctor Fran had an appointment with today is a psychiatrist, right?"
"So what?" Camps said.
"Fran did come home from her appointment today." I glanced at Todd, then knelt down in front of him. "Fran? Fran look at me."
No response.
"Leave her alone!" Camps said. "She doesn't know anything."
Someone knocked on the door and Theresa opened it. The Psych Unit. Finally. They took Fran. I hoped she'd get the help she needed. Camps rode in the back seat of our car with Theresa. He had a lot of explaining to do.
Patricia was the first person I wanted to speak to once we returned to the station. She was led into Interrogation.
"We brought Mark Camps in for questioning." I watched her.
Her head snapped around. "What did he do?"
"You tell me." No more games.
"I don't know. When can I go home?"
"You need to level with me."
She sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"We've been over this before." I was still watching her closely. "We have Fran."
She gasped. "What? Fran didn't do anything wrong. She's a good person."
"Yeah." I leaned on the table. "Maybe Fran didn't do anything, but Todd did."
Her eyes bulged. "Oh, my God. You know."
"Now, are you going to tell me where you were that Monday night?"
She nodded. "Fran called me. She didn't know where she was."
"Where was she?"
"In Montgomery's parking lot. She said she was across the street from Walgreens. She could see it from her car. I knew where she was. I didn't know what Todd had done though. I suspected something bad happened."
"Did you see something like that happen to Fran before?"
"I saw her switch to Janey. The little girl."
"What was going on at the time?"
"We were meeting Mark for lunch one day and Fran saw that judge, the one that was killed. She wouldn't leave the car. I had to get Mark and he dealt with it."
"How did you know he was the judge that was killed?"
"Because he died that night. I saw his face on the news and remembered how Fran reacted." She put her head in her hands. "I didn't know what to do to help her." She started to cry.
"What about Rebecca? And Todd?"
She was sniffling now. "I saw Todd several times when I went to their house, but he always went away when he saw me."
"And Rebecca?"
"There were a few times when I thought she was Fran. That was soon after we were reunited. Rebecca pretended to be Fran. She tricked me. I knew something was off, but I didn't know about Rebecca, so I thought she was Fran. She's a slut. She was after Montgomery, but he didn’t know it. She had to have him because I had him. I guess Todd didn't like that. She was whoring around."
"You were willing to take the blame for what you thought Fran might have done to Mr. Harrington. Why?"
"It's my fault."
Okay. Here we go. "What's your fault?"
"I was adopted and she was left there with Cecil Franklin. The bastard abused her. I didn't protect my sister."
"You were a child yourself."
"Yes, but I left her there with him." Her eyes were dry and hard. "I should've misbehaved, so that my adoptive family would have given me back. But..." Her lip quivered and she tucked it in her mouth. "I hated living with the Franklins. I wanted out so I saved myself and left Fran behind."
"That wasn't your fault." There was more to it. "Tell me the real reason you feel so guilty."
She stared at the wall. "Mark told me Todd had been coming out more and he was afraid of losing Fran—to Todd."
"Who called Mark Camps that night in Mr. Harrington's parking lot?"
"Fran did, but he didn't answer. She had his phone by mistake and he had hers. I drove her car to their house and Mark came later. He was crazy out of his mind. He loves her so much."
"Why was Ann Baker killed?"
"For her job. Mark wanted a promotion, but she got it. He went ballistic. I think Todd killed her—for Fran. They wanted the promotion for the money to adopt or get a surrogate."
"And Judge Franklin?"
She looked away. "The day after that judge was killed Mark told me Todd was out of control. He had done something and took off after Mark helped him cover it up. I'm guessing that Rebecca was hanging out at a bar and picked up the judge. I think Todd came out and killed that judge."
Todd must've come after me after he ditched Camps. It could've been coincidental that I was in the parking lot when he rode by Starbucks. How could he have known where I was? If he was busy torturing Franklin, he wouldn't have been able to tail me, too. The Chili’s attack was another story. I don’t know what it is yet. I probably never would.
"Beatrice Menifee had a little boy. Who killed her?"
"Probably Todd. Mark told Fran about Beatrice leaving her son alone while she partied. They didn't think it was fair that someone was lucky enough to have a child, but didn't take care of him."
"How much do you think Mark knew?" A lot,
was my guess, but I wanted to hear what she had to say.
"Most of it. He had to help Fran get home sometimes. She'd switch and not know what was going on once she switched back—like she did in Montgomery's parking lot." She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "You'll never get him to say he helped her though."
Yeah. Except for Menifee, everything Camps and Todd did had been to protect Fran. Menifee was killed because she wasn't as good a mother as she could've been.
I stood and left the room, feeling old, tired, and dirty. Everybody in this filthy mess was a victim. Nobody was going to win here.
It was a hot spring day two weeks later and we were having another family barbecue at Mom and Dad's. I lay in a hammock, watching my family buzz around, preparing the meal and socializing. Josh honked the horn as he rode on a bike with training wheels. I had bought it for him today. Lizards scurried around the yard and hummingbirds zipped through the garden. I thought about the case. Camps and Patricia had to bear some responsibility, but most of it went to Franklin. Fran's dissociative identity disorder was caused by the severe abuse she received as a child.
Last week, I had given Tenley the information for my brother-in-law's financial advisor. Tenley told me he'd begun therapy and parenting classes. He had stopped getting high and used some of the Lotto winnings to enroll in graphic design courses. Once he completed his reunification services, he would have a better chance at having Jamie move in with him. His wife, Veronica, was all for it. He'd been wrong about her.
Hey, maybe something good would come from all this misery. Maybe.
I had a black eye and bruises for a few days. Bernie made a full recovery and had returned to work the previous week. He was back to being a doughnut-eating pain in the ass. He coughed up the twenty dollars because I won the bet we made about Rebecca being Fran. I guess we were both right and wrong about that. I still don't know what happened between him and Khrystal, but I'll find out eventually.
As for my love life, I'm going to be seeing Brad for dinner tomorrow. He was the TGI Friday’s guy with the condo in Laguna Beach.
We got a search warrant for the motorcycle, Scrabble game, and the weapon used to attack people. We found a red motorcycle, a baseball bat, Scrabble game and boots in a locked storage shed behind the Campses’ garage. The boots and the baseball bat had blood on them that belonged to Judge Franklin and Ann Baker. Todd had committed all of the murders and attacks.
The reason Patricia's print was on one of the letters in Harrington's pocket was that she had played Scrabble with Mark and Fran at their home. The other Scrabble letters left at the scenes had her prints also, as well as the Campses'.
Fran and Mark Camps had paid cash to get Fran's car repaired after Todd used it to run down Menifee. Rebecca had purchased the motorcycle with money the Campses had been saving to adopt a child. That's why the promotion was so important to them. Rebecca had also been the one who called Cynthia to harass her. We never found Baker's missing earring or Rolex.
Ziploc bags already filled with Scrabble letters had also been found in the storage shed. The letters were 'O', 'E', 'T', 'D', 'H', and 'C'.
Together, with the letters we already had, they spelled 'PROTECT THE CHILDREN'.
Yeah, I get that.
THE END
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Criminal Negligence
A Sydney Valentine Mystery
Danielle Lenee Davis
To SRD: You are talented, creative, intelligent, cute, and the funniest person I know. I love you.
Chapter One
I peered into the empty hot tub and gasped. The victim lay sprawled on her back. Her medium-length pale-blond hair clung to the congealed blood trailing from her crushed nose. Extensive swelling added to her facial injuries. Blood spatter had dried on her white tank top and matching jeans. She wore one black calf-high boot with a spike heel. The other boot lay on the patio near the hot tub. Her slim bruised arm reached toward a digital camera that had fallen just out of reach. I swallowed and held my wrist to my nose as I swatted at the flies buzzing around the area.
The hot tub, about the size of a compact car, sat below the ground level. A concrete bench encircled it.
A gardener who’d come to tend the yard had discovered the body. He’d noticed the boot and investigated. When he found her, he called us, the San Sansolita PD. I, Detective Sydney Valentine, had been dispatched.
One of the uniformed officers had found the patio door open, done a walk-through inside, and seen nothing suspicious. Nobody responded when the officer called out. Another officer had interviewed a neighbor, who believed the house to be empty. He’d said the Moore family owned the property and that it was on the market. However, he admitted he’d recently been out of town and the house could have sold while he was gone.
I drifted away and walked around the edge of the adjacent pool. My partner, Detective Russell “Bernie” Bernard, spoke to Graham, one of the forensic techs, near the hot tub. The clear, still pool water smelled of heavy chlorination. Although it was still early in the afternoon, the sky had darkened and palm fronds swayed in the warm breeze. An outdoor kitchen with a massive grill took up the opposite side of the patio. I approached Bernie on my way to the patio door.
“I’m going to take a look around. You coming?” The neighbor had said the house had five bedrooms. I went inside and headed for the wide marble staircase. The filigree of the wrought-iron spindles made an interesting combination with the marble. The staircase appeared sturdy, yet elegant, and even delicate in some ways. The wrought iron was also cold when combined with the marble. No warmth there for me. The stairs curved toward the left, and the railing continued along the second floor. I looked down and watched everyone below. Nice view.
Bernie caught up with me. “What do you think about all of this?”
I shook my head. “No clue. It’s odd.” We passed a loft area with built-in bookcases. I was thinking seriously about buying a house. I made enough to buy a house, not anything like this one, but I could get something bigger and nicer than the apartment I currently called home. Heck, even Bernie owns a condo.
Bernie looked in the hall closet. “Empty.”
I went in the room across the hall and opened the closet. “Same here.”
Voices exploded from downstairs. I rushed out of the room and joined Bernie in the hall. We ran through the hall and down the steps toward the commotion.
“I will not be treated this way! I own this house!” A man built like a beach ball, wearing little round glasses, rolled toward us. A red-faced Officer Reed trailed behind him. Here we go.
“May I see some ID?” I held my hand toward Mr. Beach Ball, looking down at his comb-over. Beads of sweat covered his face, and his nostrils flared.
“Who are you, and what happened?” Mr. Beach Ball puffed out his chest.
Yeah, that’s intimidating. “I’m Detective Valentine, and this is Detective Bernard.” I showed him my badge. “And you are?”
“I’m Dr. Moore. As I said, I own this house. I demand to know what happened.”
Demand? Hunh. I glanced at Reed. “ID?”
He shook his head, shrugged, then looked away.
&
nbsp; “All right. Back to your post.”
Bernie turned to Moore. “Mr. Moore, we’ll need to see some ID.”
“What happened to the real estate agency sign in the yard? And the lockbox?” Moore removed his glasses and wiped his face with a crisp monogrammed handkerchief he’d plucked from his back pocket.
“Mr. Moore, your ID?” Bernie held out his hand and sighed.
“Doctor Moore.” He slid his driver’s license from his wallet and shoved it toward Bernie. The handkerchief went back into his pocket.
“Right.” Bernie read it then gave it to me.
Outside the open patio door, Graham waved Bernie over.
Harold Moore’s license showed he had a Palm Springs address. I tapped it. “Is this your primary residence?” I wrote it down in the notebook I’d pulled from my pocket.
“Yes. This house used to be a rental, but we’re selling it. You still haven’t told me what happened.” Moore leaned sideways, in an attempt to look around me toward the back of the house.
“Are you married, Dr. Moore?” I returned his license and noted his behavior.
“What does that have to do with anything?” He looked at his feet, probably not actually seeing them because his belly obscured the view.
I glanced at him, pen ready. “Just a question.”
“I don’t see how that matters.” His gaze darted around the room. “When is someone going to tell me what happened here? I have a right to know.”
I studied his body language.
He crossed his arms over his stomach, locking his hands. “Fine. I’m married.”
“Who has access to this house?”
“My wife, me, and the real estate agency.”
“Which agency?”
He gave me the agent’s business card: Monica Stewart, of Frakes Realty. I wrote down her information and returned the card to him.
“We’ll need to talk to your wife, too. Where is she?”
“Joan’s out of town.”
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 22
