Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1)

by Lala Corriere

  “No. I gave some to my neighbors and a few friends. The rest went to the station.”

  “No one got sick?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Then, a weakened voice. “Oh. I get your drift. The answer is still no.”

  WHAT THE HELL WAS I thinking? Jessica had never sent a report to me. I still didn’t know how long it took for chloral hydrate to kick in. I did a quick Internet search. The drug begins reacting within thirty minutes.

  I called David Manning and told him to get a team over to the news station kitchen. Pronto. Michael Scores made up his special energy juice using a powder he brought from home. He kept it in an apothecary jar in a cupboard there. That clearly could be the source of the chloral hydrate. Manning agreed.

  Tracy had slipped in behind me as I ended the call.

  “You think it was Michael?” She braced herself against my desk.

  “Tracy, you weren’t supposed to hear that call. It’s called eavesdropping.”

  “Like hell. I was just going to the kitchen and it was pretty hard to not hear your anger. So? Is it true?”

  “We have to investigate every angle. Jessica Silva consumed that drug. Michael provided her with a drink during the timeline we’re investigating.”

  “Boy, do I know how to pick ‘em. Black. White. Next time I’m going for my Kermit green.”

  “Don’t judge. We don’t know anything. It’s a process of elimination. Ninety percent of the people I investigate are innocent. Sometimes they end up being victims, too.”

  She finally took a seat next to me. The stiffest chair in the room. A small antique from a farmhouse in Autsria. Brittle wood, but durable.

  “What does your heebie-jeebie voice say?”

  “What?”

  “That psychic thing.”

  “You know I’m no psychic. I get feelings. Right now I’m fueling the information tank with facts because I’m flat-ass numb.”

  TWO POLICE OFFICERS secured the kitchen at the news station. No search warrant was necessary. This was friendly grounds.

  One hour later, they had found nothing. They called in their un-findings to Chief Manning.

  “You kidding me?” Manning demanded.

  “There’s nothing here. A pretty filthy refrigerator, a nice Keurig, and some sundries and sweets on the counter. We searched it all. There is no magic jar of any powder, Sir.”

  “Bring him in.” Manning ordered.

  “Sir?”

  “Make it all friendly, but I want Michael Scores down here. Call it a courteous visit. He’ll smell a story and he’ll come.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  REGARDLESS OF THE crap of getting nowhere fast, I had the Monday night commitment at Jaxon’s country club. I arrived early. Jaxon was there, ensuring the room was set up as we would want it. Tea. Coffee. Water. Some soft drinks. Cookies. Lots of cookies.

  As Jessica had described it, the room invoked a casual atmosphere. Oak tables and chairs with hunter green upholstery littered the floor. Golf posters lined the walls, along with a claim of fame cabinet of club trophies.

  “Jaxon, I’m surprised to see you here. Are you okay?”

  “I needed to do something. And apologizing to you is at the top of my list. I’m sorry I went off on you like I did. It was just a car. How is your surveillance guy?”

  “For being left to die, I’d say he’s damn lucky. We have hope he’ll pull out of it.”

  “Is he talking?” he asked.

  I grimaced.

  “Sorry. It’s just—you and I both want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “He’s still in ICU and heavily sedated. They managed to pull the bullet out of his abdomen, but it packed a punch and ripped him up pretty bad. A second shot hit his leg with a clean exit. The third one is somewhere up near his brain. Believe me, he’ll want to talk to me as soon as he can.”

  I did that thing. I felt all wrong. I shuddered under my own optimistic words, but I rejected any doubt.

  As promised, Jessica Silva and her cameraman set up in a far corner. They would not film the meeting. They were there if attendees wanted to talk to them.

  The families and friends showed up. En masse. I had to grab the cameraman and ask him to go seek out more chairs.

  Time for me to do something. If I played it right, the individuals in the room would do the talking.

  “I have no canned speech for you. This isn’t about me. I’m not defending nor offending this entire investigation. This is about you. It’s about you meeting one another and sharing your stories. They may or may not be the same. Outcomes may not be the same. Maybe we can get somewhere. And maybe not.

  “I want to keep this casual among those of you that have gathered here. Before I leave the microphone, would one representative of each missing woman share their story?”

  They did. One by one. An incredible two hours passed by in a blink, until one final person needed to speak.

  Mandy Palmer. Flighty and silly, she came to represent her mean boss, the interior designer perhaps lost in adventure or caught up in business in Guadalajara. But maybe not. Mandy didn’t have much to contribute, but she was there.

  “I miss my boss. She was pretty, I guess. She had a good head about her, and all the reasons in the world to live. And she’s gone. She wouldn’t just leave her business. And me.”

  Conspicuous by his absence was the designer’s husband. Mandy had warned me about their relationship.

  THE NEXT DAY MY early morning alarm was a call from the Chief.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In bed. Where are you?”

  “On my way to Phoenix.”

  “Fun in the oppressive heat?”

  “Politics. It’s part of my job.”

  “Damn. Sorry I asked. What’s on your mind?”

  “I want to know how the takeaway was from your little family group meeting.”

  “First of all, you’re raising my blood pressure and I still haven’t risen out of bed. It was not so little. We had a full house. Standing room only.

  “Jessica Silva will air some brief family interviews on tonight’s news. Pre-taped. Just so you know, I’ve seen the clips. No one finds blame. Everyone simply wants some answers.”

  Long pause. “And? You made such a stinking big deal out of this.”

  I delivered a longer pause. A Mexican stand-off of pauses. I knew what I was going to say, but I made him wait. “Namaste.”

  “What?”

  “I learned the word in a university humanities course.”

  “Now you’re sounding like your geek sidekick.”

  “It’s a fairly well-known word if you only have a heart, Tin Man. It’s one word for an entire philosophy. It means that one salutes the spirit of another. Though there are vast differences, one salutes that we are all made from one divine consciousness.”

  Did he return the pregnant pause? “Phew. Now, what else?”

  “Tell your politician buddies that the news broadcast will not incite panic or fear in the good people of Tucson. It will encourage a general awareness, caution, and maybe an eye-witness or two.

  “Press conference. You need to do it. And now is the time, my friend.”

  “Yeah. I can just hear the feedback. “You mean women are going to be standing in front of the mirror wondering if they’re beautiful enough to attract the stalker’s eye. Or are they under the radar?” It will mean panic, Cassie.”

  “Deal with it, Chief. Things are going to get really ugly, otherwise. And that, you can size up to my heebie-jeebie feelings. And consider it fact.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  MICHAEL SCORES CAME swiftly to the police station, armed with an activated cell phone voice recorder, and his lawyer.

  “You don’t need this, Michael,” Chief Manning said.

  “I don’t need it but it’s my right and I want it.”

  Manning nodded. Pointed to the chairs where both Scores and his attorney took a seat. He considered when
it might be time to recite Scores his Miranda rights.

  “We have a problem. I’m pretty sure you know what it is. Jessica Silva ingested some very bad stuff, and this stuff has a certain timeline. Are you following me?”

  “Sure.”

  “You have a beef with the woman?”

  Attorney, “Don’t answer that.”

  “No comment.”

  “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase. You gave her one of your super energy drinks, and thirty minutes later she was passed out. About the time for some certain drugs to take effect. Our team scoured the station’s kitchen and they didn’t find what almost everyone confirmed as your special powder in an apothecary jar.”

  “So what? I ran out of my stuff. I took it home to wash the jar and refill it. I really do have a great formula, and I’d be happy to share it with you. Seems like you might be a little rundown, yourself.”

  Attorney, whispering in his ear and audible on all counts. “Don’t say another word.”

  “You realize this is serious, Mr. Scores?” Chief Manning asked.

  “Hey. I like Jessica. Sure, we have some rivalry, but that’s a given.”

  “The problem I have, Mr. Scores, is that a crime has been committed. I’m going to have to hold you.”

  “For what?” the attorney hollered.

  “Poisoning. Maybe even attempted murder.”

  “You must be joking,” Scores said.

  “We have motive. Jealousy is one of the seven deadly sins, you know. We have opportunity that’s coupled with the fact there’s no more room for outsiders. Ms. Silva ingested a poison shortly before the evening news broadcast. She ate some of her own lemon bars, and drank your super-power drink.”

  “But she drank it because she already told me she wasn’t feeling well,” Scores yelled. “And they didn’t find anything in the break room.”

  “You said yourself that you took your special jar home to clean.”

  “You’re messing with me now.”

  The Miranda rights were read. “Michael Scores, you’ll attend an arraignment hearing. A judge will most likely you give you bail and you’ll be out of here.”

  “Damn good. Let’s go do it.”

  “Not that easy. You’ll be in the judge’s chambers tomorrow.”

  “Are you kidding me? You can’t hold me here. You think you’re keeping me overnight in this hell hole? Do you know who I am?”

  “Who knows? It might make a good story for you,” Manning said.

  JESSICA MET JAXON at an Asian fusion restaurant in Main Gate Square, near the University of Arizona campus. The preliminary findings of the investigation in to the burning of the Jag supported the arson theory. No bomb.

  They ordered teas and salads.

  “Jaxon. This is hard for me, but I think, for a while, we need to cool it.”

  Jaxon drew his hands to hood his eyes. “You mean us? Why?”

  “I’m scared. For both of us. I’m really scared. Sandy. Sandra. Sondra. I don’t know who is coming at me. You’ll be glad to know that they held your half-brother overnight, and he was released.”

  “God. I don’t know what to say or do,” Jaxon said.

  “That’s the point. For now there is nothing we can do. She wants to harm anything you cherish. Your dog. Your Jag. Next it might be me.”

  “Babe, I don’t want you to be afraid. She doesn’t want to hurt me, or she would have made sure I was in that car.”

  “Then listen to me. That’s my point. You’ve said it countless times. She won’t hurt you. She wants you. That woman is vile. You’ve said that from the beginning. She’s dangerous. If I seemingly back out of your life, we may both have a life.”

  “It can’t play out this way. She’ll always have the upper hand,” Jaxon said.

  “You aren’t listening to me. At least I will still have two hands.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  TRACY GAVE ME the sad news. “My daughter’s coming home. She doesn’t know a thing about anything. Please. Let’s keep it this way. It might have been nothing.”

  She turned the tables on me.

  “I’m worried about you, now.”

  “I’ll be fine, but I’ll miss your collards, now that you taught me to put hot sauce on them. And, I worry about your social life. You don’t have to push it.”

  “Slow going on Michael, for now,” she said.

  “Lay low. Don’t judge. For now. No leaping into green lizards’ or toads’ beds. Right?”

  We both relaxed under the shade of a Mexican Palm tree adjacent to my small pool. There is nothing but reverence for the desert. Almost always broad vistas, and my backyard, framed with oleanders, bougainvillea, bamboo, and Mexican birds of Paradise, offered nothing but peace for anyone seeking it. Tracy and I both sought and found it. And that was even before we saw the new covey of Gamble Quail babies meander by with Mom at the lead and Dad bringing up the rear.

  “All will be well, Tracy,” I whispered.

  I hated it. Again, I didn’t believe my words of comfort. Not for a minute.

  CHIEF MANNING CALLED for another meeting at the station.

  “Where’s your sidekick?”

  “What? No pleasantries?” I gave him a Hollywood kiss that he largely resisted. “Schlep is pulling double duty until I can find someone else to help with surveillance. We are suddenly understaffed with lots of bad guys to hound down. Sound familiar?”

  “Ballistics don’t lie,” he said, shoving the report in to my face before I’d even settled in the volume-discounted cheap chair.

  He started thumping the palms of his hands on the table, in tandem with some foot stomping.

  He knew I wouldn’t miss it, even though Karl Marks wasn’t officially my case. And he knew I was all over that case which wasn’t mine.

  “A fucking match?”

  “Yes, Potty Mouth. The same gun that killed Karl Marks was used in the attempted murder of your surveillance guy. How is he, by the way?”

  “I should be allowed to talk to him tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll go with you. Now, what’s your take? How are these two connected?”

  I did that turtle thing. My head sinking between raised shoulders. No Cheshire cat smile this time.

  “My guy didn’t even know about Karl Marks. He had no access to any of the files I have.”

  “The files I knew you had on a case that isn’t yours. What exactly was your guy doing?”

  “Surveillance.”

  “I know that, Cassidy. Surveillance on whom?”

  “A nasty divorce case. An ex-wife turned stalker.”

  He crossed his arms as he finally ceased the thumping and stomping. “Oh, man. Those are the worst.”

  “Tell me about it. This one’s a real bitch.”

  “The ex or the case?”

  “Both.”

  “I want to see those files of yours. All of them.”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I teased.

  “Send them to me. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here and do a share-session. Then we’ll head over to the hospital.”

  “Meet me on the patio of the coffee place on the corner.”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “It’s just that I’m cranky without my coffee, and your coffee in this dump reeks.”

  “And you want to smoke,” he said.

  “Helps me think. And deal with your sorry ass.”

  I DROVE TO SEE SCHLEP. He lived in the historic district, Barrio El Hoyo. His small stucco home preserved the nature of the neighborhood, built on what once were lavish gardens and ponds. Later, even an amusement park.

  Rows of books lined most of his walls. One piece of art, an original Marcel Duchamp, hovered over his beehive fireplace. I smiled every time I saw it, not for the art itself, but for the story behind it. Schlep told me he picked it up at a garage sale. The woman wanted fifty dollars for the frame. Schlep gave her everything he had. About two-hundred dollars. He told her he thought it was worth m
uch more, but she insisted she made a deal with him for fifty and the rest was a bonus. Every so often when he is in her neighborhood he slips more cash, with no note, into her mailbox. His own payment plan of ethics.

  “You heard about the ballistics match?” I asked.

  “Amazing.”

  “Who’s covering Vickery?”

  “Carson. Her mom is in town and taking care of her kids. And you know Carson’s qualified.”

  “I do. I just thought she didn’t want outside work.”

  “We’ve worked it out. She’s bored to tears running all those van license plates, and cross-checking them with anyone at the salon. She’s narrowed down the primary list to a mere two-hundred. Don’t you check your email?”

  “I saw a large file come in from her. Between dodging bullets from the chief, and my firing back matching bullets, I haven’t had five minutes.”

  “Let’s take a look at that file,” Schlep said. “I dropped some of the plates simply because they weren’t within our perps operating safety zone. Carson took off all the plates that belonged to major companies like power, cable. That kind of thing.”

  “She has a list of two-hundred she has yet to identify. What’s this? A short list of nineteen?”

  “Various reasons. Maybe the ownership is a bit vague, or the owners were unwilling to talk to Carson. We’re working it together, Cass. She’s smart.”

  “Okay. How about that LLC that owns the cabin? Where’s the list of the individual owners?”

  Schlep pulled it up on his monitor and printed it out. Probably for the third time.

  My eyes fixated on every one of the five parties. I glided my fingers over the names. I rubbed the back of my neck and shook my head.

  “Did they have a list of renters?” I asked.

  “It was in their LLC agreement. Absolutely no renters, and no friends without being accompanied by an owner.”

  “Off the cuff, that’s a pretty easy rule to break,” I said.

  Schlep turned to his monitor, his fingers, flying. I returned to the list of names.

  “Three of them are out of state. For now, let’s put them aside. That leaves two other parties. One couple and one individual. Find out everything you can.”