by M. Z. Kelly
“What’s going on?” Max asked.
Amy’s voice was shrill enough to break the china, if we had any. “I got a date.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. “With who?”
“He’s Hoss’s business manager. His name is...” She laughed. “You’re not going to believe this: His name is Dallas.”
My tone became more skeptical. “Dallas. Tell us about him.”
Amy spoke rapidly, her excitement bubbling over. “He’s a couple years older than me. About six feet. Dark hair. And he’s got the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” She met my eyes. “He’s hot, Mads, and I’m worried I’m not.”
“What you talking ‘bout?” Max said. “You’re a good looking woman, not that I been looking at you that way.”
“If I changed sides, I wouldn’t kick you to the curb,” I said to Amy, just to give her a bad time.
“Funny.” She sighed. “It’s just that I don’t got a lot of confidence after what happened with Stinky and Jake.”
“So, when are you going out?”
“This Saturday.” Her eyes brightened. “I figure we can get our hair done this Friday, since you’re going away with Sam, and I’ll be...” She stood up and yelled. “...ON A FREAKING DATE!”
It took Amy a good half hour to calm down. Then she remembered our upcoming POSE class. “It’s tomorrow night,” she said, after explaining it to Max. “I enrolled the three of us, so I hope you can come.”
“Matter of fact, I’ve got tomorrow night off since I been working nights at Hunts Point, so I’ll be there.” She looked at me. “They changed up the schedule, and B-Team is back with Sergeant Hock tomorrow for PT.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She shrugged. “I think I lost ten pounds already, so maybe it will work out.” She looked at Amy. “Mads got some interesting information on Jessie Walker today.”
I filled Amy in on what I’d learned from the janitor. “She thinks there have been four victims, so far. Jessie apparently found out what was going on and paid the price.”
“But who would be killing cancer patients?” A light bulb came on in Amy’s head. “You think they were mercy killings, somebody who knew they were suffering and wanted to put them out of their misery?”
I looked at Max. “I had the same thought.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s somebody’s sick way of giving credence to Mercy Hospital’s name. The question is, what do we do about it? I talked to Rosie today. She said the case is pretty much dead in the water, not even being worked by those two knuckleheads we met in the landfill. And, just so you know, I’m still getting some bad vibes ‘bout everything.”
“Bad? As in…?” Amy asked.
“Not sure, but I think what happened is way more complicated than we think. I also think the janitor is spot on ‘bout there being more victims.”
“I want to go by and check out Jessie Walker’s apartment tonight,” I said. “Maybe she has a boyfriend or a roommate who knows something.”
“I’m up for it,” Amy said.
“What’s the latest with your kidnapping case?” Max asked her.
Amy filled her in on what we’d learned from Gloria Mercer, including the fact that her son had special needs and was the victim of harassment. “The asshole who was bullying him was a kid named Jeremy Halsey. I tried doing a search on the Internet, but didn’t have much luck. Do you think you could have Rosie try and track him down? It might be that he’s still living in Harrisburg, where he went to college.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Max stood. “I also gave her that email address you found in Christina’s office. She’s gonna try and see if she can find out who it belongs to.” She walked over to the closet and got her coat. “I’d better hit the road.” She looked at me. “No luck finding that Dexter asshole, but we haven’t given up. How’s the arm?”
I held up my bandaged wrist. “It’s annoying more than anything else. I can’t wait to get the stitches out.”
“Don’t rush things. Hunts Point and Sergeant Hock will still be there when you get back.”
Max left for work, and I mentioned Christina Blaze’s boyfriend to Amy. “I think you said his name is Robert Cox. Did you ever get ahold of him?”
“I got an address, so maybe we can go by there after we go by Jessie’s place.”
I went over and got my purse. “Saddle up, Miranda. We’ve got a busy evening ahead of us.”
Amy scowled at me. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”
I decided a line from a Garth Brooks song was in order. “Just be thankful you’ve got friends in low places.”
EIGHTEEN
As Amy and I drove to Jessie Walker’s last known address in the East Bronx, she asked me if I’d heard anything more from Kat about Merrill.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen either of them. Or Darryl, for that matter.”
“Maybe the little corpse porker is lying low, hiding out,” Amy suggested. “Isn’t it a crime to screw the dead?”
“Of course, but I think we’re a long way from proving anything like that. We need to find Merrill and get to the bottom of things.”
“Maybe bottom is the operative word.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Thorndike around either.”
“Maybe his wife...what did Kat say her name is?”
“Dominika.”
“Yeah, maybe Dominika showed up and is having her way with the little troll.”
“Please! I’d just as soon not have that visual rolling around in my head.”
She laughed. “Speaking of nasty visuals, I called Mojo today. He’s pretty anxious to go to work.”
“Do you have something for him to do?”
She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what happened to Billy Mercer and how it might tie into Christina’s kidnapping. Maybe I’ll put him on trying to track down some of Billy’s old friends, see what they know. I just hope the little perv can keep his dick in his drawers long enough to do some actual work.”
“Good luck with that.”
“You think your aunt and uncle have really fallen on hard times and can’t pay their rent?”
“Aunt Lucy called me earlier today and said as much. It seems that Uncle Marvin made some bad investments, and most of their life savings is gone.”
“What kind of investments?”
I glanced at her. “Promise you’ll keep this to yourself?”
“’Course. Everything we say is part of our Jersey fuwk-swear to keep things confidential.”
“It seems my uncle has some genetic similarities to Mojo. He’s blown most of their money investing in a sex toy.”
Her laughter went on for almost a full minute, making me wonder if I’d done the right thing by telling her.
“You’re kidding!” Amy finally said, still chuckling.
Despite feeling sorry for my aunt, I couldn’t help but also laugh about what Aunt Lucy had told me. “It’s something called a Duckadoo.”
“I think I’m gonna pee my pants,” she said, squealing with laughter. When she managed to regain some control, she asked, “What the fuwk is a Duckadoo?”
“All I know is it’s some kind of male enhancement device. If you’re really interested, maybe Mojo can show you how it works.”
She managed to catch a breath in between spasms of laughter. “Mojo with a Duckadoo. I don’t know what the hell the thing looks like, but now I got me a visual I don’t want.”
The rest of our trip to the Van Nest neighborhood in East Bronx was filled with laughter that, a couple times, almost made me lose control of the car. We managed to find Jessie Walker’s last known address midblock, in a rundown neighborhood. We parked up the street, feeling unsafe in a neighborhood that looked like it had lots of gang activity. We cautiously made our way to the apartment, which looked dark and deserted.
“What do you think?” I asked Amy, as we stood on the porch in the darkness.
“I got me a bad case
of the jeepers-creepers. This place looks like Hurricane Irma hit it.”
It wasn’t that bad, but the front yard was strewn with litter and an old sofa. There was trash piled on the porch, making me wonder if anyone had lived here in weeks.
Amy knocked on the door, but got no answer. She then tried the knob, finding it was locked.
“I’m gonna go around back,” she said, leaving the porch. “I’ll text you if I see anything, or scream bloody murder, if I’m being killed.”
I waited a couple minutes and had thoughts about following her into the back yard when the front door suddenly opened. I reached into my purse for my gun, then saw Amy peeking out at me.
“The slider was unlocked,” she said. “Let’s take a quick look.”
Once inside, I found the apartment was almost as bad as the yard, with mounds of trash and a bad smell. We were headed down a hallway when the smell turned into something that was all too familiar.
I touched Amy’s shoulder, stopping her. “There’s a body.”
Her blue eyes grew wider. “You sure?”
“I’d know that smell anywhere.”
She sighed, putting the back of her hand against her nose. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see what we got.”
The smell intensified and grew almost unbearable by the time we got to a small bedroom at the end of the hallway. We found a man’s body there, on the floor. I used the light on my phone to illuminate the scene.
“He’s been shot in the head,” I said, after taking a closer look, holding a scarf to my nose to filter the stench. “He’s probably been dead a couple days.”
Amy took a quick look around, finding nothing else that was remarkable. “Let’s get the fuwk out of here and make some decisions.”
We huddled on the street a couple minutes later, where we drew in several deep breaths, trying to lose the scent of death and clear our minds. We walked up the street to where we’d parked, and Amy said, “You think the guy was Jessie’s boyfriend?”
“Probably. It might even be that he was killed around the same time she was.”
We stopped at the car, where Amy said, “I’ll make an anonymous call to the local precinct to keep you out of things and let them know about the body.”
“This changes everything,” I said. “The police will likely now take a closer look at Jessie’s case.”
Amy nodded. “We got us a major clusterfuwk, and I ain’t talking about a Duckadoo.”
NINETEEN
The next morning, Amy and I filled Max in on the body we found in Jessie Walker’s apartment.
“I have a friend, Janet Lawson, who works out of the 49th Precinct,” I told Max. “She told me the victim’s name is Grady Winston. The investigators think he was Jessie’s boyfriend.”
“Meaning we got a double murder and a conspiracy to cover up what’s going on at the hospital,” Amy said, working on a bowl of cereal.
“COD?” Max asked.
I’d taken a bite of my bagel and, with my mouth full, told her, “Single...shot through the head... close range.”
Max nodded, looked at Amy. “You could be right.” She looked at me. “Do the investigators know about what you found out at the hospital?”
“I called Danny Becker and made up a cover story about chatting with a janitor at the hospital when I was in the ER. I told him what I’d learned. He said he made a note of it and would also pass the information along to his partner. Then he hit on me again.”
“He what?” Amy said. “You got game, Mads.” She slapped me on the shoulder. “Way to go.”
“Becker’s a first-class loser. I think he hits on anyone he stumbles across.”
Amy looked at Max. “She’s so humble.”
I ignored her. “I’m doubtful Winston’s death is going to have any impact on Jessie Walker’s investigation. If the detectives don’t connect the two murders to what’s going on at the hospital, I’m thinking I need to go back there and snoop around some more.”
Amy walked her cereal bowl to the sink and answered. “I think we need to back off the Walker case for a day or so, see if Becker and his partner turn up anything.” She looked at Max. “In the meantime, Mads and me are going by Robert Cox’s place today.”
“Who?” Max asked.
“Christina Blaze’s boyfriend. I’m hoping he can tell us what went on between Christina and Bobby Mercer in college.
There was a knock on our door. Max went over and let Kat inside. She was about to close the door when a strange little woman pushed the door open wider and hobbled behind Kat into our apartment.
“This is my Aunt Dominika,” Kat said. “She has come a very long way to visit.”
After introductions, Dominika, who was short and stout, with dark hair and a prominent wart on her cheek, levelled her black eyes on me, Amy, and Max. “What you all doing living in my husband’s place of business?”
I looked at my friends and was about to answer when Amy spoke up. “We’re employees of Mr. Funk, the owner of this boneyard. He’s hired us to do security and look after things here on account of your husband being a slacker.”
Dominika took a step closer to Amy. The two women locked eyes. Thoughts about curses and the evil eye came to mind.
“I don’t like you,” Dominika said.
“You don’t have to like me,” Amy said. “You just gotta deal with the facts.”
“I want you packing your bags.” Her dark gaze found Max and me, and she raised her voice. “All of you need to get out.”
“Listen, Morticia,” Amy said, “we aren’t packing anything or going anywhere. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a guest here. So you need to treat us with respect.”
Dominika put her hands on her wide hips. “Who is this Morticia person you be talking about?”
“Let’s just say I’m looking at her, and I don’t like what I see.”
The two women squared off, and I was worried there might be violence. If there was anything physical, my money was on Amy, who never backed down from a fight.
Dominika might have been saved by her husband, who appeared in our doorway. “What is going on here?”
“I introduce them to Dominika,” Kat said. “Things don’t go so good.”
“We were just exchanging pleasantries with your better half,” Amy said, her gaze sweeping over Dominika again. “And it hasn’t been pleasant.”
Dominika waved a finger at Amy. “I be watching you. One false move and you be regretting things.” She turned and hobbled out of the room with her mortician husband.
After she was gone, Amy said to Kat, “That’s about as ugly as things can get. What’s her problem?”
Kat sighed. “She be kind of controlling, but you need to be careful.”
“Why is that?”
“It is said that my aunt has lots of power. She knows about spells and incantations.”
Amy laughed, but some of her earlier bluster was gone. “We’ll see about that.” She held up a hand. “I went to the Jersey school of sorcery and got me a five-finger spell.” She balled her fingers one by one into a fist. “I’ll put one on her if she tries anything.”
Kat made apologies for her aunt and had started to leave when I asked her about Merrill. “Have you seen him and Darryl lately?”
She turned back to me. “As a matter of fact, no. He not answering his phone either. I kind of worried.”
Amy came over to us. “If we get a chance, we’ll stop by their place today and see if everything’s okay.”
“I appreciate that. Tell Merrill to call me. We need to talk.”
After she was gone, Amy said, “Yeah, they need to talk—about him having sex with dead people.”
“I still don’t think we should jump to any conclusions,” I said.
After spending the morning tidying up our apartment and attending to personal matters, Max told us she wasn’t up to doing PT with Sergeant Hock and took the day off. The three of us then took the subway to Manhattan, where Robert Cox lived.
Along the way, Amy gave us her thoughts on Dominika.
“You ask me, she’s got a bad case of GFF.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“She’s like a lot of women who get stuck in bad relationships, and being married to Thorndike is about as bad as it gets.”
“But what’s GFF?” Max asked.
“Gotta Fuwk a Fool. There’s a lot of rich women, in the same boat as Dominika, not to mention the wives of a few politicians.”
“It’s a sorry way to end up,” I said.
“That’s why we gotta make good choices from here on out.” She looked at Max. “Me and Mads have made our share of mistakes. I spent years with a GFF named Stinky.”
“I’ve been right there with you a time or two,” Max said. “But, so far, Sonny and me are pretty simpatico. Maybe things will go the same way with you and the cowboy.”
Amy sighed and shook her head. “A cowboy.” She looked at me. “Who woulda ever thunk it?”
I smiled. “Let’s just hope things work out, and you get to saddle up for the rodeo.”
***
“Nice little neighborhood,” Max said, after we got off the subway, and her gaze drifted up to the high-rise on Canal Street.
“I read somewhere the units here start at a couple million and go north from there,” I said, as the doorman let us inside.
“I’d want a better view for my money,” Amy said.
As it turned out, Robert Cox got an excellent view for his money, which was probably well above the prices for the lower units in the building. His apartment was a couple floors below the penthouse, a corner unit, with a bank of windows overlooking the water and city beyond.
After introductions and some small talk about Christina Blaze, Amy told Cox why we were there. “Her mother thinks Christina has gone missing. She hasn’t been at work in a couple days. Can you tell us when you last talked to her?”
Cox, who told us he was a hedge fund manager, was handsome, with dark, wavy hair and intense brown eyes. The term “male model” came to mind as he answered. “It’s been at least a month. Christina...” He exhaled and checked his phone as it beeped. He was looking at the screen as he went on. “Let’s just say she was what you would call high maintenance.”
