The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  “Candy?”

  “You know. Candy’s the one who married Ivan. She might be forty years younger than him, but she’s taught that old man a few new tricks.”

  “Oh, barf, Mom!”

  “Anyway, Candy thinks you should put something on your profile about your flexibility. She says that really attracts the wealthy, needy-men, which I told her was perfect, considering you really didn’t seem like the type who’d find someone worth your time.”

  Cassidy paused at the foot of the stairway leading up to her apartment. “Mom—”

  “I can’t see you making a love connection with one of your patients. Who else could you meet?”

  “Mom—”

  “Although, there is that guy you work with—what’s his name? Jasper, or something.”

  “Mom!” she yelled into the phone, finally breaking through her mother’s endless ramblings. “I have to get going. I’ll call you some other time when I have something to share. Or when I feel like raising my blood pressure to dangerously high levels.”

  “Okay, dear. I’m always here to listen.” Virgie hung up before Cassidy finished saying goodbye.

  Keys in hand, cellphone back in her purse, Cassidy turned to climb the flight of stairs, when in her periphery, she caught the sight of something strange. She squinted in the faded evening light to make out the figure who stood watching her from twenty feet away.

  “Cruz?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t the serial killer wanting to skin her to make a leather jacket.

  No response. No movement.

  “Cruz, is that you?”

  She clenched her keys, the sharp edges digging into the soft skin of her palm, when

  the shadowy person took two quick steps toward her, like a lion stalking its prey. Then, it suddenly stopped, changed directions, and fled, using the shadows as cover during its retreat.

  Cassidy sprinted up the steps, two at a time, and wrestled her key into the lock. Once inside, she slammed the door shut, locked and chained it, then slid to the floor - her mind jumping from one scenario to the next.

  CHAPTER 28

  A

  t well past midnight, Delacruz sat behind his desk. Both he and Sanchez were exhausted, though, he’d had at least eight cups of coffee in the past three hours. Even if he went home to try to get some shut-eye, he wouldn’t get anything close to a restful night’s sleep.

  No, they’d decided that tonight would be an all-nighter, much like he’d pulled back in college. Only now, he was nearly a decade older and lacked the same stamina. Sanchez seemed equally affected; the dark bags under her bloodshot eyes grew with each passing hour.

  This current rash of murders was starting to drive Delacruz a little crazy. Just the other morning, he stood in the shower, staring blankly at a spot on the ceramic tiles as the water turned cold. He hadn’t even noticed until the phone rang. Headaches had become a routine warning sign that he was doing too much, spending too many sleepless nights worrying, and the one he had now made him feel like his eyes were bleeding.

  Whenever he encountered a difficult case, Delacruz found it helpful to reorganize the evidence. Doing so gave him a new perspective. And at this late hour, with all of the photos, the evidence logs, and the witness statements shuffled into different piles on his desk, he decided on one more quick change. He moved the timelines and the charts from the whiteboard in the conference room closer to his work station. Now, he could sit at his desk and see everything all at once.

  At the top of the suspect list?

  Cassidy Hudson.

  “We can scratch her off the list,” he said.

  Sanchez spat out her day-old coffee. “What? Why?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on her. You know, checking her out. She’s not the killer.”

  “And if she happened to be ugly, would you say the same thing?” Sanchez arched an eyebrow. “You sure you’re thinking with your brain and not another part of your anatomy?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. She’s got a solid alibi for each of the murders. Are you sure you’re not letting your dislike for her good looks cloud your judgment?”

  “I just hope we aren’t starting from square one. There has to be something we’ve missed.” Sanchez began to flip through more stacks of papers and photos.

  Delacruz tried to remain focused, but couldn’t stop thinking about Cassidy. Something about her was intriguing. Maybe it was her humor, or possibly her good looks and intelligence.

  “I can’t imagine it’s easy to get a doctorate in anything, let alone in the medical field,” Delacruz said.

  Sanchez’s head snapped up, a scowl on her face. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying Cassidy seems pretty smart.”

  “She might be smart, but she lacks personality. Well, a personality worth getting to know, anyway. Have you seen her interact with people? Like she has some kind of mental illness. Won’t even shake hands.”

  “I think it’s cute.”

  “Cute.” Sanchez snorted. “You can’t be serious. Have you seen how much hand sanitizer she uses? She must own stock.”

  “Nothing wrong with being clean, Sanchez. Actually, it was kind of fun watching her actively seek out ways to avoid touching people.”

  “Now you’re starting to scare me. I think you need to get some sleep.”

  Delacruz smiled to himself. He hadn’t expected to see Cassidy the previous evening at the gun range, though pleased that he had. Her clothes, her attitude, and the absurdity of it all had made him want her on a level he hadn’t experienced in a long time, which made him both excited and uneasy. He understood the dangers of becoming involved with a suspect, even if he believed she wasn’t the—

  “Hey. Cruz. Buddy. Snap out of it,” Sanchez said. “You’re drifting off into la-la land. Need I remind you it’s not appropriate to get socially involved with a suspect—or anyone, really—that’s involved with an active case?”

  “No need to remind me, although I can tell you’re enjoying it.” He knew she was right, but also knew she was jealous; her crush on him was no more appropriate than his crush on Cassidy, though he wouldn’t mention it. He’d rather play dumb than confront Sanchez’s feelings.

  “What do you think she’ll say when she finds out you’ve been lying to her this entire time?”

  “Lying? I’m not lying.”

  “No? You aren’t pretending to be some pool guy?”

  Delacruz groaned. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, and her, too, for that matter, that I’m not the pool guy, and I’ve never pretended to be. I might have omitted that I’m Detective Delacruz, but socially, I go by Cruz, which is how I’d introduced myself.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to fly. Especially with her. She’s a stone-cold bitch.”

  “Don’t say that. She’s just misunderstood.”

  “Oh? And you understand her, just because you’d spent a few hours getting to know her?”

  Delacruz sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, Sanchez. You’ve had it out for her from the day you met.”

  Silence followed, and Delacruz again started searching through the endless piles of evidence, forcing his attention back to the case. They were making slow progress, at best, and now, combing his fingers through his hair, not only had his headache gotten worse, but his hair now hurt. His watch beeped at 1 a.m., six hours since they began piecing together clues and evidence.

  Delacruz shoved his head into his hands, massaged his temples, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, and groaned. “This is such a waste of time.”

  Sanchez’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “Maybe we should go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow with a fresh set of eyes.”

  “Good idea.” Delacruz stood and, stretching his arms high, popped his back in at least three spots. Fatigue was taking over his body, making him feel much older. His mother often reminded him, when she referred to his personal life, that he wasn’t getting any younger and she was desperate for
grandchildren. At thirty-five, he wasn't married, had no kids and no immediate prospects. Once women discovered what kind of schedule he kept, they always ran for the hills. Plenty of bachelors in Miami. Apparently, though, none of them worked as much as he did. All in all, as a single man, Delacruz was content for the time being with his life. Although, Ms. Hudson was expanding more than just his thoughts on the subject.

  “Maybe you’re right.” He straightened the piles on his desk so he wouldn’t come back to a hellacious mess. In his haste to clean up, a stack of papers began to capsize. He managed to stop the collapse of the paper mountain, but the top page still slid off and landed on the floor. Delacruz picked it up and went to place it back onto the stack when he noticed the alphabetized list of items found at that crime scene.

  His brow arched. “Huh.” He walked over to another stack of papers from the second crime scene. “Huh.”

  “Huh, what? Did you find something?” Sanchez said.

  “Bengay is at the top of each evidence list. See? The one thing found at each of the murder scenes.” He held up multiple sheets of paper.

  “Okay, but they were all old people, and old people with aches and pains. Aches and pains feel better with Bengay.” Sanchez shook her head. “Probably just a coincidence.”

  “True. Still, something about Bengay seems familiar to me. I mean... oh, I don’t know what I mean. Have you heard of Bengay being an important piece in any of the other cases you’ve ever worked on?”

  Sanchez considered this. “Can’t say that I have. Maybe you could Google it, or enter it into the police database?”

  Delacruz pulled out his laptop and logged into the Miami Police Department database. At first, he tried a specific search, typing in “Bengay” as the keyword, but the database kicked it out as not found. He searched active, closed, and cold cases for anything related to Bengay, and still came up with nothing.

  Delacruz clicked the laptop closed, shoved it back into his bag. “Well, that was futile, but I know just who to ask.”

  “Who?”

  Delacruz smiled. “It’s been a while since Teddy and I have had a chat.”

  “Oh. Him. That guy’s nothing but trouble. He’s a crook.”

  “He’s not a crook, and you know it,” Cruz said.

  “Well, the whole department thought so. Otherwise, he’d still be our supervisor.”

  “First of all, Teddy was never convicted. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and because of pressure from the sheriff, the mayor, and the governor, he became the fall guy to save face.” Taking up his bag, Delacruz turned to leave.

  “Hey, don’t get all mad. You know I never liked him, not even when he was a cop.” Sanchez stood. “You headed out?”

  Delacruz swigged the last of his room-temperature coffee, threw the cup into the trash. “I am. You should probably get some rest, too.”

  “Say hi to Teddy for me,” Sanchez said, without a hint of sincerity, as she gathered up her belongings.

  Delacruz headed out and, walking to his car, fished through his wallet for Teddy’s number. Once inside his vehicle, he clicked on the light, tilted the card, then placed the call on his cell.

  “Hey, Teddy,” he said. “It’s Delacruz.”

  “Hey! Wow, it’s been a while, Cruz. I’d ask how you’re doing, but I have a feeling not too well, considering you just called me at one in the morning.”

  “Do you think we can meet? Maybe at the all-night diner on the corner of Palmdale and Lexington?”

  “Sure. I know the place. I can be there once I finish up here. Give me thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” Delacruz said, “but take your time, Teddy. No rush.” Then, Delacruz hung up and pressed on the gas.

  CHAPTER 29

  C

  ruz walked into the diner, and the smell of greasy food and burned coffee accosted him, and his belly, already full of stale coffee, churned a bit. Spotting Teddy sitting at a booth near the back of the room, he made a beeline.

  “Hey, kid,” Ted greeted Cruz, as he sat across from him. “I took the liberty of ordering you some coffee.”

  Cruz smiled. “That’s very kind of you.” Though he didn’t really want more coffee, he reached for the cream and sugar anyway.

  “So,” Ted said, “to what do I owe this honor? You haven’t called me for help in, what, three years?”

  “Something like that. It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

  Ted sighed. “We both know this isn’t a social call.”

  Cruz nodded and cut to the chase. “Teddy, I need your help. There’s this one case that’s driving me nuts. I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news, but there’s been a series of recent murders—”

  “Yeah. I think the reporter called it The Grim Reaper Killings, or some such thing.”

  “That’s the one I’ve been put in charge of solving.”

  “Any leads?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I have very little to go on.”

  Ted straightened. “And so...”

  “When you were a cop, you were always the department’s go-to guy. You could find links, connections, patterns—anything no one else could.”

  Ted frowned. “Need I remind you I was ushered out of that place under a cloud of suspicion? Shamed, my reputation ruined. Being accused didn’t exactly make life in the real world any easier.”

  “I understand that. But let’s face it, you were innocent. They never prosecuted you because they knew you weren’t guilty. Maybe had you—”

  “What, ratted out the crooked cops? Put a bounty on my head, on the heads of my family? Then what? So, I could keep my job at the almighty Miami Police Department?”

  “I’m so sorry, Teddy.”

  “I lost my career, one I was good at, one that I loved. I did it to keep my family safe, but they killed my wife and daughter anyway. Bastards!” He slammed his fist down, rattling the silverware and spilling some of their coffee.

  Cruz wiped up the mess. “I wish I could do something about that. I’m truly sorry.”

  Ted sagged back in his seat. “Eh, you did what you could, kid. Helping put those assholes behind bars went a long way to help me heal. I never applied for reinstatement into the force because of too many hurtful memories, things I couldn’t let go of, too many people with suspicions. But that’s all ancient history.” He waved his hand away, then leaned forward. “What I can do is give you some information that I’ve... well... stumbled upon.”

  Cruz raised his eyebrows. “What, you’ve already been doing some digging?”

  “I have a friend, a customer of mine, who I’ve been concerned about. She seems a little closer to the situation than she wants to be, and it’s got me worried.”

  “Cassidy?”

  “Have you questioned her already?”

  “Well, my partner has. I’ve kind of... well...”

  “Oh, no.” Ted chuckled. “This is priceless.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the pool guy!”

  Cruz shook his head, wiping his palm down his face. “I’ve told her a hundred times I’m not the pool guy, but she’s either not listening or just doesn’t care. Anyway, I’ve, well... I’ve grown attached.”

  “Attached?”

  “Okay, fine. I really like her. She has some personality flaws, but who doesn’t?”

  Ted laughed. “Good point.”

  “She’s a good person, you know, and that can be hard to find.”

  “But you know how the department feels about this sort of thing, right?”

  Cruz slumped. “Yeah, I know. I really like her, though.”

  “Those feelings might very well be mutual,” Ted said.

  “Well, considering I’m not even supposed to be interested in her, I won’t ask you for any details. Not right now, anyway. I have to say, though, I was surprised to see her at the gun range. Even more surprised to see the door closing behind you as you left.”

  “I wanted to st
ay, but I had an unexpected meeting with an informant—I mean, a friend of mine, who’s been doing some digging.”

  “About this case?” Cruz said.

  “Yeah, he told me he was having some difficulty getting information about the people Cassidy mentioned to me. I had him look into Willow, Stacey, and Randi.”

  “I’ve interviewed all three of them, and they all seem relatively harmless. Although Willow’s certifiably nuts, and Cassidy told Sanchez she suspected Stacey.”

  “And Stacey was the only one I haven’t been able to obtain a full history on. Prior to 1998, anyway. Almost like she didn’t exist before then.”

  “That’s more info than I was able to dig up,” Cruz said as he jotted it down in a small notepad. “Any indication of who she was prior to 1998?”

  “Nope, none. Other than the actual murders, have you been able to link any evidence to each of the crime scenes?”

  “Not really. Unless you call Bengay a link.”

  “Bengay?”

  “Apparently, tubes of it were found at all of the crime scenes. My partner thinks it’s just a coincidence, considering the victims’ ages and health conditions.”

  Teddy hummed in thought, thumbing his chin for a few seconds. “You know, for some reason, Bengay is ringing a bell.”

  “I felt the same way. In fact, I searched the Miami PD database, but didn’t get any hits.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “No?”

  “I haven’t heard of any cases like that here in the Miami area. I feel like it was in Florida, but not Miami.”

  “Would you do me a favor?” Cruz said.

  “Sure.”

  “Check with your informant to see if they know any specifics related to Bengay. And look back at some of your past cases, if you could. I’ll do the same. Call me right away if you find anything.”