Bad Bones (Claire Morgan)

by Linda Ladd

  “Know anything about the fighters operated by the Petrov family?”

  Frankie became very wary, very quickly. He looked down at his hands. Then he looked up at her. “I’m afraid I don’t know them at all, ma’am. I’m sure they had nothing to do with it, though.”

  “Do you know their names?”

  “Yeah, sure do. Ike and Mike Sharpe. They’re twins. Look just alike, well, almost. They’re good with their fists. Not very bright, though.”

  “Do they win a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times?”

  Frankie hesitated. “More than they should. Some guys are afraid to beat them.”

  “And why is that?”

  They stared at each other for a moment, which said a lot to her in a tacit kind of way. Then Frankie shrugged. “Can’t really say.”

  And he didn’t have to. Claire could read between the lines with the best of them. Who would want to beat a guy backed by a murderous, throat-slitting crime family, one known for putting out hits on people who annoyed them? Apparently, not too many fighters were that stupid. What Claire needed to do was talk to Petrov’s fighters. Alone and somewhere outside of Ivan the Terrible’s earshot. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Frankie was going to tell her one single thing about them. He was a smart guy, smarter than the other two yokels she had just interviewed. Black would not like the idea of her interviewing the Sharpe brothers, not even a little bit, but she and Bud just might have to do it. Not that the Sharpes would ever tell them a single thing about the Petrov operation. They weren’t that dumb, or they’d already be six feet under. Talking to them would be a dead end, no doubt about it. Then again, miracles happened.

  “I’ve got a friend who watched you fight Parker the other night. Said you’re really good, that you gave it your all. He’s a fan.”

  “Well, ma’am, I really appreciate your telling me that. Tell him I said thanks for comin’ over and watchin’ me.”

  “I’ll do that. Good luck, Mr. Velez.”

  After she terminated the conversation with Frankie, she called in Number Four, one Josiah Durning. It didn’t take Claire long to realize that Durning was dumb, dumber, and even more than dumbest, all rolled up together in one big DUH. He was big, too, and redheaded and sturdy, probably two hundred forty or fifty pounds. He made the other three look like kindergarteners and also had a tendency to look highly confused after every question. But it looked like he had a couple of jailhouse tats on the backs of his hands. A swastika and a setting sun with red rays. Sort of Japanese flagish.

  “Have you been incarcerated, Mr. Durning?”

  “Yes, sir. Right here in St. Louis.”

  Sir? Everybody seemed to think she was a man, except for Mal Fitch, of course. He didn’t understand the male concept. “Here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m a woman, Mr. Durning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Oookay. Maybe he couldn’t see her all that well under the faulty fluorescent flickering light fixture. At least he wasn’t coming on to her. That was a step in the right direction. But she might ought to check her appearance in the next handy mirror or try to soften her facial expression. She had on a baggy sweatshirt to hide her guns and no makeup, but come on. Black could tell that she was a woman.

  “Why were you in jail?”

  “They say I got anger issues.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Well, good, her mealymouthed, soft new expression must have finally gotten through to the kid.

  “And how does it manifest? How do you show it, I mean?”

  “I break windows and punch walls and hurt people. Break bones, sometimes.”

  “Do you still have that problem?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is that why you fight in the cage?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Folks say it keeps me outta trouble and lets me break the right bones.”

  “As opposed to the wrong bones?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Unless somebody makes me crazy mad.”

  Well, that made sense in a crazy mad sort of way. “What’s your ring name?”

  “Cupcake.”

  “Why do they call you that? Because you’re so sweet?” She smiled, lightened up on him a bit, tried to act like a girl some. Crazy mad was not a good thing, and she didn’t particularly want to see it.

  “No, it’s ’cause I like cupcakes. The ones with red icing. I like sprinkles on top, too. Chocolate ones.”

  Okay, now she knew what to bake him for his birthday. She asked him some more questions, but didn’t get any overly intelligent answers. Or even sort of intelligent answers. She took down his name, address, and schedule of bouts. She didn’t think he had the intellect or attention span to kill somebody the way Paulie Parker had met his demise. But stranger things had happened. He could’ve been crazy mad at the time, for instance.

  She and Bud would visit these guys in their own homes someday soon and see if something more enlightening revealed itself with the home fires burning in the background. She’d really like to meet Carmichael’s roses-loving mom. But right now, Claire just needed to get out of that stifling little bare room and breathe some testosterone-free fresh air. She took the four DVDs and told Randazzo that she was good for the money and they’d settle up later, and then she escaped out into the noisy arena where the crowd was going ape over the bloodletting.

  Right outside the black steel door, Claire searched around the arena for Black and found him sitting again in their rather expensive ringside seats. She headed that way, but stopped when her phone vibrated inside her pocket. Caller ID said Bud, so she punched on quickly.

  “Hey, find out anything?”

  Bud said, “Oh, yeah, and you’re not gonna believe it, either. Know that guy I came to see, Shorty Dunlop? He wasn’t here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Don’t know yet. He up and took off without checking out. Nurse came in late one night on rounds, and he was gone.”

  “I take it they have surveillance tapes?”

  “Yeah, and I checked them out first thing. And guess what? They showed a guy pushing Dunlop down the corridor in a wheelchair. Around one o’clock in the morning. I caught a glimpse of his face but it was fuzzy. Never seen him before.”

  “So nobody knows where Shorty is?”

  “Nope.”

  “I think we better find out where all these guys live and pay them some official visits. Talk to their parents and/or wives. I’ll try to get Dunlop’s address from his manager. Where are you now?”

  “Still at the motel. Incoming weather looks iffy for us to start back now.”

  “Black and I should be back home sometime tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds out.”

  “Okay.”

  Claire paused. “Is Brianna still with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You two good?”

  “Yeah, real good. It’s nice. See you tomorrow.”

  Claire smiled as they hung up. Well, at least one thing was going well. That was something to be happy about. She headed over to Black, but her mind was on tomorrow and what they’d find when they drove out beyond the lake to the boonies. Right now, however, she just wanted to grab Black and get the hell out of the fight zone, away from the sound of doubled fists pummeling bare flesh and grunts of pain and Roman-Coliseum-style-out-for-blood crowd noises.

  Chapter Twelve

  Around ten o’clock the next morning, Claire and Black were taking the Kings Highway down ramp off Highway 40 on their way to Barnes Jewish Hospital. They negotiated their car through the heavy traffic around the huge hospital complex, left the rental in a big parking garage at the Center for Advanced Medicine building, which everybody called CAM. Then, after a long stroll across a glassed skywalk over Euclid Street, they ended up inside a richly appointed office that Black used whenever he treated his head cases at the giant teaching hospital. There
was a one-way observation window that looked into the next room, through which Claire could see several comfortable couches and chairs and tables with puzzles and Barbie dolls and blocks and Hot Wheels’ cars on top of them.

  “Do you use that room for therapy, Black?”

  “Sometimes. Especially with the little guys. I usually let the parents observe from in here, unless the patient is over twelve. Teenage issues deal mainly with the parents, so the older kids want complete confidentiality about what they do and say.”

  “Do you treat a lot of little kids?”

  “More than you would think.”

  “Well, that’s sad.”

  “Yes, it is.” Black hesitated, and then said, “I usually allow Joe McKay to watch from an observation room back home when I’m seeing Lizzie.” He leaned back in the chair behind the desk and rocked a couple of times. Then he said, “Have you talked to McKay since he moved back to the lake?”

  Surprised, Claire darted a quick look at him. “Joe’s back at the lake? I haven’t seen him or talked to him since we got back from New Orleans.”

  “Apparently, Lizzie is terrified of that old Victorian house he was restoring over in Springfield. He said she gets hysterical whenever she sees it and refuses to go inside. So he just closed it up and brought her back to the lake. They’re living out on his farm again.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder, poor baby. A real-life bogeyman kidnapped her out of that house. But it’s a shame, really. Joe loves that place on Walnut Street. He had some big plans in the works for his bed-and-breakfast inn.”

  Black nodded and contemplated her for a moment. “Isn’t Joe from out around where you said some of your fighters live?”

  “Yes, he is. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Maybe he knows some of them. Or their families. He might be able to fill you in on them before you and Bud go out there and look around.”

  “Yeah, I bet he can. I’ll call him when we get back.” She smiled, encouraged by the new lead. “So you don’t mind me spending time alone with Joe, anymore? That’s a first.”

  “Just so you wear that engagement ring on your finger and make sure he sees it. Then it won’t bother me at all.”

  “That just sounds so unnecessarily possessive, Black. In your face, even.” She held up her left hand. “This ring doesn’t go in my nose, you know.”

  “But it’s good enough right where it is to fend off interested men. Which means Joe McKay.”

  “I think you overrate my appeal. None of my suspects seem to find me as desirable as you do, unless it’s that Fitch kid from last night. He thinks he’s God’s gift. One of those boys even thought I was a man. Kept calling me sir.”

  Black scoffed at that. “I find that hard to believe. And who the hell exactly is this Fitch kid?”

  “One of the fighters I interviewed last night. His come-ons were so clumsy that I was more amused than insulted. You need to remember his name. He’s probably one of your future patients.”

  “Maybe I should have a talk with him now.”

  Claire shook her head and then she laughed. “Or maybe you could challenge him to a duel. Come on, Black, give me a break here. You have nothing to worry about, and you know it. I’m a one-man woman.”

  Then Claire waited for him to bring up the wedding but he said nary a word. Well, goody. Maybe he had meant what he said about letting her plan the thing. But hey, she’d believe that when she saw it. Maybe she ought to just be flattered. She changed the subject. “So when is Anna Kafelnikov supposed to come in?”

  “Ten minutes ago.”

  “You think she’s skipping out on you?”

  “No. Anna never misses a chance to get out of that compound.”

  So they waited some more, and then a little bit more, and then a whole lot more. “Well, looks like she fooled you this time, Black.”

  “She’ll be here. Just be patient. She’s usually late.”

  Fine, except that Claire wasn’t patient and never had been. Bored to distraction while watching him scribble notes on some patient’s file, she finally said, “So, what did you think of the fighters you watched last night?”

  Black glanced up. “Not very much. You could take down most of them with one hand tied behind your back. Hell, you can almost take me down when we go at it.”

  Inordinately pleased, Claire tried not to show it. “Well, that is my ultimate goal, you know, to take you down. Hard, and make you beg for mercy.”

  “Hard is right. But hey, anytime, anyplace, baby. But if I win, I get the reward I want. And you know what that is.”

  Yeah, Claire knew exactly what that was, all right, and that certainly wouldn’t be any hardship on her, either. In fact, she would look forward to it. If he won. On the other hand, he could be talking about freedom to discuss wedding plans all night long and all the next day, too. “You’re on, buddy. Right here, right now. I dare you. Just come over here and see what you can do.”

  “Bring it. Give it your best.” Black motioned her toward him using both hands.

  Claire laughed at that, but their challenging words were cut short when Black’s mysterious patient finally showed up. The woman walked right into the office from a back hallway that the doctors probably used so that their patients out in the waiting room didn’t know they were goofing off or flirting with their nurses and/or dragging in to the office late with a hangover headache. Black stood up and gave the woman a quick hug. Then the Moscow crime boss’s elusive daughter turned and looked directly at Claire.

  “So you are Claire Morgan. Well, I can certainly see that you are every bit as lovely as Nicky described you.”

  Lovely? No way was she lovely, of all things, and Claire bet Black didn’t use that word to describe her, either. If there was anything she wasn’t, it was lovely. She glanced at him, and he was nodding and smiling, apparently as pleased as could be that Anna thought Claire looked lovely. Now that was truly annoying. Like she was one of his five-star hotels that someone was admiring and booking into. Truth, though? Anna was spot-on beautiful. Dark-lashed blue eyes, long and silky black hair, delicate and patrician features, very tall with that willowy thing going on. Yep, she’d do in a pinch to any man with eyes in his head. But alas, there was sadness about her face, too, and she wasn’t trying to hide it. Not sure why, but Claire instantly felt sorry for her. She just looked so damn forlorn. Somehow she knew that the woman had suffered mightily, no question about it. She had given up her only child to Booker and Kate, and for the child’s own good. Claire understood the terrible grief of losing a child. She related to Anna Kafelnikov on a very deep and personal level.

  “Thank you, Ms. Kafelnikov. I really appreciate your coming.”

  “I’m Anna, Claire. And I’m always happy to see Nicky so I can escape that dismal armed camp I’m forced to live inside. This is just about the only privacy I ever have outside in the real world. Even now, there are two armed guards dogging my footsteps and watching my every move.”

  “I don’t see how you can stand that.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Please, Anna, sit down. Let me take your coat.” That was Black, as polite as ever. The guy was just irresistible when he resorted to his Mr. Darcy-Jane Austin fancy good manners.

  Anna slipped out of her long camel wool coat and matching leather gloves, and then she sat down in the armchair beside Claire’s and crossed her long legs. She wore a black flannel maxi skirt with tall black leather boots and a belted pink sweater set that looked like the cashmere ones that Black kept buying for Claire in the hopes she’d ix-nay some of her favorite but ratty black T-shirts. Anna’s hair was pulled back in a chic French twist without a strand out of place. She looked elegant and composed and yes, lovely, and she quickly settled into the same sad expression that Blythe Parker had worn. It looked like Missouri Mafia Molls were not exactly deliriously happy with their lot in life.

  Black took his seat behind the desk again. “Claire is here on official business, Anna. She
would like to ask you a few questions about Ivan. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes, I am. Of course.” She placed her attention back on Claire. “Has he killed someone again?”

  Well, that was unexpected and uttered as nonchalantly as hell. Jeez Louise. “I’m not sure. That’s why you’re here. You are acquainted with a woman named Blythe Parker, are you not?”

  “Yes, I know her extremely well.”

  “When we interviewed her, she told us that Ivan Petrov was her ex-husband and that he had reason to commit the murder we are investigating. She had no proof to give us, but she seemed very sure that if he hadn’t done it himself, then he had ordered it done.”

  “How is Blythe?”

  “She looked fine when we saw her. Very pale and fragile and unhappy, but I think she is healthy, if that’s what you’re asking. She seemed devastated by her husband’s death.”

  Anna sat straighter. “Paulie? They got Paulie?”

  Oh, crap, Anna didn’t know. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kafelnikov, I assumed you knew.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard.” She sighed, very heavily, very resignedly. “But I guess I’m not surprised. I knew Ivan was only waiting for the right opportunity.” She stopped, and sighed again. “And please call me Anna. I am not particularly proud of my last name.”

  “All right.”

  Anna gave another morose little smile. “It’s not easy being a member of a crime family. You are trapped inside a vicious cycle with people you love dearly but can’t condone what they do. It’s very hard to get out. It’s like being trapped in a bad dream with no way to escape.”

  Claire dared a sidelong peek at Black, who sat stone-faced and said nothing. It suddenly occurred to her that Anna and Black had a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he offered to treat Anna’s depression and considered her such a good friend. Both were innocent people who’d done nothing wrong but had been caught up in the lawless acts of close family members. Except that Black had gotten out early and completely and had never really been involved. Anna had not been that lucky.