Bad Bones (Claire Morgan)

by Linda Ladd

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re getting awfully friendly with our suspects, aren’t you?”

  “Ha-ha. Maybe I’m just being official. Maybe you should check your own attitude. It’s pretty obvious that you don’t like that guy.”

  “Liking him has nothing to do with it. He’s hiding stuff. I think he was driving that pickup truck today, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “Yeah, and as long as the Fitches don’t prosecute, we have no case, anyway.” He started the motor. “You catch more flies with honey, and all that crap.”

  “I don’t waste honey on guys like him.”

  “Okay. Way I see it? We don’t know any more about any of these people than we did yesterday. Charlie’s gonna be pissed.”

  “Yeah, he sure is. Let’s head down to the morgue and see what Buck’s got on Blythe Parker’s body.”

  “Okay, let’s go. Nothin’ else to do.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Their visit to the morgue didn’t show up much that they didn’t already know. Blythe Parker, throat slit, wide and deep, the rest of her beaten brutally by somebody who didn’t do things halfway. Claire drove home alone, but she dropped in first at Harve Lester’s house. Now back from Los Angeles, her retired LAPD partner was watching a Rams football game on his gigantic television set. Rolling ahead of her in his motorized wheelchair, he took the fried fish dinner she had brought him and got them both a cold beer out of the fridge. Then they sat down and watched some of the game together.

  “So, how are the Rams doin’?”

  “Gettin’ beat right now. But they’ll come back in the second half. Just like always.”

  Claire watched him feast on the fish, very glad to see him home and well. They didn’t hang around as much, now that Black was in her life. She missed being with him, too. They needed to go fishing or duck hunting. “Hey, Harve. You know anything about a feud going on out on those hill farms north of the lake? Between two families named the Parkers and the Fitches?”

  Harve swallowed the bite he was chewing, and then he said, “Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff folklore is made of. All of them are crazy sons of bitches, if you ask me.”

  “So you do know them?”

  “My pop used to go up there on plumbing calls. He had some stories that you would not believe.”

  “Oh, I’d believe them. You bet I’d believe them. Bud and I were up there today. That’s where we got that fish.”

  Harve stopped in the process of poking a French fry into his mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t eat it then. Those guys are more than suspect.”

  Claire laughed at that. “Bud and I ate it, and we’re still alive, at least so far we are. The poison could be slow acting.”

  Harve didn’t laugh. “You better be careful up there in those parts. Those guys are some very, shall we say, eccentric people, and that is putting it mildly.”

  “That’s one word you can use. I prefer bizarre and scrambled brains.”

  “That works for me, too.”

  Claire sighed, feeling tired of it, all of a sudden. “Yeah, I’d say. It’s like driving your car down into a different century, especially when you enter the gate at Fitchville.”

  “So they still have that little village thing up there?”

  “’Fraid so. Looks almost like some kinda cult. That what you think it is?”

  “Hell if I know. Pop just told me they had a little self-contained village. One that the state doesn’t recognize. They pay their taxes and all that so nobody cares what they do back in there.”

  “Oh, yeah? A village run by a big bearded prophet that looks like Rasputin?”

  Harve shrugged. “Pop always said their women needed to get the hell out of there and get themselves a decent life. He was always proactive when it came to women’s lib and equal rights.”

  “They wear long gingham dresses, Harve. Pastel ones. Even now, in this weather. Can you believe that?”

  “Oh, yeah. The elders out there arrange marriages, too. I hear there’s a lot of inbreeding, if you know what I mean. And old men with fourteen-year-old brides. That’s sick. Don’t know if they’re still doin’ it.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you mean about inbreeding. Lots of amorous first cousins, just a feeling I got.”

  “Or brothers and sisters. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

  “Jeez, Harve. Please, you’re making me sick. Not to mention, all that is against the law.”

  “It’s the way they believe.”

  “It’s the way they’re brainwashed. I just might oughta raid that place and have a gumption seminar with those poor women.”

  “They won’t testify against their men.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way it usually is. What about cage fighting? Your pop ever mention that?”

  “Yep, raised the daughters docile, and the sons brutal. Trainin’ them young for marriage, I guess. Parker family, too. Rivals in the cage, big-time. Pop said they started kids out early.”

  “And if I find out that’s going on, those guys up there are toast.”

  “Good. They could be on the up and up now, who knows? Laws have certainly tightened up on that sort of thing.”

  Halftime came along, and they sat there together and talked about other things. Harve was doing really well, and Claire was happy to see him and catch up on his life. After about an hour, she took her leave and headed home to her place just down the road. It still looked warm and inviting, even sans the presence of a big handsome doctor, which was a downer, to be sure. But there did happen to be a strange boat tied up at her dock, one she’d never seen before. Not to mention the even stranger stranger sitting on her front porch waiting for her—in some very frigid weather, at that.

  Instead of driving into the garage, she stopped out front and got out of the Explorer. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Badidiah Fitch himself, or should I just say Bad? Trespassing on my property and giving me one helluva good reason to throw him in jail.”

  “Hello, detective. Thought I’d drop by and say hello. See how you’re doing.”

  Claire glanced around. “So where are all your old-timey cohorts? I thought the Fitches traveled in covered wagons.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I like you, detective. You’ve got a sense of humor, if not a lot of smarts. I like that in a woman.”

  “I’m sure you do. Guess you wish I was standing out here shivering in a gingham frock, too, huh?”

  “Not so much, but I’m not into women’s fashion. You look pretty damn hot in those jeans, though.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’ve never seen a woman in jeans before. What do you want, Fitch? I’m busy.”

  “Just came by to say hello.”

  “Hello. Now, good-bye. Get off my property and don’t come back. Fitches don’t agree with me. Just haven’t got the ‘no damned Fitches’ sign up yet.”

  “No can do. Mayor Fitch wants me to bring you back to the village.”

  “Well, you can tell Paw Paw Harold that I don’t take orders from him.”

  Bad stomped his feet and clapped his hands together, acting almost as if it were winter dusk and ten below. “Oh, come on now. It’s just a friendly visit. Surely you know how to be friendly? Once or twice in your lifetime, at least.”

  “Never had any lessons in friendly. So, now what? You gonna pull out that shotgun that you like to brandish about and scare me silly again?”

  “Don’t think so. How about you asking me to come inside? It’s pretty damn cold out here. You sure took your time getting home tonight.”

  Who the Sam Hill did this moron think he was? Wow. But she was curious. What did he really want with her? Or did Big Daddy want something? Or any run-of-the-mill Fitch? “I think it might be better if we had our chat down at the sheriff’s office. You call up and make an appointment, got that? How did you find my place, anyway?”

  “I read about it in the papers when you got your badge jerked for sleeping with the enemy. Also known as your pr
ime suspect at the time and/or Nick Black.”

  Claire just stared at him. Then she said, “Get out.”

  “No offense meant. There were pictures in the paper, you know, and the mayor knows who Harve Lester is and where he lives. So, here I am. Ready, willing, and able to escort you personally back up to our farm. We’ll go by boat. Lake happens to inlet on our property.”

  Claire considered him for a moment. He was such a colossal jerk, smug, arrogant, stupid, hick to the max. But he was intriguing, too, and suddenly using better English. She was pretty sure he hadn’t come hither to off her or force her to marry an old bearded Fitch. She’d like to see him try. She clomped up on the porch and punched in the code on the security system. “Please do come in, Mr. Fitch. But you can’t stay long. Just long enough to tell me why you are protecting those mortal enemy Parker thugs who shot up your little old wild West world today.”

  He laughed, and it actually sounded genuine. Maybe he did like her. Well, yippee-ki-oh, but she didn’t like him one bit and he certainly wasn’t going to like her for much longer, either.

  “You are very entertaining, you know that, Claire?”

  “Oh, yeah, I am, and plenty of times, too. Usually when I laugh and throw away the key. And don’t call me Claire.”

  But he climbed the steps and walked inside and looked around. “Nice place.”

  Claire took off her coat and gloves and hat and pulled out her Glock 19. He looked down at it. “Awesome weapon. Wish I had one. Will you let me shoot it sometime?”

  “Will you be my target sometime?”

  He grinned.

  Claire frowned. “I do have the funniest feeling that you’ll see me shoot it at you before you’ll ever get your hands on it.”

  “You are just so damn hostile that it turns me on a bit.” He unzipped his orange parka. “Mind if I sit down? Got any coffee? Or better yet, hot chocolate? Some of those little marshmallows on top would be good, too.”

  This guy was something else, reminding her a little bit of Joe McKay, but he had to be there for a reason, and Claire really, really wanted to know what it really was. She watched him take off his coat and sprawl down in Black’s big brown corduroy easy chair beside the fireplace. And, no, Black would not like that. She walked into the kitchen, picked up the remote and hit the fire logs, and then spun the little coffee cup holder and chose him the ultra-strong French blend that Black liked to drink. She put a mug on the Keurig, put in the cup, and pressed the button. Bad was now standing in front of the fire, warming his backside. At least, he was out of Black’s favorite chair. “Here’s some coffee,” she told him, putting it down on the counter. “I’m not bringing it to you. Guess I’m not as subservient as the Fitch womenfolk. I hate servitude and chauvinistic men.”

  Bad Fitch crossed the room and sat down on a bar stool. “I don’t like my women subservient. I like ’em like you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Hey, do the gals out there wash your feet, too?”

  Laughing, he picked up the mug and took a small sip. “Um, um, good. I do like my coffee strong, just like my women.”

  Claire gazed at him. “Know what, Mr. Fitch. I could care less how you like your women, if you’ve ever even had a woman, or anything else about you, actually. Understand that now? Tell me why you came here and then get the hell out. I have better things to do.”

  “I think I’m in love with you.”

  “Okay, that does it. Get the hell out of here.”

  “Sorry. Just joshing with you. I’ll be good.”

  She doubted he had that capability. There was just something about him that gave her the Norman Bates willies. In fact, he sorta looked like the psycho in the original Psycho film. Maybe he was the murderer. Maybe he was the one who liked to break the bones of helpless people. “Tell me true, Mr. Fitch, did you murder Paulie and Blythe Parker?”

  He didn’t laugh at that, but he didn’t take the question seriously, either. “Now you are hurtin’ my feelings. You’re a hard woman to reach out to. I’m just tryin’ to touch your sensitive side here.”

  Claire sighed. Enough, already. Her life was just unacceptable, of late. The Fitches and Parkers were definitely getting to her and not in a good way. She needed Black to examine her head and make her unconscious with a magic pill, or anything similar. “Either you tell me why you are here and what you want, and right now, or I’m going to escort you out with my weapon stuck up against your jugular and then call for a patrol car to pick you up and hold you in the psych ward for seventy-two hours. Do you understand me, Mr. Fitch?”

  “No need to be rude.”

  Claire pulled out her phone. She punched in the number for dispatch. She had truly had it with this guy.

  “Wait, I’ll tell you the truth. Hang it up. Please. I swear I’m on the level now.”

  “I am not kidding around, Mr. Fitch. I do not like your showing up here like this. Don’t ever do it again. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Claire told the dispatch operator that she’d call her back, and then she put the phone down on the counter and waited. Fitch didn’t say anything, but he reached for something in his pocket. She had her weapon in her hand again before he could blink.

  “I’m not goin’ for a gun. Good God, you are a jumpy woman.”

  “Not jumpy, just careful. Whatever you’re taking out of that pocket, you better do it nice and slow.”

  So, very nice and slow, he brought out a badge and laid it on the counter.

  Claire stared at it a moment, and yes, she was extremely shocked to see such. “You’re undercover?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “My real name is Kevin McGowen, and I work for the ATF. There’s the badge right there.”

  “Then how the devil are you passing yourself off as a bona fide Fitch?”

  “My great-great-grandmother was a Fitch who had the good sense to leave the fold, thank God. Those guys out there are lunatics.”

  “Yeah? And they fell for that lame story?”

  “They aren’t particularly brilliant. I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”

  “I’ve noticed, all right, all those first cousins getting hitched, I suspect.”

  “That really happens.”

  Claire picked up the badge and examined it. She even turned it over and looked for the tag. “Well, that’s gross and unnatural. Tell me what you’re looking for up there, Agent McGowen.”

  “We think they’re running guns into Mexico. I’m trying my best to take them down. All of ’em.”

  “How long have you been under out there?”

  “Goin’ on eight months. And it’s no party living there, believe me. Pretty much sucks.”

  “Is it a cult?”

  “Maybe, sort of, I guess, but all family. I’ve earned the mayor’s trust, and he made me his bodyguard. That puts me in a good position to know what’s going down.”

  “So, McGowen, I guess you don’t mind if I check you out, do you? You know, see if you’re lying through your teeth. Stuff like that. Those badges aren’t exactly hard to come by if you’re a thief.”

  “Be my guest.”

  So he sipped more coffee, and she called Bud, told him the guy’s rather flimsy story, and had him do a background search, and for him to also contact McGowen’s superiors at ATF for verification. Until then, she kept her weapon in her hand. “So why won’t they identify the Parkers as the ones who attacked them?”

  “They don’t ever involve the authorities. When this kinda stuff happens, they retaliate. It’s like a stupid dance. Back and forth, back and forth. People die so it’s no joke.”

  “So their little ho-down two-step includes murder?”

  “Not since I’ve been there. But he has other guys for that kind of thing. He calls them Helpmeets. I do know that the whole clan shunned his granddaughter. Your victim, Blythe, actually. They all act as if she never existed. It’s crazy. I can’t imagine how she ever got out of
there in one piece. The women are veritable captives.”

  “No kidding,” Claire said. She punched on quickly when Bud called back. “Yeah, Bud? So is this guy for real, or not?”

  “Yes, he is. They got all bent out of shape when they thought we had blown his cover.”

  “Okay. Tell the guys over at ATF that he’s still secure. Thanks, Bud. See you in the morning.”

  McGowen was smiling. “Believe me, now?”

  “I guess I have to. You did fool us out there, I’ll give you that much.”

  “I do have Fitch blood, but I’m not exactly proud of it. How about going out with me when I get outta that hellhole?”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “I don’t see a ring. Trust me, I looked.”

  Claire had not been come on to this many times since, well, never, actually. Most men were usually scared of all her weapons and her I-don’t-like-you-even-a-little expression. Most of the ones who did hit on her, however, had only been trying to schmooze her into going easy on them. Fat chance, that. Either that, or the guys she ran into were turned on by severe windburn and frowns and chapped lips and incarceration threats. “Look, McGowen. I am working a double homicide investigation. Can you help me, or not?”

  “I can keep my eyes and ears open and poke around some. Blythe’s mother is out there. A couple of her sisters, too. And a bunch of her brothers.”

  “Is the big guy ruthless enough to order his own granddaughter beaten to death?”

  “I’d say so. He’s in total control out there. Nobody crosses him, and I mean nobody.”

  “Did he really send you down here to get me?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll tell him I couldn’t find you. He trusts me now.”

  “He wants to get me out there and beat me to death, I take it?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. He didn’t really say why he wanted you brought in, and I didn’t ask. Not healthy to question that guy. He might just want to talk to you in private. Without all his followers listening. He keeps lots of secrets from them. From me, too. I have to watch my step.”

  “Sounds dangerous. Maybe I ought to go out and hear what he has to say.”

  “Think again. That would not be a good idea. You might end up dead before I could stop it.”