A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery)

by Anna Burke

  The little parade marched toward Jessica, single file, until they were all in the waiting room where she stood. The diminutive Mr. P stepped out from behind Max Samman and Amy Klein. He had a hand on Kim Reed’s arm, his grip distorting that image of Saraswati. “You paid me a visit, Ms. Huntington. I thought it only fitting to reciprocate.” Jessica tried not to react as the two men glowered at her.

  Max Samman steered Amy Klein back behind the reception desk and seated her in a chair, roughly. In a flash, the large, gangly man administered something from a hypodermic he must have had in one of his enormous hands. Amy Klein looked surprised and confused. Then she slumped forward over her desk, before sliding sideways from her chair onto the floor, with a thud. The doc bent down to check on her. When he stood up again, he spoke.

  “I hear you’ve been asking around about me. What did you have in mind, Ms. Huntington? Your interest in me is likely to make Mr. P here jealous, or maybe you were hoping to arrange a threesome?” He smiled, revealing a wretched set of jagged teeth, more disturbing even than the grillwork worn by her assailant in Riverside. His voice had a harsh, deep sound, slightly raspy.

  “What have you done to Amy, Dr. Samman?” She stared directly at him as she spoke. Jessica refused to yield to his efforts to intimidate.

  “Put her out, Ms. Huntington. Only temporarily, I assure you. She’ll take a nap. When she wakes up, she won’t remember much of what’s happened here. It should help you relax to know your friend here is out of harm’s way.” He leered at Jessica and she could almost hear his unspoken words: “...unlike you, Ms. Huntington.”

  “What is it you want?” She tried to sound calm. Her heart beat wildly as her mind raced through possible answers to that question. None of them were good. The doc had taken up a post next to Kim Reed, as Mr. P stepped toward Jessica. Kim struggled to maintain her deadpan expression, but winced when the doc grabbed her arm.

  “You’ve created quite a stink, Jessica. May I call you Jessica? I feel like I already know you so well. Our lives have become so intertwined.” Mr. P took another step toward her and reached out as though he might touch her. She shrank back away from him. It took all the restraint she could muster to take that step back rather than strike out at him.

  “Now, that’s not nice, almost as rude to me as you were to that client you just had on the phone. If you spoke to me like that, I wouldn’t have dinner with you later. Even though there is something alluring about you. Not like that delectable friend of yours, Kelly Fontana, of course. She was so young, so wild and innocent at the same time. You’re feisty enough, but not the least bit innocent, are you, Jessica? You’ve had plenty of experience in all sorts of endeavors, like rocking the boat. One too many times, I should add. Thanks to you, I’m going to have to take a long vacation abroad while this all gets straightened out.”

  She balled up her fist, clenched and unclenched it, fighting the urge to punch the man. She could get in a couple quick jabs before he or the doc could stop her. That would accomplish little, however, and might accelerate their end game. Even if the doc was telling the truth and Amy was no longer in trouble, Kim Reed still was. Her only goal now was to buy time. Give Peter the chance to get to her and figure out how to help. Instead of punching the man, she spoke, calmly but defiantly.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Mr. Pogswich. What is it that you want? Would you care to sit down and discuss it?”

  The Pogswich thing got to him. He fought to regain composure. The face that won out was that of a man used to getting his way. For an instant, though, she had broken through, and glimpsed the scared husk of a human behind the mask.

  “Please, call me Chris, now that we’re on a first name basis. What I want is to make you pay for the great inconvenience you have caused me. You should have walked away from that defective human being Chester Davis. Running his mouth, talking to Arnold Dunne and his other cellmates, yapping to whoever would listen to him. Like that drab man in the cheap suit assigned as his lawyer. If you had stayed out of it, minded your own business, all of this would have blown over.”

  He looked her up and down, running his tongue back and forth over his bottom lip. That veil of composure seemed to slip a bit as he continued to start at her. An angry curl formed at the edge of his mouth.

  “You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you Jessica? Talking to the Sherriff’s department, and bothering those poor people at the casino, and that other two-bit junkie, Bobbie Simmons. That disgusting punk had the effrontery to demand money, Jessica. Can you believe that? After all I did for that no-good piece of shit over the years, he threatens me.”

  He spat out those last words about Bobby Simmons’ betrayal. Growing angrier, he rose up on the balls of his feet for a moment, then came back down. “Then, you walk into my office and do the same. Even after the favor I did for you. Warning you off, leaving that little note on your car. How dare you!”

  The volume and pitch of his voice had risen. He was working himself up into a snit like that day at his office. “Who do you think you are?” He bounced a little, transferring his weight from one foot to another and gesticulated with both hands. Jessica tried to think of something to say to stall him, keep him talking, without pushing him over the edge. The doc spoke instead.

  “We should get going, Chris.” He spoke to him quietly, delicately, wanting to reach him through the agitation. “We can discuss all of this later. You’ll have plenty of time to lay it all out for Ms. Huntington once we’re in Cabo.”

  That got Jessica’s attention. They were leaving the country and taking her with them. How? Surely Frank had succeeded in getting Mr. P’s plane grounded. Jessica gulped. One of Mr. P’s specialties was, in fact, moving women across the border. Who knew what arrangements the duo had made, given their connections and experience?

  They could drive, crossing the border at Calexico in less than an hour. But once in Mexico, it would take hours and hours to get to Cabo by car She could not imagine Mr. P allowing her to inconvenience him further by forcing him to travel so uncomfortably, since he was going along, too. The most likely mode of travel befitting the spiteful, bantam-weight was his plane. Maybe his jet was stashed at some private airstrip nearby, or had been moved across the border before Frank had it grounded?

  Jessica felt trapped in one of those movies where the clear path for the bad guys was to wrap it up, kill whomever they intended to kill, and make a run for it. A bullet in the head, like that doled out to Bobby Simmons, would do it. In true revenge-addled, psychopathic fashion, however, Mr. P seemed bent on dragging this out. Clearly, he knew he was in trouble. Still, he seemed convinced he could leave the country and take Jessica with him. The doc apparently intended to indulge the little bastard, which meant no bullet in the brain, for the moment.

  “You’re absolutely right, Max. Time to go, Jessica.” With that, he stepped out of the way and the doc moved forward, dragging Kim with him. She did not put up a struggle.

  “I know you have taken a liking to our fetching companion. We found your phone number on her cell. Perhaps we should make it a foursome, Max, my friend. Would you like that?” A lascivious grin spread across the doc’s face.

  “Whatever you say, Chris, as long as we get going. What Chris means to say, Ms. Huntington, is that if you don’t want your new gal pal here to get hurt do exactly as you are told. I am most adept at adjusting the dose from one that offers temporary respite to one that’s permanent. Kim can be paying your old friend, Kelly, a visit in no time at all.” A hypodermic was cupped in his hand. Mr. P picked up where the doc left off.

  “We have a car parked out back, Jessica. Not that lovely S-class sedan with the midnight blue paint, but a sleek, new model. If we had more time, I’d be happy to show you what makes it such a great car. I might even convince you to abandon your penchant for those BMWs that have been giving you a bit of trouble, lately. The four of us are going to walk downstairs and around the back, like two companionable couples heading out for an even
ing of entertainment. A double-date,” he said, giggling, before going on.

  “Give no trouble, get no trouble, Jessica, and neither does the lovely Kim.” He ran his hand over the young woman’s face. She did nothing, even though her eyes blazed for a moment. “Kim knows full well what kind of trouble I can give you, and please don’t push the doc too far. He really has been on his best behavior.”

  Jessica tried to think of something to do. She had not yet replaced the used-up pepper spray can. A quick survey of the room revealed nothing she could use to defend herself. Not that she had much of a chance against the two of them. Even though she had seen no other weapon than the glint of that hypodermic needle, she imagined they were armed. Perhaps both carried guns under the suit jackets they wore in the triple-digit, mid-July heat. In the end, she did as she was told. The doc had moved so swiftly when administering the substance in that needle to Amy, it would take him no time at all to carry out his threat against the young woman at his side.

  Leaving the last vestiges of comfort behind, Jessica exited her office and stepped out into the sweltering late afternoon heat. She did not bother to lock the door behind her. She hoped, in fact, someone would walk in and find Amy Klein.

  “Where are you, Peter?” she wondered. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes away if he had called from his office. She and her party passed through the small courtyard along the walkway that led behind the building. Mr. P sauntered to his sedan in the parking lot and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Please, Max, be a gentleman and open the door for our charming companions while I get the air conditioning going. We want them to be comfortable.”

  The doc opened the door and held it, motioning Jessica to get in. She took one last look around. The sun shone abundantly in a cloudless blue sky. The palms swayed. Jessica spied no brawny security consultant, no swat team, disgruntled detectives, or handsome police officers on bicycles.

  As she bent to avoid bumping her head on the door jamb, she felt a sudden stinging sensation on the back of her arm. “Bee sting,” she thought as she reached to brush it off. The last thing she remembered, before blacking out, was the snaggle-toothed doctor bending close. His fetid breath was on her cheek as he shoved her into that back seat. Kim had already climbed in next to her without making a sound.

  CHAPTER 35

  Jessica dreamed of fire. Flames danced around her as she tried to rouse herself to escape. At one point, she almost succeeded in waking up. She even sat up for a moment, and took in the room around her. Sweat was pouring off of her but she saw no flames, no smoke, no heat, just the cool comfort of sheets. She was in bed, “just dreaming,” she thought, as she slid back beneath the sheets and drifted off to sleep again.

  “Jessica, Jessica Huntington, wake up. You have got to wake up, now.” A gentle shaking became more insistent as the voice pierced Jessica’s stupor. Jessica tried to do as she was told, but her head was pounding. She wanted to close her eyes and go back to sleep so the pain would stop. That voice roused her again. She opened her eyes and lifted her head to take a few sips of water from a glass offered to her. The water moistened her parched mouth and throat, but Jessica’s stomach revolted. She threw up the sips she had swallowed. With that, the young woman standing over her simply hurled the remaining water from the glass into Jessica’s face.

  “What? What’s going on? Who are...?” Jessica finally recognized the young woman standing in front of her. It was zombie girl, less zombie-like now, even though she was dressed entirely in black. In a simple black knit top worn over black leggings, she almost appeared to be a normal girl her age. She was way more disheveled than when Jessica had last seen her. Her hair was in disarray, her makeup all but gone.

  Jessica tried to make sense of her situation. She was in what looked like a hotel room, but where? How did she get there? A funny taste lingered in her mouth and a funny smell hung in the air. Then she remembered: those bastards in her office, the walk to the sedan, a pinprick, and then nothing, well almost nothing.

  The tumult in her stomach began again as she remembered the way he had smelled. It wasn’t just that moment in the car. In the night he had come into her room and sat on the bed beside her. He had leaned over and said something to her before lifting her head and giving her a spoonful of orange-flavored syrup. The flavor did not entirely mask the odor or hide a bitter taste. That’s where she had heard it—from him: “chloral hydrate, Kim. She’ll sleep through the night.” Standing behind him was zombie girl, expressionless as usual. She had asked him what was on that spoon.

  Jessica’s eyes widened as she spoke to the girl, struggling to recall her real name. “You, you were with him. Why did you let him do that? What did he give me?” Jessica’s eyes darted around the room.

  “Yes, I was with him. Where would I go? I told you they’d come after me, and you too. They threatened to kill you if I tried to leave. Why didn’t you get away? You could have made a run for it a couple times as we were leaving your office. You didn’t because he had that needle pointed at me.”

  As she spoke, she walked a short distance and refilled the glass with water. “I didn’t let him do anything, Ms. Huntington. To answer your other question, mostly he’s been giving you chloral hydrate, after that first round of fentanyl Sunday afternoon. I won’t swear that he hasn’t slipped us both a little something else. Max has kept me pretty dopey, too.”

  “Sunday afternoon? What’s today?”

  “It’s Tuesday, Ms. Huntington. We’re at a motel in Indio. We’ve been here since Sunday. Chris and the Doc had plans, but they hit a few snags along the way.”

  “Cabo,” was the only word Jessica could manage to make her voice utter.

  “That’s right. They had Chris’s plane waiting at the municipal airport, Jackie Cochran. We were all on our way to catch that plane when a crew member called. He tipped them off that the plane was grounded and the authorities were waiting. You and your friends have been busy, Ms. Huntington. That crew member said they were watching the border, too, and looking for the Mercedes we were in.”

  As she spoke, she did what she could to continue to bring Jessica around. She sat her up on the side of the bed, then handed her another glass of water. “Sip it slowly,” she ordered. While Jessica sipped the water, Kim continued her story, at the same time digging around beneath the bed to find Jessica’s shoes. “The doc took our cell phones and yanked the batteries and then we checked in here. He called somebody to come and get Mr. P’s car. Paid some jackass to drive it off a cliff or torch it out in the desert somewhere, I guess. Maybe he had it taken to a chop shop, and it’s in about a thousand pieces by now. Who knows?”

  She looked up into Jessica’s face, as she wiggled shoes onto her feet. “I don’t suppose you remember any of this. You were really out of it. The doc had to haul you up the back stairs to get you in here. I thought maybe you had overdosed. Chris said that was fine with him. He was furious, blamed you for all of this, and wanted to kill you right then and there. Max talked him out of it, suggesting you might make a good hostage if it came to that. He didn’t say what ‘that’ was, but Chris bought it, and it’s kept you alive.” Kim stood up, went back into the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth and a dry towel.

  “Clean yourself up, Ms. Huntington,” she demanded, handing both to Jessica as she picked up where she left off.

  “No,” Jessica said, shaking her head.

  “What?” Kim asked.

  “No more Ms. Huntington. I just threw up on you. You can call me Jessica.”

  “Whatever,” she shrugged, then, went on with her story as Jessica used the cool cloth to clean up. The cobwebs hanging out in the corners of her mind refused to go away. She concentrated on Kim’s voice, hoping it would help focus her mind.

  “Chris had a major meltdown Sunday when he realized his grand plan was falling apart. The world-renowned Mr. P was sure the desk clerk would recognize him so Max went in instead. Can you believe that? The doc is not exactly
a ‘low profile’ kind of guy, you know what I mean? Anyway, after we checked in, the doc left us alone while he got rid of the Mercedes. The longer Max was gone the crazier Chis became. He started drinking scotch he pulled from his suitcase. He was guzzling, straight out of the bottle, ranting more, the drunker he got. The son-of-a-bitch called you and me, and even the doc, every name in the book. At one point he was waving this stupid little gold gun around. I thought he might actually kill us or himself. Then he just laid the gun down and went in the bathroom to take a leak. I grabbed the gun, but the damn thing wasn’t even loaded!”

  She took the towel and washcloth from Jessica and tossed them both onto the floor in the bathroom, then stood there a second recalling that first day at the motel. “When he came back out of the bathroom, he had gone from raging monster to scared, sniveling rabbit. He was running around the room, raving that ‘they’re on to us,’ and that ‘we have to get out of here, Kim, Max or no Max.’ The doc had been gone a couple hours so he was sure they got him and we were next. I played along, saying maybe he was right and we should get away while we could. Chris was about to use the phone here in the room to call a cab when Max turned up, with food. Whoever took the car off his hands must have stopped at a drive through, then, dropped Max back here at the motel before he left. Can you believe that? Like two guys out on an ordinary weekend outing, running errands.” She looked at Jessica and shook her head.

  “Chris went off the deep end again. This time he cussed out the doc to his face. I never saw him do that before. I wasn’t sure what Max would do but he stayed calm. He explained that they had to wait until the next morning, when someone was bringing them another car, an old beater of some kind. That horrified Chris. Not only that they had to wait, but that he was going to have to ride around in a ‘piece of shit car,’ as he called it. Max spent another ten minutes explaining why they were better off with a more nondescript car, and that they needed more than just that car. The doc had to get new ‘paper’ for them before they could go anywhere. You know, fake passports and drivers’ licenses, social security cards, stuff like that? The madness continued for at least a couple more hours. Rants of rage followed by demanding, even pleading with the doc to leave, right then and there. The last time I saw the little shit Sunday night, Jessica, he was sucking his thumb and holding the corner of a sheet like it was a blankie. He was sitting in his bed, rocking back and forth like a lunatic. That’s when Doctor Demento got out his bag of goodies and knocked us all out. I think he gave Chris a hit of whatever he had cooked up earlier for you and that woman you work with. It was a round of chloral hydrate for the girls, you first, then me.”