What Lies Within

by Clare de Lune

  “Like a movie.”

  “What?” Wong looked confused.

  Ti shook her head. “Nothing. This is all like a movie.” Then, just for good measure: “You haven’t heard anything about Tamara, have you?” Please be far away and safe, she thought. She hoped Wong couldn’t read her thoughts.

  “No, but I need you to tell me more about her now. It seems as though Everlasting Beauty had a thing about bringing on trans, gays, runaways, drug users, prostitutes…just about anyone who didn’t fit into society’s norm…then getting them to work for the company in some way, modeling or doing whatever, then killing them. Did your father talk about that? Did he say anything about hating certain ethnic groups—”

  “You mean was he racist? Sexist? A pig? Probably. I don’t know much about him. He left when I was young. When John comes, he might be able to tell you more. I think they knew each other well enough. John mentioned recently that he owed Claude a favor, whatever that means.”

  “What did your mother do for a living? Do you remember?”

  Ti shrugged, wondering why it mattered. “I dunno. Just a housewife, I guess. John was doing well as a carpenter back then, so she didn’t really work.”

  “Was Claude abusive towards you or your mother?”

  Ti swallowed, remembering. “Yes. He hit my mom a few times. Not me, though. He used to bring me to cemeteries and would make me stand out by the entrance. He would make me whistle if the cops drove by.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  Ti wasn’t sure of the answer, but she squirmed thinking about it. The smell…that pungent odor of rich New Orleans earth mingled with death and decay…she could swear it had trickled its way into the building now. “I don’t know.”

  “You said you hadn’t heard from him since he left?”

  “Correct. Apparently, I got this job with Tamara because he owns it and wanted to help me after…” Ti lowered her head. “My girlfriend back in New Orleans died.”

  Wong looked up. She analyzed Ti as if she were thinking, You were going to be next. “I’m sorry.”

  Wong’s phone buzzed and Ti got a glimpse of the text from Robert Black: “I’m outside the room.” God, I hope they didn’t find anything, Ti thought. Wong politely excused herself and left the room. It was quiet in the station, so Ti didn’t have to strain too much to hear.

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing, really. We’re looking through her hard drive and there’s nothing on there except basic stuff—games, basic software—almost like she just got the thing. Tore the place apart.”

  “We should keep looking. What about what Camlin said? Robert, I know you hate him, but we should take what he says into consideration.”

  “I’m still laughing my ass off at what he said, to be completely honest. You’re talking about a woman, for crying out loud…I’m just not sure she’s capable. An accessory, maybe. We’ll get her here and find out. Give her a polygraph if possible. What’s the girl saying?”

  “She doesn’t seem to know much, but what she is giving me is definitely painting Moreau as a total psychopath. Abuse history and all.”

  “What did you find out about Thomas Fink or Paul Bertrand, whatever the fuck his name is?”

  “I believe it’s Fink…it’s so hard to tell. This guy had several aliases. We found an I.D. on him, Elliot Scivique, Nevada. His fingerprints match up with the Paul Bertrand alias. He had been driving an old 1995 Chevy Suburban and was picked up for drunk driving outside of Vegas. He was released but never picked up the car. I’m still not clear on how he got back here to San Francisco, but he had good reason to leave the car in impound. They, um, found something in it…”

  “Well?”

  “Human fingers and a pair of eyes in a 48-ounce 711 cup.”

  “Jesus. Fitting, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So, we’re trying to figure out if he’s Elliot Scivique, Paul Bertrand or Thomas Fink. We don’t really know yet, but he’s obviously a sick fuck. There are three girls missing outside the Las Vegas metropolitan area.”

  “Girls, huh?”

  “I don’t think it matters much, Robert. There’s a good reason to think the dead guy—whatever his name was—was involved with Moreau and Everlasting Beauty. Tamara Rinald’s name is just listed as manager of this coffee shop. Maybe all she did was manage Daily Grind for them. She probably does know something, but we won’t know until we find her.”

  “We’ll see.” Ti heard Black’s footsteps.

  “Just let it go, dipshit,” Ti mumbled under her breath. But Black wouldn’t do that. Ti could tell that Black would hammer this one out until he dragged someone in and threw them in San Quentin.

  Ti sat there, processing everything. Connecting the dots. Thinking. Planning. Who is Tamara, really? Was she really Thomas Fink? As she pieced it together in her mind, she supposed it was very possible for the police not to have a clue who Tamara really was. If she was trying to cover her past, Hurricane Katrina definitely helped with that. Ti could imagine how easy it was to show up in a place with just the clothes on your back. Tamara didn’t talk too much about her past life in New Orleans—they only chatted about restaurants and shops—so Ti never really pressed. And if Claude caught on that she might blab, it would be enough incentive to let Tamara run a cover business, keep her happy, keep things stable.

  Well, at any rate, Tamara, whoever she used to be, was gone. As a friend, Ti wanted her safe. As a victim, she wished she’d asked her more questions when Tamara had been standing on her stairwell. They’re going to figure it out eventually, Ti thought as she dug her fingernails into her palm. But maybe not. She thought about how so much was wiped away after Katrina, how so many people had nothing left.

  How could she not know Sophia? It was impossible. She thought about that day she’d seen Sophia through her window. That was the day Tamara had come over and trimmed her hair. Pretty. Looks like a high-class whore. Sure did seem like a venomous statement, especially from Tamara.

  Sophia knows Claude and Claude seems to know Tamara pretty well. What is the connection? The thought of all those lost dead boys and women made Ti’s stomach twist into a complicated knot. She had to get inside her head. With all these pieces falling into place, she was beginning to understand her mission out here in the West.

  That journal. The small, leather-bound book was in Black’s hands now. She knew that journal from somewhere. She remembered Sophia sitting on her fire escape, writing with intense concentration. Was Tamara mentioned in it? I have to find out what’s in that journal.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sophia: What Lies Within

  The police station felt like a deep freezer and Sophia yearned to punch Mark Leonide in his bloated face and burst through the doors.

  “What are you doing back in New Orleans?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  Leonide laughed. “I’m making it my business, Ms. Varga! Police in San Fran are saying you have partial ownership in a business with Claude Moreau and Thomas Fink and that y’all kill transients and prostitutes and use body fat to make cosmetics. What do you have to say about that?”

  Sophia crossed her arms and looked away.

  “You’re going to be extradited, Ms. Varga. You’re under suspicion for being an accessory to multiple murders.”

  “I am not responsible for what Claude Moreau did. He is a crazy fuck. You said Paul is dead? He had my fucking journal on him. Tell Black to find it and read it. I’ve kept that thing since I was sixteen, around the time he started making me fucking prostitute myself so he could make money.” And he was my fucking father, too. Go figure. She declined to tell Leonide that interesting little tidbit. Save it for later.

  “We need you to sign the extradition paperwork.”

  “I’m not signing shit. I didn’t do anything.”

  “If you don’t sign it, you know what that means? We’ll get it before the Governor, and he’ll sign it.”

  “And that’ll
take what, years? I’m from here. I know how long that shit takes.”

  “You can sit in jail for the whole process, Ms. Varga. I’m sure I can find something.”

  Will going back to San Francisco be that bad? She stared at Leonide’s reddening face as she thought. Claude was in jail. Paul was dead.

  “You want to think about it in jail? Your boyfriend, Thomas, or Paul, or whatever the fuck his name is, killed several women while he was perusing around Nevada. And now he’s dead. Your other business partner is in jail. You’re out of options.”

  Why did he just call Paul Thomas?

  “So they know Paul’s name is really Thomas Fink?” Might as well throw it out there, she thought.

  Leonide flashed a fake grin. “Just sign the paperwork.”

  Well, this is quite interesting. Our little Tamara, my old flame Thomas, is totally off the hook. And hopefully they think Paul is Thomas.

  Sophia didn’t think about how that could have happened. It probably would not take them very long to find out the truth.

  I know where you are, Thomas. And you will always be Thomas to me.

  Sophia smirked. And signed.

  * * * *

  “Did you read my journal?”

  “I did.” Black stayed poker-faced.

  “I didn’t know what they were up to. I swear to you. Claude just—groomed me to play along with him. He made me prostitute myself as a teenager, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Then you won’t mind telling me how you ended up with partial ownership of Everlasting Beauty?”

  “I questioned that too for some time, you know. I felt like Claude felt sorry for me. He told me that day on the balcony that I’m his daughter.”

  Black didn’t say anything.

  “I wrote down everything in my journal because he was using me! Don’t you understand? He forced me to do all that. Him and that crazy Fink guy, they were both controlling my life. But I never hurt anyone. The only thing I’m guilty of is running away. I saw things, yes…but he would have killed me. I think he killed my mother, too.”

  Wong paused the tape. They had recorded Sophia Varga speaking to Robert Black about her involvement. “She’s lying about something,” Wong said flatly. “I can tell by the way her eyes are shifting back and forth.”

  “She may be withholding information, but I think overall, she’s not a killer.”

  Wong scoffed. Black held up his hand. “You weren’t there when I first questioned her. She seemed to think Moreau was stalking her, remember? Even then, he was a threat. Sure, she may have known about some things, but as far as actually killing people? No. Fink was doing that.”

  Wong stared at the paused image of Sophia Varga. “What else do we have on Fink? Is Paul Bertrand his real name?”

  “It looks like it is. We fingerprinted him a couple of years ago and it matches what they have in Nevada. Picked him up for peeping in windows. Ellen, this is it. We’ve got him dead and we’ve got Moreau in New Orleans. Moreau has paper trails that go back and forth from New Orleans to San Francisco, and there’s a warehouse here in the city. Once we get the warrant to search it, who knows what we’ll find. And Sophia Varga is probably a gold mine of information. That journal…there is nothing in there that indicates she was involved in any murders. We’ll pick her up for accessory to murder, sure, but we need her to spill first. And Moreau’s gonna be in custody as soon as he’s done at the hospital. We can probably offer Sophia less time if she fesses up. To me, it sounds like she may have witnessed several crimes and didn’t report them. And according to the journal and the records we have on missing persons, it matches up, and she was underage when all this started. The bones we found were dated-that goes back to when Moreau lived here-then we found some recent ones from around the time Fink/Bertrand was picked up for being a Peeping Tom. Makes sense to me.”

  “And we never found Tamara. Nothing that traces her back to New Orleans?”

  “No. I looked over and over. I think she had reassignment surgery back in New Orleans before Katrina and came here afterwards with nothing. Happened to a lot of people. Not too uncommon. I don’t think it even matters what her name was before she had surgery. It seems to me like she was very heavily involved in providing cover for Moreau’s business. Maybe she saw something and Moreau or Fink killed her. I’m sure we’ll find her bones in the Pacific.”

  “What about what Camlin said? About the stabbing patterns?”

  Black rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Oh God. Camlin is a joke.”

  He knew Camlin was brilliant. But they were so close to wrapping up this case. Trying to dig up crap on Varga would be a nightmare. Not to mention, no one ever believed women were responsible for these things--but for some reason, Wong had that look on her face.

  “Did you ask around about Bertrand?”

  “Yeah, I found some old girlfriend of his. She said he’s narcissistic, with a sexual deviant, masochistic type personality. Borderline. She said he changed his appearance and name all the time. Pretended to have a job in some office building over there close to the University, but Bertrand has been living off inheritance for close to five years now. Unemployed. Unless you count the share he was getting from the company.”

  “Of course she said all that. She’s an ex-girlfriend,” Wong said, her voice strange and quiet. Black rolled his eyes. “Robert, listen to me. I know you’re still crushed about Jason. Anyone would be, but if we work on closing this one out as is, we risk having this woman go back out there and do the same thing. It’s not just that. If we keep pressing her, she might even be able to recall running into Jason at some point.”

  Black just stared at her.

  “Jesus. Okay, Robert. Maybe you got your guys.”

  Black grinned at her and tried to make it as contemptuous as possible.

  * * * *

  Two Weeks Later

  Sophia wasn’t surprised to see Ti on her doorstep. But she was a little surprised to see that look on her face. Anger. Intense, burning fury. I wonder if she knows she’s my sister.

  “You’re back. Your cat’s fine. I want to come in and talk to you.”

  Sophia let her in. There was still a large scattering of dried blood on the carpet where Paul had been killed. It would have worked so well, she thought as she looked at it again.

  They sat at the kitchen counter, both of them averting their eyes from the kill spot.

  “I know all about you. I know you were involved with my father. And I don’t really know about your boyfriend, but he fucking attacked me as soon as I went into your place to pick up Argie.”

  Sophia started to talk, but Ti overrode her. “I found a bunch of shit on your computer. And some weird autopsy book on your shelves. A knife with what looked like blood on it. Jesus,” she huffed, holding back tears. “The lives you probably ruined. But I have to know more about my father. I think that when I came out here, somewhere deep inside of me, I was looking for something. Maybe to understand what happened to him, why my mother shot herself, and why I turned out so…so strange. And I knew I couldn’t learn about him if you were in jail forever.” She paused. “I did the math. I know he’s your father, too. My stepfather, John, told me about how he saved my mom off the streets. She was a prostitute and was working for him—our father. Claude was pretty pissed about that, always threatening John, always asking about me, apparently. So I guess he convinced John to talk me into moving out here and working for you crazy fuckers. And I ended up in this web and you sure as hell didn’t help things.”

  “So. You want something from me. And I want something from you, too.”

  “What? Fucking photographs? You want to kill me now?” Ti stood up.

  “No. I—” Don’t say anything about wanting to find Thomas. “I want a real family. I am pregnant.”

  Ti sat down. “Oh. Christ.”

  “That person, it was not really me.”

  “And you knew Tamara?”

  “I knew her well before she decided to chang
e, yes.” And trick me into thinking Claude had killed her. “Do you know where she is? I would like to speak to her.”

  “I think so. She…” Ti rummaged in her pockets. “She sent this postcard. I’m not sure where that is.” She flipped it over to show Sophia.

  Ah. One of the lion statues on the Széchenyi Chain Bridge. Budapest. Very interesting. Perhaps he wants to play chase again.

  Sophia kept this to herself. She cleared her throat. “I can tell you this one thing: Claude made me who I am. That was not me. He’s just…so…”

  Ti finished for her: “Manipulative.”

  “Yes.” I can feel your loneliness, little girl. I can hear your screams. Let me consume your soul. She smiled a little, even let her eyes crinkle at the corners, just like she’d practiced.

  And there it was: she saw that thing flash before Ti’s eyes…what was it again?

  Empathy.

  Oh yes. Feel for me. Let me inside your head. Let me cleanse you and strip you completely raw.

  The End

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I appreciate you taking the time to read What Lies Within. It was a difficult book to write, but I was glad to see Tamara off to a “safe for now” place. I love her and always will. ;)

  As an avid reader, librarian and writer, I love talking books. I’d also be very grateful for your feedback. You’ll find my social media links in the next section.

  Finally, I need to ask a favor. If you’re so inclined, I’d love a review of What Lies Within. Loved it, hated it—I’d just appreciate the feedback. You, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, here’s a link to my author page on Amazon where you’ll find my other books: https://goo.gl/nULxAK

  Thank you so much for reading What Lies Within and for spending time with me inside my head.

  In Gratitude,

  Clare de Lune

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Clare grew up in the middle of nowhere with a police officer father and an artistic bar-owning mother, which fueled her imagination with stories and left lots of time for horror movies and books. Clare is currently a librarian and writer, and when she’s not traveling to strange lands, lives with her partner and cat in New Orleans.