by Matt Coleman
Cary nodded. “Yeah. An hour later than planned, but we went. My favorite vacation. We took many after that. When I was old enough to appreciate things more. But I always loved the Disneyland trip the most.”
Doyle put a hand to Cary’s back. “Does your family live here?”
Cary shook her head. “No. The only family I had here was Johnna.”
“Your friend? The one with you last night?”
Cary shot her a look. “Yes. The one your partners killed.”
Doyle’s eyes teared and she turned away. “I’m sorry, Cary. I didn’t know. I would’ve stopped them if I could.”
Cary shot up and backed away. “Why? What is this to you?”
“I made a mistake, Cary. I was scared. They asked me if I recognized you as the person they were looking for and I said I did. It was wrong, okay. I understand now. And I regret it. It’s why I’ve been looking for you. I’m trying to make it right.”
Cary screamed, “You can’t make it right!”
Doyle ducked her head and cried. “Yeah. I know that. And I’m sorry. I had no idea what they would do.”
“What’s this all about?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Cary.” She squinted at Cary. “What about you?”
Cary threw her hands up incredulously. “Me? How the hell would I—if you’re ‘not entirely sure,’ then I promise you, I am entirely not sure.”
Doyle nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m only saying, they think you have something. Is there any way you could and not realize it?”
Cary’s eyes teared pleadingly. “What? Have what?”
“Did you receive any unusual text messages yesterday?”
Cary shook her head. “What? No. I don’t remember getting anything—” She paused in thought. “Wait. Yeah. I guess. Maybe. But it was nothing.”
Doyle stood up. “Maybe not. What was it?”
Cary shrugged. “No. I mean exactly that. Nothing. An errant text from an old friend. Someone who would never text me. But it was an empty text. I didn’t even reply.”
Doyle frowned. “Empty? You’re sure?”
Cary nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, a mistake. Wrong Cary Trubody.”
Doyle stepped forward and patted her on the arm. “All right. I’m sorry, Cary. I want to help pull you out of this.”
Cary let herself collapse on the officer’s shoulder and they fell to the bed. Doyle held Cary in an embrace as Cary sobbed. And she sobbed for almost half an hour. No words. Pure shock. Doyle soothed her with shushes and smoothed her hair. “Cary, people are trying to kill you. I’m assuming you saw Mrs. Webster die. You’re in shock. This is normal. And we’re getting you out of this mess. But to do that, I need you to pull yourself together. Can you get it together?”
Cary patted at her eyes and drowsily said, “Yeah. I can. This is just a lot.”
Doyle laughed. “No shit. You’re one tough bitch.”
Cary mumbled, “I guess.”
“No guess. Most anybody would’ve folded by now. They’d be dead after the first trip to the woods. I was trying to follow. At a distance. I had a hunch where they were headed. Those guys been taking people out to Graffiti Creek for years. Or at least rumors say so. I was so scared. I thought I had… I thought…” She trailed to the hum of Cary’s soft snores from her shoulder.
Eventually, they both dozed. For hours. Daylight was starting to seep in through the curtains when the ding of a phone woke them both with a start. They fumbled at pockets and purses and pulled out identical phones. Doyle held hers up and raised her eyebrows.
Cary rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Mine’s stolen.”
Doyle gave her a look.
“It’s a long story.” A message from Marlowe had popped up on her lock screen: Found the other Cary Trubody. She’ll meet you. One hour.
“Holy shit. He did it! My friend. He found the other Cary Trubody. He set up a meeting for me. In an hour.”
Doyle took a breath. “That’s—that’s great, Cary. Tell him to send us the address.” She held up her phone and said, “Send the place to my phone. I’ll put it in my GPS.” She called out a number as Cary texted Marlowe.
Doyle’s phone made a noise and she read her screen silently. She nodded. “Okay. We got it. You clean yourself up and we’ll head out.”
Cary nodded and dropped her phone on the bed. “God. This feels like hope. The first hope since all this started.” She pointed at her purse and a stack of towels on the other side of Doyle. “Hey, can you give me my purse and a towel?”
Doyle set her phone down next to Cary’s and reached around to grab the towel and purse. She turned to hand them to Cary, who took her purse with one hand and snagged the towel while scooping up Doyle’s phone with the other.
Cary went into the bathroom and started the shower. She let the steam build up around her as she listened at the bathroom door. Within two minutes the door to the hotel room clicked closed. She stepped out to find Doyle gone, with her clothes. Cary stared down at her tattered dress. “Balls.” She opened up Doyle’s phone to find the text from Marlowe. His name was in the phone. She hadn’t said his name. The text read, “Old Town. Parker Building.”
Chapter 24
Carlos Moya had worked his way down to about four cigarettes a day. One of those remained as his early morning smoke with a cup of coffee. His favorite and the hardest to give up. Something about coffee and cigarettes felt very milk-and-cookies for Carlos. And mornings needed a zen moment like smoking—a time when nothing else could happen, nothing matters for these five minutes except this Pall Mall.
But after about three minutes, Bright Hudson pulled up at his curb and peered at him over a pair of oversized sunglasses. Carlos held out his cigarette and sighed at it. He dropped the half-smoked butt into his coffee with a depressing pfft and started for the car.
Although Bright’s eyes hid behind the sunglasses, they looked about as puffy as Carlos’. They had been at Karen Webster’s crime scene until the wee hours of the morning. Carlos knew Bright had said they would go notify the girl’s next-of-kin first thing. He had merely hoped first thing didn’t mean first thing. But Bright rarely said anything if she didn’t want it taken literally. Carlos rubbed at his mussed hair and sucked at the teeth he’d forgotten to brush. “So do we need an ID?”
Bright studied street signs. “No. We know it’s her. This is a notification call. And we can run through the usual shit, given the chance. ‘Anybody who might want to hurt her’ and all.”
Carlos nodded. “Mom?”
Bright shook her head. “Mom died young of a brain aneurysm. She lived with her grandmother.” She glanced at a scrap of paper in her cup holder. “Brenda Langley. Girl’s name was Johnna Kitteridge. Grandmother is the only living family. Father unknown. Had a sister, but she died in a car accident a few years back. One aunt who died around the same time from what looks like a suicide.”
“Jesus. The luck of this family.” Carlos noticed a pack of gum next to the scrap of paper and helped himself to a piece. “So what’s her connection to our Cary Trubody?”
“They were in a relationship, according to Kitteridge’s Facebook page.”
Carlos chuckled. “Of course they were. Shit. This’ll be fun. We get to tell an old lady not only was your granddaughter gay, but her gay lover might have stabbed her to death.”
Bright eyed him. “Yeah. Let’s hold off on that bit for now.”
Brenda Langley’s kitchen glowed as they pulled up in front. The old woman’s frame passed back and forth several times, enough for Bright to cock her head at Carlos and kill her engine. They had to ring the doorbell twice and knock once before Mrs. Langley sheepishly opened the door. Bright had her badge out and apologized before introducing herself. “Mrs. Langley? I am so sorry to disturb you so early, ma’am.”
Mrs. Langley frowned at them in silence until Carlos pulled out his badge as well. She frowned even more. “Yes? What’s wrong?”
Bright put her ba
dge away and smoothed her skirt. “I’m Detective Bright Hudson. This is my partner, Carlos Moya. Can we come in for a moment?”
Mrs. Langley started to step aside but held onto the door frame. “Is it Johnna? Oh, Jesus. Is it Johnna?” She repeated the phrase over and over until Bright stepped in and caught her by the arms.
Bright helped her to the living room and sat her on the couch. “Breathe, Mrs. Langley. Breathe.” Carlos hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Do you need to lie down?”
Mrs. Langley shook her head frantically. “I need to know what happened.”
“When is the last time you spoke with your granddaughter, Mrs. Langley?”
The old woman closed her eyes and shook her head. “A couple of days ago. Has there been an accident?”
Bright nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Johnna was killed sometime early yesterday morning.”
Mrs. Langley started into a sob, but held off with an incredulous look. “Killed? How?”
Bright grimaced. “We can talk about that. But I want to make sure you’re okay first.” Carlos arrived with a glass of water and a damp rag. Mrs. Langley waved off the water but took the rag and held it across her forehead. Bright placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to take as much time as you need, Mrs. Langley.”
There passed a rather tumultuous few minutes of tears and wailing and fears of fainting. Carlos hovered in the most uncomfortable of fashions, while Bright struggled to keep mustering up a little more compassion. After the old woman settled into a rhythm of sniffling and wiping at her eyes with the rag, she righted her breathing and she said, softly, “Tell me.”
Bright nodded. “We don’t know as much as we would like. We’re hoping you might be able to fill in a few gaps for us.”
Mrs. Langley rolled her head around and waved the rag. “I can try.”
Bright nodded to Carlos, who sat with a pad and pen out and ready. Bright turned to the old woman. “Did your granddaughter know a woman named Cary Trubody?”
Mrs. Langley nodded. “Yes. They were in a relationship.”
Bright raised her eyebrows. “Lovers?”
Mrs. Langley chuckled. “If you want to call it that, yes. Cary was Johnna’s girlfriend. They hadn’t told everyone yet, but they’ve been together for several months.”
Bright nodded. “Well, we found your granddaughter in Cary’s car. It was abandoned in the woods. Johnna’s body was in the trunk.”
Mrs. Langley started to sob again but held herself together. “Cary—Cary came by here. Yesterday.”
Bright and Carlos shared a look. “Cary Trubody came here?”
Mrs. Langley nodded. “She came looking for something in Johnna’s room. An address or phone number or something. I called the other detective like he told me to. But Cary ran. And I let her. Maybe I shouldn’t. Did Cary—”
Bright held a hand up. “Wait, Mrs. Langley. Slow down. What other detective?”
The old woman rose and walked over to a phone table. She returned with Mark Thompson’s card, which she handed to Bright. Bright studied the simple white business card and passed it over to Carlos. Mrs. Langley pointed at the name. “He showed up sometime yesterday morning. He said he was trying to find Cary and hoped Johnna could tell him where she might be. He told me no one was in trouble, but they might be in danger. Made me promise to call him if Cary showed up.”
Bright shook her head. “And that’s it? He left?”
Mrs. Langley nodded. “Yes. It concerned me, of course. And when Cary showed up later in the day, I called him. Like he asked.”
“What did Cary want?”
“She said she was trying to catch up with Johnna and she needed an address or maybe a phone number—something. She went up to Johnna’s room. When she came down a few minutes later, she had a shirt or a dress with her. I,” she ducked her head, “well, I suppose I sort of tipped her off about the detective. I directed her to run out the back as he pulled up out front. I tried to stall him, but he chased her out into the yard. But she got away. He came back through a couple of minutes later and left.”
Bright shook her head. “Why help her get away?”
Mrs. Langley frowned. “I didn’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
Mrs. Langley swallowed and stifled tears. “He told me to call if Cary showed up. Not Johnna.”
Bright hung her head and nodded at the ground.
Mrs. Langley leaned over toward Bright. “Detective Hudson? Who hurt my Johnna?”
Bright shook her head. “I’m not sure yet, Mrs. Langley. We are trying to find out. Do you mind if we look around a little bit?”
Mrs. Langley nodded. “Of course. Johnna’s room is the first on the left upstairs.”
Bright nodded for Carlos to head up. She turned back to Mrs. Langley. “Can you show me where Cary went?”
Mrs. Langley rose and walked toward the back door. She opened it, revealing a rather large backyard beyond a porch full of wind chimes. “She took off this way. I didn’t see beyond that. I’m sorry.”
Bright patted her arm. “Don’t apologize. This has been very helpful.”
Bright stepped past her into the backyard. She took her time, walking and looking. Several times she glanced back at the house, imagining the moment. Cary was scared. Frantic. Panicked and desperate. Bright scanned the fence until she found a gate leading into a neighbor’s yard. She walked toward it and pushed. The rusted chain link squeaked open.
Bright followed the path into the next yard. Only one pathway led to anything other than dense bushes or more fence or brick structures. She snaked her way down this logical trail. The neighbor’s carport was bricked in with an opening about midway. When Bright turned the corner, she found an empty space where a car had been, a car had painted over an old oil stain with circle after circle of newer stains.
After a moment, Bright turned to head back to the house, but the sound of a car pulled her back. When she got back to the garage, two young girls hopped out of a car. Bright flashed her badge, startling them. “Sorry, girls. I’m checking out the neighborhood.”
One of them looked purely frightened. The other seemed harder. More cynical. The harder one grinned. “Okay. Carry on, officer.”
Bright turned, but paused. The girls hadn’t disappeared through the door yet, and Bright called them down. “I’m sorry, girls. I hate to bother you. I’m—”
The cynical one spun. “Checking the neighborhood. Got it. Thanks.”
Bright smiled. “Yeah. We’ve had this guy impersonating a cop. Harassing young women. Real creep. Have either of you seen anyone who might fit that description?”
They shared a look. The scared one turned her doe eyes to Bright and started in with, “Actually—”
The other one grabbed her arm. “Some guy drove all slow down the road earlier. Looked creepy. Could be your guy. But we didn’t get a good look.”
Bright grinned and nodded. “Okay. Thanks, girls. You’ve been very helpful.”
When Bright got back inside, Carlos was asking Mrs. Langley, “Ma’am, was your granddaughter messy? Did she keep a messy room, I mean?”
Mrs. Langley laughed. “Lord no. She was a touch OCD.”
Carlos nodded and jotted in his notepad. “Have you been into her room lately?”
Mrs. Langley shook her head. “No. I respect her privacy. I seldom go in there.”
Bright and Carlos thanked Mrs. Langley for her time and made sure she had someone she could call to be with her. Practically as soon as she answered, the doorbell rang. As friends arrived, the detectives saw themselves out. They only asked Mrs. Langley to keep everyone out of Johnna’s room. On the way to the car Bright shot Carlos a look. “The girl’s room is messed up?”
Carlos nodded. “A little, yeah. Like somebody was looking for something.”
“Cary?”
Carlos shrugged. “Could be. But it doesn’t sound like she stayed up there long enough to do this.”
“We’ll need to gather it all. Comp
uter?”
Carlos nodded. “I did a quick check. Nothing jumped out. But somebody can comb through it back at the station. You find anything?”
Bright quirked her mouth. “Maybe. I think Cary hitched a ride out of here with a couple of neighbor girls. I got the plate. I want somebody to run it down. Then I might take a run at them. One would break pretty easy.”
Carlos climbed into the car. “Have you worked with this Thompson?”
Bright nodded. “A time or two, yeah. He’s been around for a while.”
“Do we talk to him?”
Tapped her fingers on the steering column for a second before starting the car. “Not yet. But I want you to see where he goes.”
Chapter 25
Carlos made detective before he turned thirty. It had been a private goal of his. He was the first in his family to go to college. His dad gave him an endless string of shit about using an expensive degree to become a cop. He and Bright shared the latter in common.
They both earned law degrees and had family members who thought they underused them. Carlos, however, possessed nowhere near Bright’s ambition. But his dad wasn’t about to pay for him to stop at an art degree. Practicing law had always been out of the question. Carlos needed something to do with his hands. He needed to solve puzzles and move around.
Honestly, he couldn’t be sure Bright even knew he held a law degree. She would be about as disappointed in him as his dad if she knew. Because Bright would be moving on into politics someday. Carlos? He kept himself content poking around at mysteries all day and going home to his canvases and palettes of color.
But he hated this shit. Waiting. Sitting and waiting and waiting and waiting. Mark Thompson was supposed to check in at the station by 9:00. Carlos had been camped out in an unmarked Taurus since he and Bright left the old lady around 8:00. Mark Thompson was late.
Carlos finished his coffee during the first half hour, and now he doodled on his cup, trying to fight off the thought of finding a restroom. He was starting to consider using the cup for something other than doodling when a car pulled up into a handicapped spot near the door.
