Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (17 page)

“I know that, Cassidy. Surveillance on whom?”

“A nasty divorce case. An ex-wife turned stalker.”

He crossed his arms as he finally ceased the thumping and stomping. “Oh, man. Those are the worst.”

“Tell me about it. This one’s a real bitch.”

“The ex or the case?”

“Both.”

“I want to see those files of yours. All of them.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I teased.

“Send them to me. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here and do a share-session. Then we’ll head over to the hospital.”

“Meet me on the patio of the coffee place on the corner.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“It’s just that I’m cranky without my coffee, and your coffee in this dump reeks.”

“And you want to smoke,” he said.

“Helps me think. And deal with your sorry ass.”

Rows of books lined most of his walls. One piece of art, an original Marcel Duchamp, hovered over his beehive fireplace. I smiled every time I saw it, not for the art itself, but for the story behind it. Schlep told me he picked it up at a garage sale. The woman wanted fifty dollars for the frame. Schlep gave her everything he had. About two-hundred dollars. He told her he thought it was worth much more, but she insisted she made a deal with him for fifty and the rest was a bonus. Every so often when he is in her neighborhood he slips more cash, with no note, into her mailbox. His own payment plan of ethics.

“You heard about the ballistics match?” I asked.

“Amazing.”

“Who’s covering Vickery?”

“Carson. Her mom is in town and taking care of her kids. And you know Carson’s qualified.”

“I do. I just thought she didn’t want outside work.”

“We’ve worked it out. She’s bored to tears running all those van license plates, and cross-checking them with anyone at the salon. She’s narrowed down the primary list to a mere two-hundred. Don’t you check your email?”

“I saw a large file come in from her. Between dodging bullets from the chief, and my firing back matching bullets, I haven’t had five minutes.”

“Let’s take a look at that file,” Schlep said. “I dropped some of the plates simply because they weren’t within our perps operating safety zone. Carson took off all the plates that belonged to major companies like power, cable. That kind of thing.”

“She has a list of two-hundred she has yet to identify. What’s this? A short list of nineteen?”

“Various reasons. Maybe the ownership is a bit vague, or the owners were unwilling to talk to Carson. We’re working it together, Cass. She’s smart.”

“Okay. How about that LLC that owns the cabin? Where’s the list of the individual owners?”

Schlep pulled it up on his monitor and printed it out. Probably for the third time.

My eyes fixated on every one of the five parties. I glided my fingers over the names. I rubbed the back of my neck and shook my head.

“Did they have a list of renters?” I asked.

“It was in their LLC agreement. Absolutely no renters, and no friends without being accompanied by an owner.”

“Off the cuff, that’s a pretty easy rule to break,” I said.

Schlep turned to his monitor, his fingers, flying. I returned to the list of names.

“Three of them are out of state. For now, let’s put them aside. That leaves two other parties. One couple and one individual. Find out everything you can.”

“I’m already on it. Printing right now.”

The individual owner was a pain doctor, known in the community as a drug dealer in a white coat. With his background he was also transparent, having been forced to cough up several years of office records and endure lengthy background checks.

Nothing in particular stood out with the couple. The husband owned a large title insurance company, along with another dozen real estate investment properties. I made a note to ask Jaxon Giles if he’d ever heard of him.

The wife had swapped out a career as a botanist to be the stay-at-home mom, and then find her place in the community doing philanthropic work. Tennis clubs. Bridge clubs. And now the acting director of the Southern Arizona Bonsai Society.

“Unsettling,” I said.

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s too ordinary, I suppose.”

Schlep offered me some coffee. I had already overdosed.

“Then at least come and see my koi pond,” he said.

“Calming, huh?”

He laughed. A silly half-laugh.

We strolled in to his backyard and the wonderment he had created overpowered my senses. Brilliant scents of lavender and roses. The sound of trickling water in the pond. Textures of rich Talevera pots, forged metal sculptures, and the wispiness of bottle brush plants. And the shimmering sight of the koi.

“You have a piece of paradise back here.”

“Thank you. I use it as my church.”

I looked across to the back wall of his small and perfect yard. Perfectly manicured rows of oleanders and bamboo. More pots filled with bonsai plants.

“Shit!” I screamed.

“You’re scaring me. And I’m used to your bad mouth.”

“Come on. How many people belong to a bonsai club?”

“I don’t know. I can find out in seconds.”

“The news anchor. Michael Scores. My friend told me he belonged to a bonsai group here. And then, the owner of the cabin. The wife. She’s the friggin’ acting director of that same society.”

Schlep walked over to the wall that boasted his collection of bonsai. “I’ll run the numbers, Cassie, but you have to remember Tucson is a small town. If you dig deep enough everyone will know someone that’s connected to someone. Call it the empirical theory of six degrees of separation, but in tights.”

“Schlep, we need to reduce that to one degree of separation. I’m digging in to anything and everything. By the way, you’re a good man. I’d like carte blanch to come veg in your backyard sanctuary.”

Schlep shook his head, which meant an overwhelming yes.

“Seriously?” I said, putting my arms on the wobbly table.

“Your smoke. It bothers people.”

“I quit. It’s why I’m so damn pissy lately.”

“Next maybe you could give up your bad mouth.”

“The files I gave you? Your turn. What’s your take?” I said.

“I poured over them last night, with a pour of gin. We had the info on the cabin owners. Give the department some credit, Cass.”

What he didn’t know was that my intuition, bouncing between bonsai trees, had my stomach in a French knot shooting out those distinctly gnarled branches.

“You’re right,” Manning offered. “I can’t find a single link between Karl Marks and your guy. Except for that bullet. Let’s get over to the hospital.”

“Crap. I just sat down,” I said.

“With a to-go cup. Serves you right, because ten o’clock isn’t exactly the crack of dawn, Ms. Slacker.”

Manning and I headed for the nurses’ station.

“Are you family?” the nurse presiding at the floor’s main reception station asked.

“Yes,” I said in a firm and falsely polite tone.

“He’s been moved back up to ICU. You should have been notified. It seems he has developed an infection.”

“What kind of infection?” I demanded.

“You’ll need to talk to his doctor, since you’re family and all.”

She knew I wasn’t family. She must have known that his only living relatives were a mother in hospice in Florida, and a sibling with unknown whereabouts.

“Cassie, you can’t just go into ICU,” Manning said.

“Like hell I can’t.”

I pushed the so-called screening button, and announced myself as family.

Manning sheepishly lagged behind.

We were stopped at the inside nurses station. I couldn’t believe it when Manning flashed his badge.

“He has an infection at the wound site. Obviously, it’s bad. We’ve had to increase his sedation. He won’t know that you are here.”

Manning backed away, but I went in to the room. So many tubes. So many IV’s in his veins. Oxygen. Loud monitoring equipment. Beeps. Ugly growls. Disharmonious hums.

A doctor came in. A resident.

“He’ll be okay?”

“He’s in ICU. We’re doing our best.”

Not yet a
real
doctor and already an asshole. I hoped he’d never ‘fly-up’. My guy was not well. I knew it. It was bad.

With the top down, and my tunes cranked up high, I drove to Jaxon Giles’ office.

“Thanks for coming here, Cassidy. It helps,” Jaxon said.

“Sure. I just wanted to see you face to face. I appreciate your apology, and I offer mine.”

“How is your man?”

“Not good.”

“But I thought he could talk to you today.”

I instinctively put my hand near my heart. Jaxon understood to let it go.

“We have an overlapping shift of people following Vickery. She doesn’t seem to be a menace, except for that I admit we’ve lost track of her two times.” I said.

“She’s a clever one. Don’t think twice that she wasn’t involved in turning on the tail you had on her.”

“You’re talking a serious talk.”

“She’s a serious home-grown terrorist dressed in Oscar de la Renta and diamonds. She’s vicious. Venomous. A vituperative vixen. ”

“I might be inclined to agree, but don’t go leaking that to the press or she’ll nail you for libel.”

“The truth is that inside I think she’s broken. Fragile.” He put his hands to his face and drew a long breath. “Thanks for the update, Cassidy. If there’s anything I can do over at the hospital, let me know.”

“I don’t know what that could be, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Let me walk you out.”

“No need. You’re busy.”

“I insist. Besides, you smoke, right? I have a cigar in my pocket, along with a pack. I can use a break.”

This just wasn’t my day. I tried hard not to become ever more the bitch, asking that we just have a break in his non-smoking break room.

We drifted far away from the case that tore us both to shreds. We talked about his relationship with Jessica, and how she wanted to cool things for awhile. And I had a smoke.

“She’s intelligent and sharp. I mean, just for now maybe it’s a good idea. But that may mean Vickery sees an open door and she won’t let that door slam shut.” I said.

“I’ve thought of that, but I would not dare say that to Jessica.”

“Right. As long as you know what might be around the corner. Gotta run, Jaxon. Thanks for the break.”

“I’ll still walk you to your car.”

We took the steep stairs down to the ground level. Jaxon was reaching into his pocket and I was snapping a rubber band on my wrist. My therapist told me to hurt myself every time I even thought about having a ciggie.”

A beautiful brand new copper Lexus sedan pulled into the parking lot.

Jaxon noticed my eyes glazing over.”

“One of our top residential producer’s. The guy is a machine. And single, if you want an introduction.”

Pause.

“Cassidy? Are you okay?”

I was more than okay. Here before me was this magnificent car, and the sides of it were covered up with blatant real estate signs.

Magnetic signs.

“That’s fine. I’m already mildly insane. Join my club.”

“Mildly? The sun isn’t up yet, Cass.”
I ignored him. The guy never slept and I knew it. “It makes sense. So much sense. The guy is using magnetic signs. On. And off.”

“It means that we lose huge ground we’ve tried to gain. No lettering on vans. Lettering on vans.”

“There can’t be that many magnetic sign companies around.”

“Cassidy, think about it. The Internet. One sign, or a dozen, could have come from anywhere.”

“Please. Just check it out for anything local. I have something I need to do.”

Schlep alerted to the sound of my voice. “I don’t like it, whatever it is.”

“I’m simply going to join the Southern Arizona Bonsai Society. That’s all.”

“It’s never that
all
with you. Be careful.”

He heard too long a pause while I tried to come up with a witty retort. I failed.

“What else?” he asked.
“Damn it, Schlep.”

“What else?”

“I have an appointment with the hypnotherapist.”

“God. Again? Why?”

“Because I think she can help me recall some details from the night I was at the cabin. And she’s my anti-smoking coach. Cut me some slack.”

Even though I have intuition and gut instincts, I’m no psychic. I needed the talents of someone like Dr. Clancy to draw out what I already knew.

“Back at the damn cabin. Karl Marks is in a pool of blood on the bed.”

“Why do you suppose you need to go back there?”

“Something.”

“Breathe. Look around. What is it that draws you back?”

Time froze. I had no concept of it.

“If you can’t feel it, Cassidy, look. See it.”

I took several deep breaths. More pine scent. More of the rich perfumed air.

“It’s the stack of business cards next to him. Most are his. A small assortment of other cards.

“One is related to a domestic case I’m working. I loathe domestic cases and usually farm them out. This one is different.”