Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (2 page)

“What about relationships?”

“Two are married if you include the congresswoman, and we feel we can. Their marriage, by the way, apparently works for them since she’s in D.C. half the time and the husband keeps a condo in San Diego. He’s a senior vice-president of a pharmaceutical company that’s headquartered there.

“Three have boyfriends. All of them have co-operated with us.”

“No recent break-ups?” I asked.

“The waitress is divorced, but it was years ago. The husband is remarried and living in London.

“It’s kind of interesting although I don’t know why these days. None of the vics have children. May or may not be something.”

Manning added, “We have DNA on all six. Just in case a Jane Doe shows up we can identify, and they do show up around here. No matches so far.”

“What about personal belongings? ID, credit cards, cell phones?”

“We found four of the missing persons’ purses with all the contents and cell phones in their places of residence or at their work place. All of their valuables had been left behind. The other’s cell phones were recovered. One was stuffed in a kitchen drawer and another, on a nightstand. The ones that owned vehicles left them behind. Two of the women relied on Sun Tran for transportation.”

“Doesn’t look like they hit the road. And without cell phones, if they did there wouldn’t be any GPS tracking.”

“No, Cassidy. That’s why you’re here,” Manning said.

“Sign of break-ins? Struggles?”

Manning shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No unidentified cremains reported?”

“You know very well that the skull, hips and femurs do not reduce to ashes. You also know we have top mortuaries and crematories here. No one has reported an extra head coming out of the cooker.”

“You have two possible vics up on the board that must have money. The socialite and the congresswoman. No ransoms?”

“Nope.”

“Histories of depression?”

“Not that we can find of any significance. Always a couple on anxiety pills. Sleeping pills. That’s a given in our current over-medicated population.”

“It’s possible these are random crimes of opportunity. Nothing but easy targets with no connection,” I spit out, even though I didn’t like that idea. But it was plausible. “For now, everything and anything is possible. And you know, with the congresswoman gone and the FBI coming to visit, it’s time to notify the public.” Past time, I thought.

“I know. I’ll take care of it. When it’s the right time.”

I closed my eyes. Manning knew my M.O. He exited the room, telling me he would send me the complete electronic case files on all six women.

I stewed in that dreary room for nearly an hour. Getting up and touching the photographs. Sitting back down. Closing my eyes. Opening my eyes. I felt nothing except for that nagging spirit that has led me into trouble and almost destroyed me more times than once.

Chief Manning had his hands full of something evil.

“Get security to walk you to your car and drive straight home,” Jaxon said.

“What’s this about?”

“My ex. Again. Please, just do this. And don’t be alarmed if there is a silver Impala parked outside your home. He’s your security and your shadow for the immediate future.”

“Now you’re scaring me,” Jessica said.

“No. This is a prudent precaution.”

After saying goodbye, Jaxon called his top assistant. Together they reviewed their schedule. The assistant would re-schedule the appointments where Jaxon’s presence would be mandatory. She would take over the rest.

Early the next morning, Jaxon hit the phones. The vet agreed to personally come by in an hour to collect the remains of Jaxon’s dog, Gecko. The locksmith could be there by ten, promising to install electromagnetic locks that would prevent any lock bumping.

The alarm company would be out to check his existing system and add motion-activated lights and cameras, inside and out. They’d change the codes to his keypads, doors and the driveway gate plus install a driveway alert so that any approaching vehicle would sound a warning. The back driveway, which had served the outdated and unused servant/guest quarters, would be blocked off entirely. The construction crew would be out the next day.

Jaxon’s landscaper couldn’t be there until the following morning but his instructions were crystal clear. Plant the biggest cacti, with the meanest spines, all along the perimeter of the property’s stucco walls. Plant more under all of the home’s windows. Remove any trees or bushes that posed a visual block from the house to the grounds.

He had just pulled out his checkbook to pay the locksmith when he heard the familiar sound of the vintage Porsche. Jessica Silva had decided to pay him a visit.

“What are you doing here? And where’s the P.I. I hired for you?”

Jessica slinked her trim figure over to within kissing range of Jaxon’s face, then flipped her long black hair across his face.

“Nice to see you, too. And in my not-so mathematically inclined vocabulary, P.I. means pi, and that’s an irrational number, at best. I told your dick-buddy that I was driving directly here and then on to the station. Here, I made you lunch and you’re welcome.”

Jaxon’s wide smile revealed sparkling teeth that matched the sparkles in his green eyes every time he was with Jessica.

“He’s not a private investigator or a piece of pie. He’s security.”

“He’s probably parked at the end of your drive. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

Jaxon gave Jessica an embrace and a kiss, long on the pull, and gestured her inside. Grabbing two plates, utensils and a couple of seltzer waters, they went out on the side courtyard. The sun wouldn’t be as intense but the weather had changed. Even in February, some days were warm and the exterior ceiling fan would be welcome. As an added incentive, Jaxon wouldn’t have to look over the spot where his dog had taken his last breath. He made a mental note to add that to the gardener’s list. A flowering tree needed to be planted on that spot. From the thermal bag, Jessica pulled out a platter of her homemade lasagna. A bit heavy and hot for lunch out in the heat but he could never resist it.

“You know me. When I’m nervous, I cook. And you made me plenty nervous last night.”

Jessica knew all about the stalking ex-wife and her insane antics.

“There’s more,” Jaxon said.

Her spatula dropped to the travertine tile floor when she learned that Gecko was dead.

“Gecko’s dead? She killed him?”

“I believe she did. All of this security is a precaution. Sandra has a way of going after anything and anyone I love. And you can bet she’s heard about you.”

Jessica bent down to clean up the lasagna sauce.

“Gecko is with the vet right now. He’ll provide us with the evidence we need. While I can’t prove it was her, I can prove poison killed him. The police can’t do one damn thing about it but I sure can.”

His cell rang. Out of habit Jaxon glanced at it and then grabbed it.

When he hung up, his skin was gray and the smile had hardened to a clinched jaw.

“That was my security man, and by the way, let’s call him Marcus. He’s at the end of the drive and Sandra has driven back and forth four times. The alarm company is coming up the drive.”

“That should scare her off,” Jessica said.

“Or get her riled up,” Jaxon replied.

Tracy, an African-American with a size perfect body and beautiful hair that she left in natural curls, would lick my wounds while making me feel like I was helping her.

We found it surprising that our careers didn’t comingle more often with me being a detective and she a news reporter for a local station. The reason was she usually worked the south side and that didn’t involve me. Translated, she worked thefts, home invasions, gun violence and gang crimes fueled primarily by drugs.

She had great news to share. Because of her arduous work on her news stories, the station was promoting her to the investigative reporter position.

She also had bad news to share. Her husband of ten years had filed for a divorce.

Shocked, I managed the words, “You two were so perfect. Are so perfect.”

“I’m not that perfect in his mind.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. You have both been blessed with a beautiful child. How old is Tessa now? Six?”

“She’ll be seven in June and you’re expected at the party bringing balloons, the cake and your exceedingly dry wit.”

“What am I missing?” My knees obnoxiously shook under one of the blue and white striped umbrellas at a patio table by the spa’s pool. The more divorces I heard about, the more I knew wedding bells weren’t for me. Enduring one bad marriage was enough.

“I saw the tides turning as I turned into the total woman, or so I thought. I have a great job, I’m a good mom and with all the conflicting schedules I managed to have a clean home and his favorite meals prepared. If it was about sex, I was there for him.”

“Then, what?”

“I couldn’t be the one thing he wanted most. I couldn’t be white.”

“Crazy! Call it a quick mid-life crisis. Let it go. He loves you.”

“She’s the second white woman he’s been with.”

“You’re pulling out an imaginary race card that doesn’t exist.”

“I’m thirty-five-years old. I know my culture. A black man gets himself a white woman and she’s instantly a trophy. You’ve seen it. O.J. Simpson. Seal and Hiede Klum. Khloe Kardashian. There’s a lot more out there, but you take a black woman marrying a white man, and unless he’s mega-celebrity, it’s like the guy is stealing their women. My sister was whipped raw on her behind when she brought home a white guy for supper.”

“That was a long time ago, Tracy. Things have changed. Embrace and acceptance is now the norm.”

“Not that long ago. It’s still taboo here in certain circles. I know it sounds ridiculous but I promise you, even today it’s true. I can’t compete.”

On some dark level, I knew she was right. And it made me sick. On another level, she was so wrong and stuck on the receiving and giving end of racism. Maybe I could break down those archaic ideas of hers if I did the research and could convince her of the facts.

She poured the first drink. She hated vodka but remembered Jaxon had been fond of it. Even with his inflated income, the bastard couldn’t afford what she was importing in by the cases.

She rambled off a vituperative soliloquy but even the massive walls of her estate weren’t listening.

“The bastard! He has the audacity to think he can stop me? He thinks he can cut me out of his life? If he thinks that, he’s more ignorant than I thought.”

She slugged down the smoothest in all the world vodka, but still choked. She poured another.

And another.

The ranting did not abate. Now she was yelling at her father, no matter that he had been dead for nearly five years.

“Goddamnit, Daddy. How could you do this to me? Leave me like this? You leave me this shit-pile of money and no love? What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

She reached for her cell phone. Threw it back down. No one to call. Back to Dad.

“Seriously? You made your damn fortune in pool supplies? Over eight-hundred stores in the country and that’s what I have as my legacy? Couldn’t it have been oil or land development or hotels? I’m the heiress to a fortune that pimps fucking pool supplies?”

The vodka hit her veins, swiftly seeping into her brain via her empty stomach. In the total darkness, as Sandra Vickery stretched out on her récamier, she heard the voice of her daddy’s ghost.

“Of course, Daddy,” she slurred. “Money is power and cash is King. I have all that I need to make me Queen.”

As she spoke those words again, a wicked laugh from deep inside her throat escaped to show she was delighted with her poetry.

In the dark, with fingers as limp and uncontrollable as her numbed mind, the words would be barely legible come dawn. She scribbled down her list:

More money to police departments. All the political campaigns: judicial, mayoral, and gubernatorial. Schools and hospitals. Police and sheriff departments.

That’s good. Lots and lots of charitable contributions. Stand-out donations to food banks. Now she was on to something.

Jaxon would be hers again. He had to be. If only she could bear his child. God, she hated that, or she would have him forever. She would forgive him his sins with the women he screwed after their divorce. As much as she loathed him, that is also how deeply, and the only way, she could feel that enthralling, inflamed and consuming love for him. He was her destiny. She was his. But to make that a reality, she needed an enhanced plan.

“Honor and obey. Right! Just like the meek shall inherit the earth. I say an eye for an eye. And that’s biblical,” she whispered, before crawling up the stairs and collapsing on her brass bed.

Manning’s shoulders drooped as he took a seat across from me. He let out a low, long sigh and picked up the menu without so much as looking me in the eyes.

“Okay, what gives? You aren’t your same old sorry ass self.”

“I’m tired, Cassidy. And damn frustrated.”