Geography of Murder (23 page)
Read Geography of Murder Online
Authors: P. A. Brown
"When you were in
The Art of the Game
did you meet the proprietor? A Mr. Randall Craig?"
"We met. He took us on a tour. The children were impressed and enthusiastic, though I think some of their enthusiasm was of an unsavory sort."
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"What do you mean, ma'am?"
"All those dead things. It's unnatural."
"It is creepy," Nancy said, and this time I suspected her sympathy was real.
"Not creepy. Disgusting. Trying to pretend death hadn't happened. Trying to defy the Lord's will that way."
"People who defy the Lord are evil aren't they, Miss Chavez?"
"They're certainly sinners."
And what greater sin was there than the abuse of an innocent child? She was a teacher, I'm sure the whole notion of George Blunt or Clarence Dutton would be an abomination to her. But could I really envision this frail looking woman savagely attacking two men who had to have been twice her size, even if one of them was in bed, dying.
"How long were you in the store?"
"I suppose about an hour. Then we had lunch at a local restaurant."
"Have you ever purchased anything from Mr. Craig?"
"Good heavens, no. What would make you think that?"
She clutched her sweatshirt tighter around her throat. "Have
you
been in his store?"
"Yes," I said, bemused.
"Did you see anything there that might actually interest me?"
I couldn't, but the fact remained that we had proof she had bought something.
"No memory of making a purchase twelve weeks ago?" I rattled off the date of the bill of sale.
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A frown made her look even older. "No, I'm sure of it."
I produced the bagged bill of sale with her name and address on it. She took it from me gingerly, holding it up to read through the plastic.
"A raven?" She dropped the evidence bag onto the table among her porcelain figurines. "This makes no sense."
"Two in fact." But she was right. It didn't make sense.
Except we had her name on the receipt.
She was adamant. "I did no such thing. This is absurd."
"Then how do you explain your name?"
"I don't." Confusion blended with fear. "I just know I never bought anything from that store. Especially a stuffed bird."
"Two stuffed birds."
"Impossible."
"Can you think of anyone you might know who would make a purchase like that in your name?"
"What? Ridiculous."
I couldn't shake her. She came across as a timid mouse, but a mouse with a core of steel. I bet all her students hated her.
We thanked her, gathered our evidence and stood up. I didn't offer to shake her hand. I knew the suggestion would only upset her more.
Back out in the street where I had parked the unmarked, we were silent until we climbed back into the car.
"That," Nancy said "is one unhinged woman."
I flipped the visor down and pulled out my sunglasses, slipping them on in place of my prescription glasses. The day had gotten bright.
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"Maybe," I agreed softly, then said, "I think she's showing classic signs of abuse." I threw the car in gear and rolled away from the curb. "Look at the way she dresses and protects herself as though she's expecting to be attacked."
"Because she already has been." It was statement, not question. "You think she was raped?"
"Worse. I think she was abused as a child."
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Alex called about seven. He was tied up at work and
had no idea how late he would be. I should go ahead
and make supper; he'd fix something himself when he
got in.
He told me not to wait up.
I moped around the place, cleaning things that didn't need cleaning, doing all the laundry I could find in the place and it was still only nine o'clock, and no Alex. I parked myself in front of the TV, flipping through his collection of porn, settling on one with a uniformed cop who vaguely resembled Alex. I pulled my cock out and stroked it while the action played out on screen. I came in the Kleenex I'd brought in with me and disposed of it in the toilet. I briefly considered a shower, but the sofa was far more enticing. I plugged my iPod in, put it on shuffle, curled up with my bird book and zoned out to the sounds of the Killers and Cold Play and Linkin Park. I must have dozed off. I only awoke when my earbuds were wrenched out of my ears in the middle of Chester Bennington singing
Numb
. I blinked and focused on Alex who stood over me, his head cocked to one side.
I scrambled upright, wiping the drool off my chin and hoping he didn't notice. His lopsided grin said it was a fool's hope.
"You think you can stand without falling over?" he asked.
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I surged to my feet, forgetting the iPod, which tumbled to the floor along with my bird book. He leaned down and scooped both of them up, putting them on the coffee table.
"I guess not."
"What time is it?"
"Twelve. Well ten after I guess. Sorry I'm late. Things got hectic. New homicide came in just as we were leaving."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was it a bad one?"
"No good homicides, but yeah, it was straightforward. Most of them are." He sank down beside me and I noticed how rumpled he looked.
"What do you mean, straightforward?"
"Where the killer is obvious from the start. In this case the mutt didn't want his old lady leaving him so he defied a restraining order, and got her on her way home from work."
He shook his head tiredly. "Nothing uglier than love gone bad."
"You hungry?"
"Nah, Nance and I caught a burger on our way off the scene. I'm good."
It occurred to me that I really knew nothing about what he did all day. I ever heard about cops from the news bites at six and eleven when I bothered to watch them. And then the cops always seemed to be in a bad light. What was a day-today like for them? Was it like most jobs, mundane routine spiced up by moments of excitement? Only, the excitement for them could involve guns, and people trying to kill them.
"Your partner, what's she like?"
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"Good at her job. Ambitious as hell. She intends to be Captain some day. I think she may make it."
"So you'd be working for her?"
"Assuming I'm still working there at all," he said darkly, and wouldn't elaborate.
"Do you want a beer, then?" I asked when it became clear he didn't want to talk about work.
He spread his arm on the back of the sofa behind my head, leaned back and closed his eyes. "Sure. I could do with one. Get yourself one, too."
Eventually he lay down and put his feet up on my lap. I began gently massaging his feet, finally pulling his dark socks off and working on each toe until he purred like a kitten and developed a definite bulge in his crotch.
His eyes flew open and he stared at me. "What do you do to me, Jason Aaron? Are you some kind of wizard?"
"No," I said, moving my hand up to where his cock pressed against his wool pants. "Not a witch or a warlock or a sorcerer. Just a very horny man." I opened his zipper and bent down to take him in my mouth. His hands cupped the back of my head.
"But only my horny man."
I couldn't talk. My mouth was full.
He left for work early the next day. It would be a long one he said, with the new homicide, even a slam dunk one, to write up, and some promising leads to follow on the Blunt case. He gave me permission to use his PC after giving me the password and left money to do some shopping. The first thing I did was search out beef recipes since I'd noticed a real 227
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penchant for red meat in Alex and wanted to indulge his appetites in and out of bed. Once I had a list of ingredients I hit the main streets of Goleta finding an Albertson's where I picked up the ingredients for Beef Stroganoff. I added a chocolate cake since I didn't think I was ready to tackle something like that, and a ready-made spinach salad. Maybe not gourmet, but sure to please—assuming I pulled it off. But the Stroganoff hadn't sounded all that complicated.
I also grabbed a six-pack of beer, wondering if Alex always drank this much all the time. I added a bottle of red Cabernet for the Stroganoff, being reassured by the recipe that it would make it rich indeed. A feast fit for kings, or czars.
Around three I got a call from Phil. He had another cruise going out in four days. Did I want it? Being light in the pocket I readily agreed.
"Come by the marina tomorrow for a few hours. You can run some maintenance tests and fix anything needs fixing."
I agreed and hung up. It was nice to know I would be bringing some money into the dynamics, though I still had to pay for that firetrap I rented. No way I was going to suggest to Alex that my stay become more permanent by moving in.
Though when I thought about it, the idea didn't terrify me like it would have at one time.
But really, what would Alex think of such a crazy idea?
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Nancy was already at her desk, a half eaten muffin,
which looked disgustingly healthy, and a half finished
Starbucks, which didn't, in front of her. She was writing
up a report and barely looked up when I sat down
opposite her.
Finally she looked up and frowned. "You don't seriously think that woman killed Blunt and Dutton do you?"
"I doubt it. But she may know who did. We need to get some surveillance on her."
"You know what Garcia's going to say about that."
"We present what we have. We have the receipt for the ravens, we know she wasn't being entirely truthful—we can even tell him the woman was abused as a child. Maybe make the case it was Blunt or Dutton who did it. He's getting pressure to solve on this. He may bend."
I looked toward the closed office door. I knew Lieutenant Garcia was in there already. And I knew since I had come up with the idea that it would be up to me to approach him. I finished up my report on what we had found so far. I included a summary of all the forensic data and my reasons why I thought we needed to watch a presumably upstanding citizen with the vague hope that she would lead us to something of interest.
As I suspected, he was less than thrilled by my proposal.
"Just what makes you think this woman knows something?"
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"Her overall demeanor is hinky. Why is there a receipt for a purchase she claims she didn't make? Even if someone faked her identity to get the mounting done on the ravens, why
her
? I checked, she's not even listed in any phone books or any online white pages, so it's not likely anyone stumbled on her by accident. And if whoever killed Blunt and Dutton does know her, we can get a lead on them by trailing her."
"You'll never get a tap and trace on her." Garcia was drumming a tattoo on his stainless steel desk. His words gave me hope. No, we'd never get a court order to tap her phones and trace all her incoming or outgoing calls, but at least his words showed he was considering the rest.
When he took too long to speak again I thought he was going to boot me out of his office, but eventually he frowned and nodded. "Grab a couple of unis. Tell them what you want, and for God's sake, tell them to be discreet. This isn't some major player, so do not get all in her face at any time. They are to stay back and simply observe. That clear?"
"Crystal." Since it was more than I had hoped for, I was elated when I left his office. Without even going back to my desk I went shopping for unis. I lucked out. I grabbed two guys who were veteran patrol officers, and I was sure, would be the model of discretion. They agreed to park themselves outside her apartment starting this morning and let me know what happened. I thought one was enough for the apartment, I sent the other uni to her work place, St. Adolphus School in case she was already there for the day.
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I was sure we'd catch her at one place or the other. Lucy Chavez didn't strike me as the type who went out on social calls.
Back at my desk there was a note from Garcia about a 60-day report he was still waiting to see. I hated 60-dayers most of all since they represented cases that were slipping into the
'cold case' arena, with little promise of resolution. I always kept revisiting my unsolved, but as usual there were too many new cases and not enough time or resources to tackle the old ones. I went to work on the warrant to look for the raven at Blunt's.
Two hours hunched over my PC left me with a stiff neck and a nagging hunger in the pit of my stomach. I'd have sold my soul at that moment to have Jason's fingers work their magic on my pain. The hunger was easier to attend to.
"Lunch?" I asked Nancy.
"Not today. Rob's back from a convention, and he wants to catch up."
Nancy's husband of five years was a sales rep for some big software company. Made mucho bucks, but traveled a lot.
They had no kids though she made noises about it.
Somehow I couldn't imagine tough-as-nails Nancy Pickard fat with a kid in her belly or dealing with rug rats, but what did I know about the maternal urge? I had always considered myself lucky that my ex never had any. Images of a little Alexander running around gave me chills.
I grabbed a fish sandwich from Jack in the Box. At three I got a call from Officer Tender, my uni at St. Adolphus. Lucy Chavez had left the school. She was driving a five year old 231
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