“I don’t get it.” Kessler shook his head.
“All right, I’ll bite. What don’t you get?”
“This case was supposed to be your run-of-the-mill multiple homicide case.”
“And it’s not?”
“Nope.” Rick grabbed his lower lip between his front teeth, chewing on it for an instant before letting it go. “Then again, I should know that every time I work a case where you or Coulter is involved, it’s going to be anything but run-of-the-mill.”
Eagle leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as curiosity abated his anger. “So, what’s up?”
Kessler flipped open the file folder dragging forward four photographs. Eagle glanced at the faces, not recognizing any of them.
“None of these guys were murdered.”
Woodard’s eyes widened, taking a closer look at the photos. “What do you mean they weren’t murdered? Did they just conveniently die of natural causes in the desert dressed as characters in a sand painting?
“These four are homeless men who died from various legitimate causes within the past three to five days, verified by the medical examiner.” Pointing to each photo in turn, Kessler explained. “Heart disease, liver failure, cancer, and cancer. In fact, this man,” Rick tapped the photo to the far left, “the medical examiner himself autopsied this one. He recognized his own handiwork. Just like Adam said, all of them had been embalmed. That’s why there was so little degradation of the corpses.”
“How did they get out on the reservation?”
“That’s part of the mystery. All the bodies were taken from mortuaries that have contracts with the County within the past few days. They were all reported as stolen.”
Eagle frowned, “Ok, you said four. What about the fifth body?”
Kessler laughed, “Lucky us, that guy may have been murdered. It’s iffy right now, Dr. Fosman wouldn’t confirm a cause. Apparently, the guy had a mild heart condition. If he was into drugs, that might be the cause of the heart attack that killed him. He’s waiting on the toxicology report.”
From underneath the pile of papers, Rick placed the photo of the cleaned up victim front and center. “We still don’t know who he is. We’re still waiting to see if he has prints in AFAS and he wasn’t embalmed like the others.” Kessler looked at his former lover, noting the strange expression on his face. “What?”
“I know this man. His name is Alejandro Martinez.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because I didn’t recognize him with all the makeup and costuming.”
“Does he have any next of kin?”
“Oh, yeah.” Woodard tossed the photo back over to the FBI agent.
Rick was puzzled by Eagle’s reluctance to talk. “Well?”
“He’s married to Angela Destin, the richest woman in New Mexico since she inherited her parent’s money a few months ago. Rumor has it, they separated. She’s a friend.” Again, the Detective leaned back in his chair, pretending disinterest he didn’t feel. He and Angela Destin shared a secret that could disrupt Kessler’s investigation and possibly complicate an innocent life. “Word of warning. If you come after her for this, you’ll have a platoon of lawyers riding your ass throughout the investigation. I doubt Angela would go to this much trouble to get rid of him. She’d just buy him off.”
Kessler groaned, “Don’t tell me. It’s Richard Coulter’s firm that represents her.”
Eagle nodded, “Michelle Coulter, specifically.”
Chapter Seven
The last thing Nelson Greybill expected was to be disturbed when his assistant, Cindy, rang through. Then again, he’d hired her for her looks, not her brain and it didn’t hurt that she was excellent at giving blowjobs.
“Nelson…, I mean, Mr. Greybill. There’s a Mr. Willowman here to see you. He says the two of you grew up together.”
Greybill picked up the old fashioned phone handset. The man had a love for mid-century modern. He’d grown up loving the tunes of Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack and he had tried to recreate this in his office. The cord stretched, uncurling as he leaned back in his chair. “What does he want?”
“He says he needs to talk to you about what happened the other night in the desert.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Could he be more specific?”
There was a momentary pause, then Cindy’s baby girl voice responded. “He says it’s about Sarah and Esther’s boys.”
Greybill remembered the old man. Sheepherder on the Reservation. Their families were related. Darkwater clan and the Tall Woman clan. He thought the old alcoholic would’ve been dead by now, but apparently not. The old man knew something, and it was, after all, only prudent to see what before he decided his next move.
“Send him in.”
Cindy made her grand entrance. Hands posed as if she was giving away a prize on a game show. Her toothy, white smile was radiant. The Vegas showgirl who wanted to be on Wheel of Fortune turning letters for a living. Bringing up the rear was a ghost from Greybill’s past. He didn’t remember the man being so short and frail, but, then again, twenty years made a difference in everyone. He stood there, head bowed, nervously spinning his beat-up Stetson in his hands. A reasonably clean white shirt and jeans complimented by the silver and turquoise bolo slung around his neck with an engraved silver bracelet at his wrist, meant his visit wasn’t casual. Greybill knew this kind of poverty. He’d grown up with it. Clothes like this were packed away and only taken out for special occasions. This was a poor man’s version of a tuxedo.
“Mr. Willowman.” Greybill held out his hand, giving the old man a tight smile. As tradition demanded. He greeted his elder in Navajo. They exchanged family gossip for a moment or two before Greybill brought them back to the reason for Willowman’s visit.
“You told my assistant this was about my sisters’ boys. How can I help you?”
Hal glanced at the chair near the younger man’s desk. His back and legs were hurting him greatly, but he wouldn’t ask to sit unless offered and Nelson Greybill didn’t offer. “My grandson, Joshua, is a bright boy. He just graduated at the top of his class. His parents are poor, but with some help he can go to college. He wants to go to medical school. Unfortunately, that costs money.”
Greybill’s eyes narrowed. Now they were getting to the crux of the old man’s visit. Money. If it was about the boys, then blackmail, as well. He saw Willowman shuffle from one foot to the other. Still he rotated the dirty cream colored Stetson in his hands.
“Uh…, sir. I wondered if I could get a loan from you to help put him through school. I used to drink a lot….”
“I remember.”
“Well, I quit a while back. I wasn’t in my daughter’s life much. Between the booze and jail, I didn’t take care of her mother like I should have. I feel I have a second chance, sir. I want to help my grandson become a doctor.”
The younger man held his ground. “How much?”
Hal looked up at the man in front of him for the first time. He knew more about Nelson Greybill than he let on. The banks had turned him down for the money he needed. Seeing Greybill’s nephews in the desert was a stroke of luck. He’d talked to the boys, but never made mention of the wrapped body-sized packages on the ground. He had been the one to suggest the placement. They said it was a practical joke, but following Adam’s visit, Hal knew what this information might hold some value.
“$50,000?”
Greybill’s smile fell. He turned and walked back to his desk, motioning the old man to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “$50,000, huh! Is that all?”
“He can get loans, being Navajo and all, but my daughter doesn’t want him to have to work. She wants him to concentrate on school.” Willowman glanced around the room, uncomfortable under the other man’s scrutiny. “I saw them in the desert.” When he spoke this time, his voice was soft, but less submissive. “I talked to the boys. A friend told me to go to the police, but I didn’t…, not
yet anyway.”
“Friend?”
“Adam Coulter. He works with APD.”
Greybill smiled. “I know his father. Kid has a drug problem, right?”
“He’s not a kid. He’s a doctor. He’s clean and sober now, like me.”
“Huh!” Greybill grunted, “Well, old father, I don’t have that kind of cash lying around. You’re family and I know I can trust you to not go to the police, right?”
Hal’s eyes lit up. “No, of course not. I won’t come back to ask for more. I’m not trying to blackmail you.”
“Oh, I know you aren’t.” The younger man picked up a collectible baseball from his desk and tossed it in the air, then caught it. “Family doesn’t do that, right?”
“No.”
“You have a cell phone?”
Hal nodded.
“Give Cindy the number. One of my people will call you tonight. Tell you where to pick the money up.”
“Pick it up?”
“You leave this office with a bag full of money, the Feds will think I’m doing something illegal. They watch me all the time. We have to be discreet, right?”
“I understand.” The old man stood, holding out his hand to Greybill. “Thank you, Mr. Greybill.”
“Good luck to your grandson, Old Father.” He shook Hal’s hand and kept holding it. His eyes stayed fixed on the older man making his unspoken point clear. “Family’s important.” Those few words held a truckload of warning.
Willowman turned to leave. “One more thing, Hal.” The old man turned back, waiting. “Don’t ever come back. Don’t ever tell anyone about this conversation. Understand?”
Hal nodded. He ran his fingers through his silver hair before returning his Stetson to its place on his head. He turned the knob to open the door. The gunshot-like report of a baseball suddenly shattering the wood of the door by his head made the old man jump. Wide eyed with fear, he didn’t bother to look back. Yanking the door open, Hal Willowman practically ran from Nelson Greybill’s office.
Slowly, Greybill turned and bent forward, retrieving the baseball that had ricocheted off the door. Again, he tossed it in the air with his right hand, capturing it in his left. Pressing a button on his desk, two men dressed in black suits appeared from a side door. They stood in front of their employer’s desk awaiting instructions.
“Find the fuckhead who sold my nephews the blow that started this clusterfuck. Bring him here. I want him to make it up to me, then we’ll pay a visit to Richard Coulter, that self-righteous prick. He needs to be taught another lesson. He still hasn’t handled that little problem I needed solved. Maybe he should suck my dick. Bring him down a few notches. Yeah, that might be nice.” Greybill smiled, contemplating what he was going to do.
Chapter Eight
“Ms. Coulter?” the voice over the intercom crackled a bit.
“Yes?”
“There’s a man here. Says he’s your brother, Adam?”
“Adam? You said Adam’s here?”
“Yes, ma’am. I checked his ID and…”
The door beside Marcella, Michelle Coulter’s PA, flew open. The young woman rushed forward, throwing herself into her brother’s arms. Adam stepped back, surprised at the exuberant greeting from his baby sister.
“Hey!” He laughed, “Nice to see you too, Chelle.”
His sister grabbed his arm, dragging him toward her office. “Marcella, reschedule all my appointments for the rest of the day. I’m going to catch up with my bro. If my father comes looking for me, tell him you don’t have any idea where I am. Okay?” Marcella nodded.
“And get us lunch reservations at Los Lobos for 1 pm.” She added as she shoved him into the room, closing the door behind him.
“So, is that the infamous gay brother?”
It was Michelle’s turn to nod.
“Cute, but I like my men a little beefier and he’d look better if he cleaned up.”
“Yeah, well, I think he’s trying to go incognito. You know what an ass our Dad is.”
Marcella laughed, “Tell me about it. I’ll just pretend I don’t understand English. Did you know he called ICE on me?”
“And I am still apologizing to you about that. Thanks. Let me know when the reservations are made and we’ll sneak out of here.”
Michelle went in, shutting the door behind her. Again, she stopped and gave her brother a big hug, but this time she added a kiss to his cheek. “You look…, sort of anorexic. You need to eat more, Adam. Though you do look better than the last time I saw you.” She stepped behind him, gathering his long hair in her hands and began to braid it. “I’ve always been jealous of your hair, but this thrift store chic isn’t quite cutting it, Adam.”
Adam smiled, then he turned slightly and gently slapped her hands away. “Hey! Too weird, Chelle.”
He sat in the dark burgundy, leather club chair across from his sister’s massive mahogany desk. A serious look crossed his face. “Chelle, I want to apologize to you. I said some terribly hurtful things before I left. I was in a bad space, but what I said was inexcusable. I hope you can forgive me.”
Michelle turned the other club chair to face him. The fact that she didn’t sit behind her desk, placing a barrier between them, spoke volumes. Adam smiled. It gave him hope that there was a chance they could be friends again.
When the intercom startled them both, they laughed. “Yes, Marcella?”
“Your reservations are made. I have pull there. My brother-in-law is a sous chef at Los Lobos. Will you be back later? Or should I just head home after I get this work done.”
“Head home and thanks, Marcella. See you tomorrow.”
Suddenly, Michelle jumped up. “Are you hungry?”
Adam nodded.
“Good, because I’m famished. I’m taking you to my favorite restaurant.”
Michelle noticed her brother’s frown. She took a second look at the brother and noted that the clothes weren’t thrift store chic, but just plain thrift store. There seemed to be a weariness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. His thinness wasn’t due to a diet, so that meant he wasn’t eating properly. Alarms went off in her head. Something was definitely wrong and she knew it was best to find out over a good meal.
“My treat. I can write you off as a business expense. My future client.”
“All right then, I’ll drive.”
Michelle shook her head, “No way. You drive like Mom on a bender. Anyway, I want to show off my new convertible.”
Adam smiled and held his hands up in surrender. He knew he could use a good meal and it was useless to argue with Michelle. He was going to have to humiliate himself and ask his sister for the money he needed to get through until he got his first paycheck. The thought of living in his car or, worse yet, on Rick Kessler’s couch, made it imperative he talk to her.
While Michelle called for the valet to bring her car around, she left her brother standing in the oversized atrium of the law firm’s lobby near security. He turned, checking out the glass and marble façade. The plants made it a little less sterile, but he knew the expensive artwork hanging on the walls was leased.
Movement to his left caught Adam’s eye and he turned. Not 100 feet away stood Richard Coulter, his father, shaking the hand of an obviously wealthy client. The man leaned in, whispering something to his father that made him frown and quickly release the other man’s hand. The man walked away, but as Richard Coulter turned, he looked up. Their eyes met. Adam could feel his heart rate climbing. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation.
First there seemed to be confusion in the older man’s eyes. Like you have the feeling the other person is someone you should know, but you can’t quite put a name to him. Adam knew in that instant he had the upper hand. He almost smiled and waved as the confusion crossing his father’s face began to clear, sorting all the pieces. Who was this long haired, poorly dressed man? It couldn’t possibly be a client, but then he could see recognition dawning in the older man’s eyes and his expression harde
ned. Richard Coulter took a step in his direction. Adam steeled himself for the inevitable fight. At that moment, Michelle grabbed her brother’s arm, dragging him away toward the exit.
“Come on, Addy, let’s go.” She grinned as she used her childhood nickname for him.
Adam followed his sister as she pushed the heavy glass door open, shoving him outside. Either Michelle didn’t see their father or if she did, she didn’t care. They ran arm in arm to the gunmetal gray Audi Q5 convertible. He only got a few seconds to appreciate the sleek lines and styling of her new car before Michelle threw herself into the driver’s seat. Adam barely had his seat belt locked before the G-forces threw him back against the plush leather upholstery. As Michelle left a trail of acrid smoke and burned rubber on the street, Adam got one final glance of his father coming out of the firm’s door with an angry frown set on his tanned face. He couldn’t resist giving the older man a grin and a royal wave. Knowing it would piss his father off that much more. The prodigal son has truly returned.
*****
The warm wind blew through their hair as they tore across the city. Michelle laughed freely and Adam found himself caught up in her gleeful enthusiasm. Throwing his hands up in the air, a loud Woohoo escaped his lips. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Adam smiled at his baby sister, silently thanking her for the moment, then he really looked at the young woman sitting beside him in her Black Halo Jackie O dress and Louboutin heels. There was no doubt in his mind as he noted the unrestrained smile on her lips, he knew his sister was truly happy. The question was, who was responsible for that happiness? Had she found someone special that made her smile like this? He’d cut himself off from the sister he loved for far too long. He missed their talks, their laughter over so many insignificant things. Until their falling out, they’d been the best of friends. He wanted that back. He needed that back.
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