Bone Canyon

by Goldberg, Lee

  “You’re telling me that I betrayed that.”

  Ross stood and faced her. She was very aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than her.

  “I’m here because Towler, Harding, and Frankel did. I’m here because the bastards who trashed your car at the hotel and ran you off the road tonight did. They don’t represent who we are or what we stand for. So the message to you, and to them, is that you’re one of us and we’ve got your back.”

  Eve wasn’t sure that she’d heard him correctly. “You’re here to protect me?”

  “There will be an off-duty deputy by your side twenty-four seven until this bullshit stops.”

  It may have been the nicest thing anyone had said to Eve since she’d become a homicide detective. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t hated by everybody. There were people she could trust, who cared about her even if they didn’t actually know her.

  Eve wanted to hug him but didn’t because it would hurt too much. And because she was afraid if he squeezed her, even a little bit, it might break her sternum in half.

  Instead, she held out her hand to him. “Thank you.”

  He shook her hand. “Just doing my duty.”

  She looked over his shoulder and saw a nurse coming down the hall. “Maybe you should put your shirt back on, Tom.”

  Ross picked up his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, but not before he got an appreciative smile from the nurse as she returned to her station.

  “No need to put that back on for me, Deputy,” she said. “No need at all.”

  Eve turned to Ross. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. Stay here and guard my valuables. I’ll be right back.”

  Eve moved slowly down the corridor by herself, wheeling her IV cart along. She didn’t want him to see the tears that he’d brought to her eyes.

  The doors to most of the rooms on the ward were open, perhaps so the nurses could easily see how everybody was doing. Eve was surprised by how many patients were awake, too. Then again, it made sense, since many of them were in bandages or casts or had a bunch of tubes running in and out of their bodies. They had to be in a lot of pain and discomfort. She counted herself lucky. At least she was on her feet.

  But she wasn’t alone on that score, either. She saw a man in his thirties shuffling toward her, both of his arms in slings. Despite his two broken arms, he still managed to use one hand to wheel a rolling IV stand that also held a bag of urine from the catheter line that snaked under his hospital gown. She was glad she didn’t have one of those.

  He gave her a crooked smile as they came up side by side, like two cars in opposite lanes. “What are you in for?”

  “Car accident. You?”

  “Handicap ramp.” He must have seen the confusion on her face. “I went to get my daughter a Happy Meal at McDonald’s and tripped over the handicap ramp. Fell and broke both of my arms. One is a clean break, the other is a mess.”

  “Was the ramp over a cliff?”

  The man laughed. “The curb wasn’t even two inches high. Makes you wonder how Dwayne Johnson in those Fast & Furious movies can leap from the top floor of a skyscraper, fall thirty stories onto the roof of a BMW, and walk away.”

  “Because it’s not real.”

  He slightly lifted his right sling. “Real is sixteen screws, three plates, and a titanium radial head from a trip-and-fall. I’m looking at months in a cast, followed by months of physical therapy, and I’ll still never be able to play tennis or scratch between my shoulder blades again.”

  “That’s one unhappy Happy Meal.”

  “At least you seem whole.”

  “Only on the outside. Broken sternum and a strained neck.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that,” she said. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” he said and shuffled away. She watched him go and saw his bare butt, exposed by his loose gown. It made her wonder just how much she was showing.

  Eve continued her slow stroll, her mind on the poor guy’s unhappy meal—then her thoughts drifted back to the deputy who was guarding her valuables and she had a revelation, which came to her as an overwhelming cascade of facts, images, and bits of dialogue colliding in her head, creating a wave of dizziness and nausea that nearly brought her to her knees.

  “I’d hate to see your career derailed by a bad decision made on your second murder case . . .”

  “So we’re back where we started. Any of them could have killed her . . .”

  “All women have jewelry, honey. The badge is yours . . .”

  “Sixteen screws, three plates, and a titanium radial head from a trip-and-fall . . .”

  She closed her eyes and stood very still, clutching her IV stand for support, trying to settle her thoughts and willing herself not to vomit. After a couple of minutes, she began to understand how everything fit together and all the mistakes that she’d made. The dizziness passed, but the nausea remained, like a low hum. She must have been breathing hard, because now it felt like someone was pounding a stake into her heart.

  Nakamura was right. She was a novice and a fool.

  Eve opened her eyes and went back to her room as quickly as she could without making herself sick or creating too much pain.

  Tom Ross was leaning on the counter of the nurse’s station, talking to the smiling nurse, when he saw Eve approach and read the expression on her face. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Do you have a car, Tom?”

  “Yes.”

  Eve turned to the nurse. “I need you to give me my next injection of painkillers and then get this IV out of my arm.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said.

  “If you don’t, then I’ll yank it out myself. Either way, I’m leaving in five minutes.”

  “You’ve been in a serious accident. You need to stay the night for observation in case you’ve suffered internal injuries or complications that haven’t become obvious yet.”

  “I need to go,” Eve said. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  The doctor on call was not pleased, but faced with Eve’s obstinance and no authority to stop her, he gave in. He authorized her dose of painkillers and gave her a written prescription for more. The nurse removed Eve’s IV line and helped her get out of her gown and into her underwear. Her clothes and shoes were still wet, so the nurse took pity on her, loaned her a set of surgical scrubs and slippers, and got her dressed.

  “You’re being irrational and making a big mistake,” the nurse said.

  “That’s the story of my life,” Eve said.

  She thanked the nurse, grabbed her phone, personal items, and bagged clothes, and let Ross wheel her out of the hospital in a wheelchair to his Dodge Challenger, which was parked as close to the lobby door as he could get it.

  “Where to, Eve?” he asked as he unlocked the passenger door.

  “Lost Hills station,” she said, trying not to cry out with pain as she got up from the wheelchair and into the car’s bucket seat. It felt like every move she made drove a dagger into her chest. The painkillers must not have kicked in yet.

  As they drove out of the parking lot, Eve called Daniel, waking him up.

  “Sorry to wake you,” she said. “I need to ask you an important question.”

  “Okay,” he said, groggy.

  “Were you called out to examine Kendra Leigh’s skeleton in Calabasas today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How was she murdered?”

  “How did you know she was murdered? I didn’t know myself until I looked at the bones tonight under a microscope.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Stabbed in the back. I could tell by the—”

  “Thanks,” she interrupted him. “Go to sleep. I’ll explain this all later.”

  Eve ended the call.

  “Shit,” she said to herself.

  The freeway was nearly deserted and Ross d
rove way over the speed limit, so they got to the Lost Hills station in only twenty minutes. When they arrived, Eve was in so much pain getting out of the car that Ross simply picked her up and carried her into the station. She didn’t protest.

  “Where to?” he asked, effortlessly holding her in his arms as if she were a very big baby.

  “My desk.”

  He carried her to her cubicle and gently lowered her into her chair. “Anything else?”

  “If you tell a soul about carrying me in, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Understood.”

  “Can you please bring me the murder books on Sabrina Morton and Debbie Crawford? They are on Duncan’s desk.”

  He brought her the two binders.

  “Thanks.” She gave him her hotel room key. “I’m in room 232 at the Hilton Garden Inn. Can you please bring me my duffel bag? I’m going to need to change out of these scrubs and slippers.”

  All the clothes and toiletries that she’d bought on Wednesday were in the trunk of her smashed Kia. They’re all trash now, she thought. This case was going to cost her a fortune in insurance deductibles, hotel rooms, and lost clothing. She wondered how she was going to pay for it all.

  “You’re going to be on your own here until I get back,” Ross said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “I think I’m safe in a sheriff’s station.”

  He didn’t look too sure about that, but he left to run the errand anyway.

  Once he was gone, Eve rolled her chair over to Biddle’s desk, found the binder on the Kendra Leigh case, and quickly flipped through the pages. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for: the details of the hip replacement that helped identify her. She took some quick notes on a legal pad, tore off the page, and rolled back to her desk. She opened the binder on Debbie Crawford, found the information on her knee replacement, and wrote it down on the same sheet of lined yellow paper.

  Tom Ross returned with her duffel bag as she was opening the binder on Sabrina Morton.

  “There was a note from the manager in your room,” he said, setting the duffel bag beside her desk. “Your car has been cleaned and the keys are at the front desk. I’ll be in the snack room if you need me. I’ve got to call Eddie Clayton, who is taking over for me at eight a.m.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” she said, making a note from Sabrina’s file on the sheet of paper with her notes on Debbie Crawford and Kendra Leigh. Next she went on the internet and searched for photos of Kendra Leigh. In every picture, Kendra wore a necklace with a tiny cross.

  It was almost five thirty. The polite thing to do would be to wait another two or three hours before making any calls. But Eve was too restless and angry with herself to wait. She called the Mortons, awakening Claire, who answered the phone with a whispered “Hello.”

  “This is Eve Ronin. I am so sorry to wake you up, but I have an important question about your daughter’s case that I need answered right now.”

  “It’s okay, Detective,” Claire whispered. Eve could hear Albert’s heavy snoring in the background. “It won’t be the first time I’ve lost sleep since she was killed. What do you need to know?”

  “Did your daughter have any favorite pieces of jewelry?”

  “Of course. Her Tiffany heart necklace. A ring she bought in New Zealand. Her grandmother’s bracelet. So many things. Why?”

  “Do you have them all?”

  “Everything except her Tiffany necklace, which she wore all the time. She was probably wearing it when . . .” Claire’s voice caught for a moment. “. . . when she was killed.”

  “You’ve been a big help, thank you.”

  Eve hung up and dialed Celeste Crawford’s number, waking her up, too.

  “This is Eve Ronin. I am so sorry to wake you up.”

  “I don’t think you’re sorry about anything. You knew my mother was murdered long before you told me. Is that because you think I killed her?”

  “No I don’t. But you can help me catch the person who did by answering some questions for me right now. Did your mom wear jewelry?”

  “Of course she did. Tons of earrings, necklaces, most of them she made herself.”

  “Did she have a favorite piece?”

  “She had a beautiful turquoise necklace she got at a Navajo trading post in New Mexico that she never took off.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “You tell me. She was probably wearing it when she disappeared.”

  “Thank you, this is very helpful.” Eve hung up. It was nearly 6:00 a.m. That gave her an hour or so to take a quick nap, shower, and change before making some more calls.

  She got up, wincing with pain, and walked down the hall to the snack room, where Tom Ross was watching an old episode of Hollywood & the Vine on TV.

  “You think I’d be a better cop if I was half-plant?”

  “I don’t see how,” Eve said. “I’m going to the sleep room for a nap. Please wake me up before you go.”

  “Will do.”

  Eve went to the sleep room, eased herself carefully onto the cot, and fell asleep almost instantly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Deputy Ross dutifully woke Eve up an hour later, but it wasn’t easy. She felt like she was struggling to awaken from a coma. It was a hard climb back to consciousness.

  “You should go back to the hospital,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, Tom. I always look like hell in the morning.”

  She picked up the duffel bag that Ross had brought her from the hotel and let him help her to the locker room.

  Once inside, she removed her neck brace, splashed some cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and stripped out of her scrubs. She was shocked by the huge black bruise on her chest. It hurt just to look at it.

  She changed into a blazer, blouse, and slacks, which was a painful exercise. Her neck was sore, but she decided not to put the brace back on. She didn’t want to look unfit for duty, though she probably was. But she had a job to do.

  Eve staggered out of the locker room, grabbed a Red Bull from the snack room refrigerator, and returned to her desk, where she guzzled down the drink and began making calls. What she learned after the third call, this one to Sabrina Morton’s surgeon, hit her like a gut punch and it made her sick.

  There was no chance, in her condition, of racing to the bathroom in time, so she leaned over and puked into the garbage can that was beside her cubicle. The action of bending over and heaving seemed to tear at her broken sternum, making her whimper with pain, her head over the trash can.

  That was the moment, shortly before 9:00 a.m., when Duncan walked into the squad room. He raced to Eve’s side.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He gently held her by the shoulders and helped her sit up slowly in her seat.

  “I’m beginning to ask myself the same question.”

  “Do you want to go back to the hospital or to your hotel?”

  “I’m wondering if I’m qualified to be a homicide detective. I’m a total fuckup, Duncan.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but you are definitely crazy, perhaps even suicidal.” Duncan held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’m staying. I need to see this through.”

  “See what through?”

  She told him.

  Duncan took a seat at his cubicle as he listened to her explain her failures as a detective and as a human being and everything that she’d learned from her calls that morning.

  When she was done, he massaged his brow. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. I was an equal partner in this.”

  “No, Pruitt was right about one thing. It’s all on me.”

  “We can argue about that later. I’ll call a judge, get the search warrants, and serve them. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  She massaged her wrist. It was sore. Her whole body was. She needed more than painkillers. She needed professional help. “I’ll stay here, brush my teeth again, and see if I can b
eg my physical therapist to make a house call.”

  Eve came out and met Mitch Sawyer in the lobby at 10:00 a.m. He was clearly shocked when he saw her. She wasn’t wearing her neck brace, but there were cuts on her face and her eyes were bloodshot. The nasty bruise on her chest, which had turned black, had crept up to her collarbone and was hard to miss.

  “Oh my God, Eve, what happened to you?”

  “I had a little fender bender.”

  “Looks more like a train wreck to me.” He dropped his gym bag and examined her wrist. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your wrist again.”

  “Yeah, but it hurts. Truth is, everything does.”

  “I’m sure, because you’d have to be in agony to give in and call me. Is there somewhere we can go?”

  “Yeah, follow me.” She held open the door. He picked up his bag and she led him down the hallway. “We can use a table in the snack room.”

  The only person in the snack room was her new bodyguard, Deputy Eddie Clayton, who was having some coffee and reading the latest issue of Guns & Ammo. At least, it appeared that he was. His eyes were hidden behind his ever-present pair of sunglasses.

  Eve sat down across the table from Mitch, who said: “Let’s start with the tabletop wrist flexion and extension exercise.”

  She set her phone on the table, then extended her right arm so that her wrist was hanging over the edge of the tabletop, her hand facing palm down. Without moving her arm, she lifted her wrist, closed her hand into a fist, and held the position for six seconds.

  Mitch counted out the seconds, then Eve bent her wrist down, below the edge of the table, letting her hand hang, her fist unfurled. She held that position for six seconds.

  “Very good. Let’s do it slowly four times, but stop if you feel any pain.” Mitch gestured to her chest. “Tell me about that bruise.”

  “It’s a broken sternum,” she said.

  “Ouch. And you came into work anyway?”

  “I’ve got three murder cases to deal with. That’s why I couldn’t come to you.”