Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  “If you want, I can question them again, put the heat on them for more information.”

  “Let’s see what we can find about their whereabouts last night and go from there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I poked around on the internet a little more and found old social media accounts for both Steve and Madison. Neither one posted much, but knowing they had a social media presence might come in handy later. I gulped more coffee and yawned.

  “Here we go,” Ernie finally said. He waved me over.

  I stretched and came around to his desk, then looked at his monitor.

  He tapped the screen. “Pixie Dust, real name Nicole Lockwood.”

  I studied Nicole’s arrest picture. She had stringy blond hair, stark blue eyes that had a lost look in them, and full lips turned into a pout. Smudges of dirt were on her left cheek and neck.

  “She looks rough,” he said.

  “Look at her arrest records.” I stared at the screen. Nicole had been arrested for prostitution five times, a Class 3 misdemeanor in Colorado. Each offense could’ve cost her up to six months behind bars and a fine up to $750, but I doubted she’d spent much time in jails, which were too crowded already. She also had a few misdemeanor drug possession charges. Those had been older convictions, as local law enforcement was getting lax on charging people who possessed small amounts of drugs.

  “You think she would’ve learned how not to run afoul of the cops,” Ernie said. He popped the last bite of burrito into his mouth and washed it down with Diet Coke.

  I nodded. “Let’s see what else we have on her.”

  Ernie scrolled down the screen. “She was only twenty. Wow.” He has two daughters, one in high school, the other in eighth grade, and I’m sure reading about Nicole hit home for him. “Her last known address was on St. Paul Street. Or that’s the address she gave the arresting officer.” He pulled up another web browser and googled the address. “I’ve been there before. Those are some cheap apartments.”

  “I wonder if she still lives there. I’ll follow up on that. Maybe someone there knows her.”

  He nodded. “I’ll text you the address.”

  I tapped the monitor. “Print her picture for me.”

  “Sure.”

  He maneuvered the mouse, and his printer soon spat out Nicole’s picture. He handed it to me, and I stared at it for a second. “What a waste,” I finally said.

  I went back to my desk and gulped down the rest of my coffee. I was wired from working on a new case, but at some point that would wear off. I needed the caffeine to keep me going. I googled Nicole Lockwood and found information on her family. “Her parents are Kara, with a K, and Jason. It looks like they’re divorced. I only see an address for Kara. Let’s go talk to her and maybe she can tell us where to find the father.”

  Ernie glanced at his watch. “Bad news this early in the morning …”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, my aching feet.” Spats walked in, looking weary, his face long and dejected. He went to the coffee machine and poured a cup. “I’ve been hoofing it around that motel for a couple of hours. I’ve talked to more prostitutes tonight than I care to admit. Don’t tell Trissa that,” he joked as he gulped some coffee. At least I hoped he was really joking.

  Spats had recently told me that he and Trissa, his live-in and mother of their baby boy, were having problems related to his job, the long hours and time away from home. His joking seemed to be a good sign, though, especially since he’d just worked through the night. Spats also has an eleven-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. He has a lot on his plate, and I sometimes think that his careful attention to his wardrobe is a way to control some of his life.

  Spats went on. “What I found out is that Pixie was nice, and she had a heroin addiction. One other prostitute named Alice said she saw Pixie fighting with a man a few days ago, they were screaming and yelling, but Alice didn’t know who the guy was. He was clean-cut, and Alice didn’t think he would’ve killed Pixie, for what that’s worth. No one else knew of anybody who would want to shoot Pixie execution-style. Or any other style.” Spats looked between us. “What’d you find?”

  “Pixie’s real name is Nicole Lockwood,” I said. I told him what Ernie and I had discovered. “We were about to go talk to her mother.”

  “Maybe she has an idea of who might have wanted to kill her daughter,” Spats said.

  Ernie scrunched up his face. “I kind of doubt that, but we can hope.”

  Spats went over to his desk, gulped more coffee, and sat down with a sigh. Then he got on the computer. “I’ve got to meet with the DA on another case this morning, and I don’t know how long I’ll be. I need to review my case notes.”

  “Spats, let me know when you’re free.” I double-checked where Kara Lockwood lived and grabbed my car keys. I gestured at Ernie. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eight

  The house was quiet. After Marilyn had gotten home, she had been a jangle of nerves. She was glad her husband was out of town, so no one was there to pester her with questions. She’d fixed herself a drink and went outside to the back porch. She saw the stars, could hear the occasional car or two in the distance, but otherwise it was peaceful. Her hand shook as she sipped her drink. She sat down at a lounge chair, stretched out her legs, and leaned back. Then she went over everything that had happened. As far as she could tell, the deed had gone flawlessly. No one had seen her, and even if they had, they wouldn’t know it was her.

  Perfect.

  As it should be. After all, she’d been plotting this out for weeks. She’d known a while ago that she was going to choose a prostitute. Selecting a vulnerable victim was another part of the Guild rules. It had to be a stranger to you. No revenge murders. That way, less likelihood of the murder being traced back to a member. She was sure she wouldn’t get caught. Her plans were too well thought out.

  It was now almost dawn, the sky morphing from black to a lighter hue, and she finally was feeling tired. Now, she could finally relax. The fear she’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by exhilaration. Just as Daffy Duck had said, it was incredible. She sipped more Scotch, its slight burn soothing. She had wondered if she could really go through with it, but when the time came, it had been easy. She closed her eyes and went over the whole night again, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. She concluded she hadn’t. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the yard. She smiled broadly. This could be a perfect crime. She didn’t see how she could be tripped up, and, on the off chance she had made a mistake, she was prepared for that. She would never go to jail.

  The sky was turning pink and orange when exhaustion finally overtook her. And yet, she wondered if she could sleep. She couldn’t wait to tell the group. They would meet later, and she had better be alert for that. She went inside and put her empty glass in the dishwasher. Then she went into her bedroom, set an alarm, disrobed, and slipped under the covers. Within seconds she fell into a peaceful sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  “What is somebody doing visiting me so early in the morning?” Kara Lockwood said.

  Ernie and I stood on her small front porch of her tiny house in Commerce City and talked to her through the screen.

  “Are you Nicole Lockwood’s mother?” I asked.

  “What’s she done now?” She wore leggings that showed ample curves, a wrinkled yellow blouse, and no makeup. Her shoulder-length blond hair was going gray, and her voice was low and harsh. Close to sixty, at least, I thought. I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she said, “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” I said. “But your daughter is dead.”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked off into the distance. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She had the trace of a Southern accent.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I sensed Ernie stiffen, and I knew he was taken aback as well.

  “I know that’s not what you expected me to say,” Kara went on. “But it is what it is. I suppose you h
ave questions.” She let out a big sigh, then held the screen open for us. “You might as well come in.” Ernie and I stepped into a tiny foyer and waited as she closed the screen. She waved a hand at us. “Come into the kitchen. Would you like coffee?”

  The house wasn’t much, just a living room big enough for a couch, a worn coffee table, and a small entertainment center. A poster from a jazz festival hung on one wall, the others bare. Down a short hallway were a few doors, probably a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. The kitchen was decorated in kitschy knick-knacks displayed on a cheap bookcase. A dog calendar was taped to the refrigerator, nothing else.

  She went to the coffeemaker on the counter, then eyed us.

  “No thanks,” I said. Ernie shook his head.

  She poured herself a cup and topped it off with a splash of Kahlua. “I’m off today,” she said in explanation. She took a seat at a small round Formica table and indicated that we should join her. Ernie and I slipped into seats across from her.

  “What’d Nicole do to get herself killed?” Kara asked she picked up a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, lit it, and took a long drag.

  “She was murdered,” I said.

  “Well.” She tapped ash into a glass ashtray on the table. She blew smoke and looked at us.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” I observed wryly.

  “That girl’s been in trouble since junior high,” Kara said. She dragged on the cigarette and blew another long stream of smoke. I resisted the urge to cough. The room reeked, the walls gray from years of accumulated smoke.

  “Nicole was an okay kid, did all right in school,” Kara went on as she sipped coffee. “She was no scholar, but she got by. Then, when my husband left, things went downhill.”

  “Where is Kara’s dad now?” Ernie asked.

  “Oh, he’s dead. Which is probably just as well.”

  There seemed to be no love lost between her and her ex. “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “He worked for the railroad, got into some kind of an accident near the railroad tracks, and got himself killed. Serves him right. He wasn’t a nice guy, not to me, and not to Nicole. Although she thought he was great.” She sneered. “But that’s what kids do, right? They idolize one of the parents, blame the other for everything. She did with him and thought I was the mean one.”

  That explained some of her aloofness to her daughter.

  “He was abusive to Nicole?”

  She shook her head. “Just mean when he was drunk, far as I know. Then he’d take her for ice cream or something the next day, and she’d think he was too cool.”

  “How bad were things with your husband?” Ernie asked.

  She pinched up her face in disgust. “Drew and I were high school sweethearts. Although, truth be told, there wasn’t a lot of sweet in our relationship. He was hot, though, and boy did we have a lot of fun. Then I got pregnant the end of our senior year. So much for going on to college or anything like that. Drew and I thought we were in love, and we got married.” She swore. “I was all of eighteen years old and I was married with a kid. We tried to make it work, but we liked to party before Nicole was born, and we partied after. It was a rough time, and money was always tight.” She sucked on the cigarette, her cheeks concave. “I know I made mistakes, but I did clean things up as Nicole got older, and we moved here from Tennessee. It was supposed to be a clean start for us all, but it wasn’t long before Drew was drinking and drugging again. He had a decent job, and I was afraid he was going to lose it, but he managed to keep that. He couldn’t keep me, though. He worked too much, and then I found out he was sleeping around. I finally booted him out.” She tapped ash into the ashtray with a hard finger. “Nicole was mad at me, because all she saw in her daddy was somebody who spoiled her. He would never raise a hand to her, didn’t yell at her, and I had to do all the disciplining. That made me unpopular. The few times he would get mad at her, she would blame me, and tell me that it was my fault that he was mad at her. After he left, Nicole started to get in some trouble. I think she was drinking and probably smoking some pot. When Drew died, she got even worse. She started ditching school, and some nights she wouldn’t come home at all. I tried a few times to get the police involved, but they never did much, said she was a runaway and she’d come home soon. And I couldn’t do much, either. I had two jobs, had to keep things going. Drew didn’t have any life insurance, and even if he did, I’m sure he wouldn’t have left anything to me, even though we never divorced. As it was, he didn’t leave a thing for us. Anyway, it went on like that for a while. One time, I read a few of her texts, and I got the impression she was seeing an older guy, maybe somebody in college.”

  “What was his name?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I asked her, and of course she said it was just some guy at school. I didn’t believe her, but what could I do? I tried to talk to Nicole about her behavior, and she just got mad at me. She blamed me for her father leaving, and she blamed me for him dying. What was I supposed to do?” she said defensively and swore again. “That was what, six, seven years ago? I was only thirty-three and a widow. Too young for all the drama.”

  I did some quick math, and realized that Kara couldn’t be more than forty. I glanced subtly at Ernie, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. She looked a lot older than that. Her drinking and smoking really had taken their toll. I also wondered if she was telling the truth about Drew not abusing to Nicole.

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  The cigarette started toward her mouth, but this time she didn’t take a drag. “One night, she just didn’t come home. She was sixteen. Between her sophomore and junior year. I called the police again, after a few days, thinking that maybe she had been kidnapped or killed, and they put out a missing person’s report and left it at that. A week went by, and then she showed up. She didn’t look that good, and at that point I could tell that she was doing some kind of harder drugs, meth, heroin, I don’t know what. She told me she was sorry for running away, and that she’d try to do better. But she didn’t. I think she mostly wanted to come home, to get a few meals and clean up, and then she was gone again. I tried to talk to her, told her that she needed to clean up her act, and that just made her madder. Then she was gone again, this time for a lot longer. I didn’t bother calling the police that time, I knew she was out doing who knows what. That time she was gone for a few months. When she came home, she looked even worse. The second I told her she needed to clean up her act, she yelled at me, and went through the blame routine. I told her to get out.”

  If there was regret, I didn’t hear it. Ernie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I’m sure he couldn’t imagine a situation where he’d do that to one of his daughters.

  As if she sensed our thoughts, Kara said, “I know what you’re thinking, that I’m cruel, and that I should’ve helped Nicole. Well, I tried. I didn’t have money for rehab or anything like that, but I encouraged her to go to AA or NA, things like that. I told her that she ought to try something. All she would do is tell me that I should mind my own drinking.” She sniffed at that. “I don’t have a problem, she does. Or did.”

  I didn’t say anything to that. “You haven’t seen her since she was sixteen?”

  Kara shook her head. “Oh, she came home a few times, here and there, when she needed money. But that was it.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Ernie asked.

  She thought for a second as she sipped more coffee. “It must’ve been in the spring. She looked like hell. And of course, she just wanted money, some food. We talked a little, and I fixed her dinner. She didn’t outright say it, but she was hooking, trying to pay for her drug habit that way. That’s what she was doing, right?” Ernie and I nodded.

  “It looks that way,” I said.

  “How did she die?” Kara finally asked. She hadn’t been curious up to now.

  “She was shot twice in the back of the head,” Ernie said. “Almost like an execution.” He didn’t tell her
anymore.

  Kara looked past us for a moment. “Oh god. That’s terrible.”

  “Do you know of anyone who would want to do that to her?” I asked.

  “I told you, I barely saw my daughter. I have no idea who would kill her. I thought you’d say she died of an overdose, or maybe some guy got too rough with her, something like that. But shoot her? I don’t know.”

  I put my elbows on the table. “When she came around, did Nicole talk about any friends?”

  “No, not that I can …” Then she paused. “One of the times when she was here, when I told her I wouldn’t give her any money, she started yelling at me about it, and she said something about that’s how Lola said I would react.” She finished the cigarette and forcefully crushed it out. “I don’t know if that’s a friend of hers or not. I have no idea who Lola is. Whoever she is, Nicole would’ve told her all kinds of bad things about me.”

  “Lola’s not one of her friends from high school?” Ernie asked.

  “No, her only good friend from high school was Tracy. I have no idea if Nicole sees her anymore or not.”

  “Do you have Tracy’s contact information?” Ernie pulled out his notepad.

  Kara swiped a hand across the table impatiently, clearing crumbs. “Are you kidding me? They were friends years ago.”

  “What about a last name?” he asked.

  She shook her head, then held up a hand. “Hold on.” She got up and disappeared from the room.

  “Man,” Ernie whispered. “I can’t imagine having no reaction after hearing your child had been murdered.”

  “I know.”

  I didn’t say more because Kara returned with a yearbook. “I cleared out Nicole’s room a while back, but I kept some of her stuff.” She sat down at the table and opened the book. “Let’s see … Tracy.” She began flipping through pages, then stopped and put a finger on a picture. “This is her. Tracy Sheppard.” She took the yearbook and turned it around for us to see.