“He’ll be here as soon as he’s finished meeting with a review team about his readiness to return to duty. Let’s hope Frank gets good news, so we’ll all have more reason to tango with Tommy and Anastasia.”
“By then, Betsy ought to be here too. She has an idea she wants to discuss with us about how to find out more about the Cleaner Man,” Peter said.
“Well, I’m glad she can join us, but we don’t want to spend all our time sitting on our butts, do we, Anastasia? Our revels will include a conga line, not a tango!” Tommy pretended to be using maracas as he took a step. In a flash, Anastasia stood up, put her paws on his back, and jumped along with him as he took more steps. She looked over her shoulder at me with a huge grin on her doggy face. Tommy was grinning too. I shook my head, wondering which of them was the bigger party animal.
“Let’s see if George can get anything from the shirt Nick was wearing that tells us what was in the gas or the hypodermic needle,” I said as I stepped toward the sliding door. “Fingers crossed!”
“The authorities didn’t have much more than that to go on when they learned what was in the gas used by the Russians,” Peter noted. “George let me cut samples from the shirt, and I’ve sent them to a lab run by, um, friends. They might also appreciate having a list of the sedative-hypnotic substances used at the main hospital in the area, Laura.”
“Your list of helpful “friends” never ceases to surprise me, Peter,” I muttered. I’m not sure why since he’d spent so many years in Special Forces before he “retired” to the desert to start his security firm. He was plenty busy with all the special events in the area that brought moguls, movie stars, and political leaders to the desert cities. What ought to surprise me more is how he finds the time to be such a conscientious member of our Cat Pack of sleuths.
“I’m sure Peter’s right, Laura, about his friends’ gratitude for anything you can do to give them a head start figuring out what we were exposed to today,” I added.
“It’s easy enough to do. I’ll also check to see if anyone has reported a theft or loss from the supplies at the hospital or in any of the centers in our network. We’re not the only hospital in town, so it might be worthwhile checking with the staff at the other medical centers in the valley.”
“If you can find someone who’ll share that information with you,” I said.
“I have my friends too,” Laura added as she went into the house. “I’ll get you the list of anesthetics we use right away, Peter. Tracking down reports for any stolen or missing drugs will take a while longer.”
“From what Louie Jacobs told us, Jessica, it’s clear his memory was screwed up by exposure to whatever the Cleaner Man used. I wonder if it could also have made him more suggestible, and the image of the Cleaner Man as he described him was planted in his mind,” Kim suggested.
We followed Kim as she went into the house. The blast of cool air from the AC was a blessing. The aroma of Bernadette’s Chicken Margherita was dizzying. The assault on my senses was almost as effective as the Cleaner Man’s gas had been as I tried to refocus on Kim’s point.
“That’s an interesting idea,” I added. “Besides knockout gas and the stuff in the hypodermic needle, there’s the tea Louie says the Cleaner Man gave him. We need to find that and get a sample of it to Peter’s friends at their lab. Maybe that’s the answer to why no one reported seeing Louie accompanied by a man dressed like a cowboy all in white.”
“A cowboy with a white glow like a full-body halo,” Kim added.
“We’ve had conversations before about how easy it is to influence memory—even plant memories that weren’t there before,” Peter observed, eyeing a big platter of cannellini beans and greens Bernadette set on the enormous granite kitchen island. Peter, the vegan in our midst, had no trouble spotting the main dish made for him.
“Set that on the dining table, someone,” Bernadette instructed.
Jerry, who’s not a vegan, rushed to do as she asked. We all know that anything Bernadette cooks will be delicious. I glanced at the clock over the stove, wondering where Frank could be as I picked up the conversation where Peter had left off.
“I take it you’re referring to the case involving false allegations of sexual abuse supposedly based on recovered memories. The false memories you’re talking about, Peter, arose from sustained contact between clients and a trusted professional. The manipulation also took advantage of a preexisting antagonism toward the target of the allegations. The Cleaner Man doesn’t have that advantage. What seems odd is how rapidly the Cleaner Man forged a bond with Louie Jacobs.”
“Memory is even more unreliable in retrospect,” Laura noted. “Especially if drugs are involved, which was also true in the old case we’re talking about, even though they were prescription drugs. We can’t be sure how long Louie Jacobs knew the Cleaner Man before began to see him as an angel of light.”
“I suppose Louie’s memories could be compressed or reordered,” I replied. “We should check with the shelter Louie mentioned to see if they can confirm he was there in late March when he believes he first met the Cleaner Man.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe someone saw Louie with the guy that day,” Laura added. “It would help if we had a specific date, though.”
“And if we had a reliable description of what the Cleaner Man actually looks like when you’re not bedazzled by him,” I added sighing. “We still need to speak to Nick about what he saw before he passed out. At this point, though, none of us saw who was behind the incident we experienced. Maybe it’s premature to conclude that the Cleaner Man was behind the attack on Nick.”
“OMG! It’s not premature!” Tommy exclaimed. “The gas, the insane shrieking, and the hypodermic needle in Nick’s chest all add up to the same psycho killer. We heard a man’s voice. How many other whacked out men can there be running around in the desert?”
“I agree with Tommy,” Jerry responded. “It also can’t be a coincidence that we encountered him at the place Louie said was his campsite. I’m sure we stumbled into one of the Cleaner Man’s hunting grounds, and he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Thank goodness he shot up the protein bar in Nick’s pocket with that hypodermic needle instead of Nick, or he could have another murder to his credit,” Kim added.
“Okay, okay! I hear everything you’re saying. We’re trying to help a young man who was the victim of a bunch of people jumping to conclusions. I don’t want any of us doing the same thing.”
“If that is what’s going on,” Kim muttered as she picked up a huge platter of linguine sprinkled with chopped Italian parsley. A garlicky fragrance wafted toward me as I followed Kim to the table where she placed it on the table.
“Uh, what are you trying to say?” Brien asked as he sat down and grabbed a breadstick.
“In the spirit of Jessica’s reminder not to jump to conclusions, I’m keeping an open mind about Timothy Ridgeway’s story. It’s too bad they didn’t do an autopsy on Sacramento Lugo,” Kim replied as she took the seat next to Brien, and he handed her a breadstick. “If Timothy Ridgeway was telling the truth when he said Sacramento was dead by the time he got there, maybe the Cleaner Man succeeded in injecting him as he tried to do with Nick today, and that’s what killed him. Then again, maybe the Cleaner Man didn’t do it.”
“Kim could be right,” Jerry added. “All we have is Officer Ridgeway’s word to go on. If he stabbed Sacramento with the hunting knife to frame Louie for the murder, an autopsy would have determined if he really was dead before he was stabbed.”
Where is Frank? I wondered as Jerry and Tommy sat down. Anastasia left the room, skittering past me to the kitchen. She must have figured there wasn’t going to be any dancing for now. They began munching on veggies from the crudité plate on their end of the table. No way was I going to keep this bunch from diving into the food much longer even though this was intended to be a celebration for Frank.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Laura said. “If Timothy Ridgew
ay told you the truth, how could there have been blood coming from the knife wound? You don’t bleed after you’re dead.”
“That’s it! I knew something was bothering me about Timothy Ridgeway’s story.” Kim pointed her breadstick in Laura’s direction. “If it weren’t for Auntie Agnes’ conviction that the Cleaner Man killed her nephew, I’d bet Timothy Ridgeway did it. If he had a grudge against Sacramento Lugo or was sick of being ordered to haul him home for his father, maybe he couldn’t resist the opportunity to get rid of Sacramento and pin it on Louie.”
“George is investigating the matter now,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll speak to John Lugo. Even if Timothy Ridgeway didn’t kill Sacramento Lugo, he stepped way over the line in the way he handled the investigation. One way or another, he obstructed justice in what was no longer strictly a tribal matter after the County became involved.”
“We need to know more about what was going on between Timothy Ridgeway and John Lugo,” Kim argued.
“You’re not suggesting Sacramento’s father had anything to do with his son’s death, are you?” Laura asked.
“No. Not directly. I don’t know. One thing’s for certain. The only way we’ll have clear evidence of how Sacramento Lugo died is if his body is exhumed and an autopsy is done. It sure would help if John Lugo would ask for that to be done.”
“You’d think he’d want to be clear about what happened to his only son. Betsy’s our best hope of getting access to family members, other than Auntie Agnes,” I said, wondering who else might have “pull” with the Lugos.
“To get John Lugo’s cooperation, you need to do more than speak to him. You need to become his new best friend,” a voice behind me said.
I turned to see Frank standing there with Anastasia at his side. She was grinning and wagging her tail, but not making a sound. He must have let himself in, but I don’t know how he kept Anastasia from woofing to announce his arrival.
“Frank!” I cried and threw my arms around his neck. He grunted ever so slightly when I jarred his ribs.
“Sorry,” I whispered as he kissed me, leaving me breathless. Anastasia stood up, leaning against us, wanting to be in on the hug. She got her hug and smooches too.
“What a good girl you are to help me surprise everyone,” Frank told her and then explained what he meant.
“I put my finger to my lips when I let myself in, and she didn’t make a peep.”
“She is so smart, and I’m happy you’re here, but please don’t keep us in suspense,” I begged. “How did it go?”
“I’m out from behind that desk!” A round of hoots went up. Anastasia joined in with her doggy version of hoots until the doorbell rang, and she raced for the door.
7 Calamity Magnetism
“I’ll get it!” Peter exclaimed as he dashed to the door. By the smile on his rugged face, I’m sure he figured Betsy had arrived. He was right, but when he returned, another detective had joined us. George Hernandez’s eyes bulged as he caught sight of the meal set out on the table.
“Can you join us for dinner?” I asked. “We’re celebrating Frank’s good news about being reinstated to full duty.”
“Congratulations! That’s good news for you and the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department,” George replied and slapped Frank on the back.
“We’re having Italian food in Frank’s honor,” Brien added. “You might as well sit down and eat with us. Since you were swept up in the vortex of heinousness along with us in the Indio Hills, you’re an honorary member of the Cat Pack.”
Brien leaned in and picked up an olive from the crudité plate near him, tossed it into the air, and caught it in his mouth. No one moved or spoke as they waited for George’s retort. He appeared to be equivocating, and then Brien spoke again.
“I’d like to hear what you have to say about the level of heinousness in this vortex,” Brien’s tone was serious. “I’m pretty sure it’s not just Jessica’s calamity magnetism we’re dealing with, but something Betsy’s also picked up with her extrasensenory, extrasen…uh, ESP. In my opinion, we’re facing extreme heinousness.”
George harrumphed, as Brien added a knowing head bob to his pronouncement. George rolled his eyes, and I feared he was about to say goodbye before passing along the information he must have come here to share with us. I was about to ask why he’d dropped by when Bernadette came from the kitchen carrying a sheet cake covered in frosting, toasted coconut, and pecans. As soon as she put it down, Frank hugged her.
“Italian Cream Cake! You didn’t have to do that, but I’m so glad you did. It’s my favorite.”
“Aw, you got lots of favorites—just like Jessica,” Bernadette said, obviously basking in Frank’s appreciation.
“I’ve never had Italian Cream Cake,” George muttered. That was it. He sat down in an empty chair where there wasn’t a place-setting. I grabbed a glass, plates, and utensils for him.
“Can I get you a glass of champagne or a beer?” I asked.
“No, I’ve got to go back to my office after I eat. Water’s fine for me.” He picked up the empty tumbler I’d already placed in front of him, then the pitcher of ice water, and poured himself a glass. “I wouldn’t want my mind clouded by alcohol while facing the heinousness you and Betsy have unleashed in the desert with your superpowers.”
“They didn’t unleash anything. That’s not what Brien said, and you know it. Don’t get too smart-mouthed about it, though, George,” Bernadette added as she motioned for Frank and me to sit down. “Brien’s always gotta throw in surfer dude words, but you’ve got to admit there’s a nasty, devious maleante on the loose out there.”
“You shouldn’t be so skeptical about superpowers since you must have your own,” Laura teased. “How else could you have managed to show up for a feast like this at exactly the right moment?” George harrumphed again and then shrugged and smiled.
“I did show up at the right time, didn’t I? This sure beats the convenience store sandwich I’d planned to buy and take back to my office. Can we eat and toast Frank’s good news before we dive into any discussion about the vortex of heinousness?”
“That’s an excellent idea if you’ll answer one question for us. How’s Nick?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you that first thing.”
“It’s the Cleaner Man’s knockout gas still messing with your head,” Brien said, nodding his head again.
“Please quit editorializing and let me tell everyone about Nick,” George groused.
“Editorializing?” Brien asked as he pulled out a little card and pencil that he carried everywhere these days to write down words so he could improve his vocabulary. “How do you spell that?”
“I’ll spell it for you,” Kim replied as she took the pencil and card from Brien and handed him a few breadsticks. “Please go on, Detective.”
“Nick was awake long enough to say he doesn’t remember much. He caught a glimpse of a man pointing something at him, which he thought was a gun. Then everything went blank. He doesn’t even remember being attacked by the guy. They’re running bloodwork and trying to figure out what he might have inhaled. As you know, the crime lab has his clothes, so they’re examining them, and trying to determine what was in the hypodermic, too. He seems to be okay, but I was only allowed to speak to him for a minute. They’re keeping him overnight, so I won’t be able to interview him until tomorrow.”
“Thank goodness Nick’s doing well. Maybe he’ll remember more details about the man he saw tomorrow,” I said, feeling a little less guilty about Nick. Like Frank, George was already on the case before calamity struck in the Indio Hills. Heinousness goes with the job when you’re a cop. Unfortunately, Nick was only there because I’d asked him for help. I raised my glass for a toast, trying to relax. “Now we can get on with happier news! To Detective Frank Fontana for his courage and determination in the face of adversity!”
“To no more papercuts from sitting behind a desk pushing paper!” Frank added as he lifted his glass
to a round of “here, here” and laughter.
When he set the glass down, he reached under the table and gripped my hand. I was glad to see him in such good spirits. The comment about paper cuts was making light of his recovery from a severe beating that had nearly killed him. Among other injuries, including a concussion and blows to his kidneys, Frank had two broken ribs that still weren’t completely healed. At this point, he merely winced when he jarred his ribs or twisted his body in the wrong way instead of sucking in great gulps of air from the pain.
What worried me most was the damage to his spirit. At first, I’d thought it was wounded pride or the fact that he’d had to deceive his parents, his kids, and me while working undercover for months before his cover was blown. I’m certain there’s more. Perhaps, something had happened while he was undercover or held captive that he hadn’t yet revealed.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Frank whispered. His lips brushed my cheek as he spoke and sent a shiver of pleasure through me. I squeezed his hand.
“I’m so happy to have Frank Fontana back, desk or no desk.” I was about to say more when Laura tapped me on the arm from where she sat next to me.
“Save the sweet talk for later, you two,” Laura chided, passing me the platter of linguine. “I’m starving. So are the others sitting around the table after playing that cat and mouse game with the Cleaner Man.”
“Me too,” I said as I let her hold the platter while I put linguine on Frank’s plate and mine. “I wish I could be sure who was the cat and who was the mouse.”
“You’re going to catch me up, aren’t you?” Frank asked as he passed the platter back to Bernadette. “I heard something about an incident in the Indio Hills involving the arrest of a member of the tribal police. I take it George made the arrest. You all haven’t wasted any time if you’re already getting warned to back off from whatever you’ve been doing to get Louie Jacobs another chance in court.”
A Dead Nephew Page 8