Skydive

by Susan O’Brien

  “I can’t drop it, but it’s not my priority either,” I compromised. My other line rang, and the number wasn’t familiar. “I gotta go, Dean. My other line’s ringing, and I’m not sure who it is. I’ll call you back soon.”

  We hung up, and I answered in my most professional, “Sky Investigations, Nicki Valentine speaking” voice, despite erupting chaos in the backseat.

  “Nicki, it’s Detective Brunelli, King County Police Department.”

  “Hi, Detective.” I remembered him from Jared Funk’s apartment. Maybe he was calling with a personal update. “I just heard about the arrest. What can you tell me?”

  “I’d like to know if there’s anything else you can tell me. Can you and Kenna come down to the station now?”

  “Is there some sort of problem?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m hoping we can help each other out.”

  “Oookay.” I looked at the kids and thought about the class I was supposed to attend.

  “I’ve got a van full of kids, and I’m supposed to be somewhere at five,” I said, although if anything was going to get dropped, it was exercise. “How late will you be there?”

  “I’ll be here when you can get here. Just name a time.”

  That level of accommodation meant we had something he really wanted, and I didn’t know what it was.

  “Okay. Hang on. Let me ask Kenna.”

  I hit mute.

  “It’s the police. They want to talk to both of us. When can we be there?”

  “What?” Jack called from the third row. “The police? Are you in trouble?”

  “Ooooh,” Sophie teased. “Mommy’s in truuuble.”

  “No,” I assured them, hoping I was right. “Don’t worry. The police and I help each other out with investigations sometimes, remember?”

  “Cool,” Jack said. “Can we come?”

  “Mmm, I don’t think so.”

  Kenna and I quietly agreed on eight thirty, right after Sky’s bedtime and my kids’ departure to Grandma’s dreaded condo. Poor Jack.

  “Is eight thirty okay?” I asked Detective Brunelli.

  “That’s fine,” he agreed. “Just ask for me at the front desk.”

  My concern was what he was going to ask us.

  I wanted the afternoon to slow down so I could work and prepare for seeing Brunelli. I also wanted it to speed up, especially during pole class. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold the poses Kenna demanded. I also wasn’t sure how long I could hold back from screeching in pain.

  Kenna was right. I did need to get in better shape. I mean, if you can’t hang upside down from a pole for more than five seconds, what’s wrong with you? Nothing, obviously. But I needed those same muscles to chase bad guys and wayward children, both of whom could be in my near future. So maybe I could hold on for one…more…second.

  “That class wasn’t so bad, was it?” Kenna asked later when the kids were settled in and we were on our way to see Brunelli.

  “I’d prefer being interrogated,” I deadpanned.

  “Oh, come on. You’re my most difficult student.”

  “I’m also your biggest success story.”

  “True.”

  She’d taken me from flabby to flabulous, meaning I still had flab, but it was better supported, mentally and physically. The fact that I’d worn spandex shorts to class was a testament to my improved state. I also credited exercise for helping my relationship with Dean. I needed as much confidence as I could muster, and a little stamina wouldn’t hurt either.

  “What are you smirking about?” Kenna asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about Dean.”

  We pulled into a parking space, and I hopped out before she could question me more intensely than Brunelli might.

  After repeatedly reviewing how Kenna had found Jared Funk—with each of us being interviewed separately—I asked Brunelli if we could all talk together. We’d developed a fairly comfortable rapport, and I thought he might concede.

  “I don’t know,” he joked. “Two against one? I might get in trouble here.”

  “You’ll do fine,” I said genially.

  “I have a few more questions for you first,” he said. “A little birdie told me you’ve been looking for Daddy B, a.k.a. Danny Braxton. In fact, that’s why you were in Jared’s apartment.”

  Previously, I’d said we were canvassing the building and left it at that. I had Corey’s permission to discuss details with other professionals, but only when necessary. Technically, this situation qualified. If Brunelli was willing, he could clarify a few things.

  “My case is confidential,” I said. “I’m sure you’re protective of yours too.”

  “Yes, but not everything’s confidential.”

  I wondered what Kenna had already told him. She was committed to staying quiet, but he was an expert at getting confessions, and Kenna had trouble holding back. Maybe she was the “little birdie,” although I doubted it. It was probably the apartment manager we’d interviewed in Jared’s elevator.

  “I’d like Kenna to join us.”

  I wanted her to help me read between the lines. Also, if she’d already told him anything, I needed to know what it was. He was hesitant at first, but I persisted, adding that I’d be more forthcoming with her there.

  “Alright,” he conceded. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  A few minutes later, he was back with Kenna and three cups of coffee. Kenna handed me one and took a seat while Brunelli sat opposite us.

  “So, Nicki,” he said after taking a sip. “Tell me exactly what you were doing in Jared Funk’s apartment, especially how it’s related to Daddy B.”

  I summarized the case, revealing only the bare necessities. Everything about Kat seemed like news to him, which meant Kenna probably hadn’t spilled the beans. It was embarrassing, but necessary, to admit we hadn’t known Jared and Daddy B were connected. When I mentioned Tracy the tattoo artist’s impression that Daddy B and Big Tim were connected too, he nodded in agreement.

  “Is that the case you were working on when you got robbed?” he asked.

  “Are you willing to share more about that investigation?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Yes, I was working on the same case,” I confirmed. “Has Kat or Katherine Burke come up at all in either police investigation?” I asked.

  “Let me say this. You’re aware of where Jared worked, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you saw him when you visited Corey.”

  “Not that I remember,” I said.

  “Me either,” Kenna said.

  “You did. We reviewed video of his last days at work. He helped check you guys in.”

  “Check us in? What was he doing?” Kenna said.

  “Screening,” he said. “Working the metal detector.”

  We hadn’t brought in anything except our licenses and a car key. He must have been standing by the metal detector when we passed. Could he have been helping Daddy B smuggle drugs into the facility or something? If so, why had he been killed? A drug deal gone bad? And did Brunelli think we had ulterior motives for being in Jared’s vicinity twice?

  “He didn’t have a relationship with Corey, did he?”

  “He might have. That’s something you can ask her.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  “We’d like to know what she tells you.”

  “Okay. What do you think was the motive for Jared’s murder?” I asked.

  “Can’t say. There are obvious possibilities. He was likely involved with some bad people, as you know, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Of course not,” I said. In my experience, homicide detectives were tireless advocates for victims and cared deeply about the loved ones left behind. “Is there any evidence he was getting contraband into the
jail?”

  “Still working on all that.”

  “How about drugs in his apartment or car? Or in his body? Were any found?”

  “Toxicology hasn’t come back. His apartment was clean, and he didn’t have a car. He took the metro.”

  So far, I’d told Brunelli more than he’d told me.

  “When you arrested Daddy B, was there evidence that Kat or anyone else had been staying with him?”

  “Not really. His place was a mess, lots of drug paraphernalia and dog shit, but nothing to indicate a woman or anyone else was living there.”

  “What about anything related to prostitution at all?”

  “Forensics is working on his computer. In time, there may be more charges against him.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us find Kat?” I said. “I know she’s eighteen and has the right to disappear, but I believe she needs our help.”

  He scratched his cheek and looked at us, as if giving us a telepathic lie detector test.

  “You mentioned Big Tim earlier, right?” he said.

  I nodded. Kenna didn’t.

  “Well, think of Big Tim as Big Time. You don’t want to mess with him.”

  I inhaled, ready to protest.

  “Hear me out,” he continued. “We’re onto him, and if we come across Kat, we’ll call you.”

  Kenna and I looked at each other.

  “Do you think he was involved in Nicki’s robbery?” Kenna asked.

  “Not directly. Whoever attacked you seems small time. In fact, there was a similar incident right after yours last night.”

  “What happened?” I said.

  “A man picked up a prostitute on Ninth Street, but when she got in the car, she held him up at knifepoint. Got away with his wallet. He wouldn’t have reported it, except he got hurt in the scuffle and went to the ER. ‘She’ was physically a ‘he’ in this case too.”

  “Does he fit the description of the guy who robbed Nicki?”

  “Hard to tell, but possibly. Same wig color. Same body type. Different outfit. Hopefully forensics will sort that out.”

  “Have there been other cases like this recently?” I asked.

  “Not recently. It’s not unheard of though. As you can imagine, it’s the kind of thing people don’t like to report. We’ll put the word out and hope more victims come forward.”

  “Back to Big Tim,” I said. “What does he look like? And what’s his real name? It’ll be easier to avoid him if I know.” Not that I intended to do that.

  “He’s kind of a mythical, behind-the-scenes guy. Hard to get to. But trust me, we’re on it. In fact, I should get back to work on all this.”

  Brunelli stood, and we followed suit.

  “One more thing,” I said before we walked out the door. Brunelli winced like a doctor who’d almost escaped an exam room. “What happened to Daddy B’s dog?”

  “Oh. Animal control took it. It was terrified and probably glad to see him go.”

  “Will the dog be at the shelter?”

  “Animal Control will notify next of kin to care for it. If that doesn’t work, it’ll stay at the shelter.”

  “Who’s next of kin for Daddy B?” Kenna asked. “Is there a ‘Daddy’ Daddy B or a ‘Mommy’ Daddy B?”

  Brunelli smiled. “Yes, but they’re out of state, and apparently they’re estranged from him. No surprise. I don’t think they’ll be taking Fido home.”

  “What’s the dog’s actual name?” I asked.

  Brunelli rubbed his forehead. “Let me think. It’ll come to me.”

  “Baby Daddy?” Kenna muttered.

  “It’s Buck. As in money.”

  Despite its meaning, I liked it. Buck. Visiting Daddy B in jail wouldn’t be possible yet, but Kenna and I could stop by the animal shelter again. If they were looking for next of kin, maybe they’d learned more than Brunelli knew. Or maybe they’d share more than he would.

  Sixteen

  The animal control office wouldn’t be open until the next morning, and neither would the animal shelter. That was probably good, since we were due at worse-than-animalistic XXXTC for our ten o’clock shift. I was opposed to Kenna dancing onstage, but she insisted it would legitimize our presence and get people talking. It might even piss off Shawna and let us see her anger in action. She and Kat had been accused of violence before, and it was possible they’d had an altercation. I’d jokingly threatened to pull the boss card on Kenna, but we both knew she’d show up at XXXTC anyway.

  Bobby handed me a waitressing outfit when we walked in and told me to give my sizes to him later, along with my social security card and license. I said okay and immediately planned to “forget.” Then I accompanied Kenna backstage to help her get ready (more like try to talk her out of it while acting supportive). Several of the other women oooohed and ahhhed over her shoes, not to mention her barely there sparkly shorts and sequin-encrusted bra/top.

  “You look great, as always,” I said, wishing I could throw a muumuu over her.

  “You look concerned, as always. Don’t worry. I’m going to be fine. This is probably a career highlight. Get it on video or something.”

  “I just hope no one else does,” I whispered.

  “Ugh. True. I don’t want Andy to see this. Or Sky—on the internet someday.”

  “Kenna…”

  “I’m kidding. It’s fine. We’re doing this for a reason,” she said. “Now smile.”

  I plastered on a grin and laughed as if we were living it up. She looked in the mirror and admired her tiny, toned butt.

  “Got your playlist?” I asked. She’d chosen three songs for the DJ and was ready for any of them. I knew the routines by heart too, since I’d learned them from her.

  “Got it.” She pulled a slip of paper from her bra.

  “Go get ’em,” I said reluctantly. “Have fun.”

  The DJ chose the song with the most explicit and instructive lyrics, which actually detailed where and how to shake her rear. I thought she was doing great, but I was surprised by the tepid reaction from the crowd. Was it too early? Had they not had enough to drink? I didn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed. At least no one was groping her.

  “She ain’t doing great,” one of the waitresses said while we waited at the bar for customers’ drinks. “I don’t know why Bobby put her up this early. Last time he tried this, it didn’t go well either.”

  “With Kat?” I asked.

  “Yeah. She was okay, but she was too young. You gotta know how to sell it. You gotta act like these guys could buy you and take you home. Finesse it, honey.”

  I tried to see Kenna from a horny guy’s perspective, and then I got it. She was a fantastic athlete, and technically, her moves were perfect. But she was focused on the pole and perfection more than on the audience. And although nudity was illegal, her shorts covered more than what was necessary.

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Listen, if it doesn’t work out here, where else can girls make the same kind of money?”

  “Nowhere around here. That’s why you gotta wait your turn. Work your way up. That’s what I’m doing. Once you hit that stage, the money’s so good I hear you get addicted. I’m in debt for my car and my school loan. I’m not leaving ’til I get mine.”

  “I hear you. I guess that’s why it’s so cutthroat. How pissed was Shawna about Kat? I’m a little nervous for my friend.” I nodded toward Kenna.

  “Shawna’s pissed about everything. But she hated Kat. One night I thought they were going to throw down.”

  “But they didn’t?”

  “Nah. Bobby broke it up. Shawna told Kat she better watch her back, and that was about when Kat left. I don’t blame her.”

  “Have you kept in touch with her?”

  “Nope. And I stay away from Shawna. I’d tell you
r friend to do the same.”

  The bartender finished loading my tray, and Bobby sidled up and invaded my personal space with his body and breath.

  “The crowd’s not lovin’ it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Let us get comfortable. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “You just need to relax, huh?”

  “Right, right. Give us time. You won’t be sorry.”

  Kenna ended the song in the splits, and several men clapped, but it was no standing ovation.

  Bobby spoke into a walkie-talkie, and two girls walked onstage to another of Kenna’s songs. They flanked her and did their own moves as she persevered.

  “When you gonna put her up there?” a slouching, older man asked Bobby, winking at me. His gold hoop earring glinted as lights flashed around Kenna on stage.

  Bobby looked at me. “Her?”

  “Yeah. She’s got what it takes. I can spot ’em, Bobby. You know that. Put her up there.” He pulled out several bills and gestured toward the already crowded stage.

  He and Bobby laughed while I cringed inside.

  “Go get ready,” Bobby said, commandeering my tray. “Borrow something to wear if you need to.”

  Did that include a mask? Because I couldn’t show my face anywhere again if I got up there.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got customers, and I’m not ready.”

  He leaned in closer and lowered his beer-infused voice. “This guy’s a roller and a regular. We’re not letting him down.”

  “Okay, but I’m…” Unshaven? Unwaxed? Unprepared? The truth was, I was undercover, and I had to decide how important that was.

  “I don’t care what you are. Get up there, or you and your friend are fired. And make it count for Benny here.” He glanced at him and smiled. “She’s gonna do it.”

  Benny shook the bills again as if it was encouraging. I wanted to stuff them somewhere personal he wasn’t expecting.

  “Be right back,” I said, unable to commit. “The drinks are for table three, and they need wings too, by the way.”