Fifth Grave Past the Light: Number 5 in series (Charley Davidson)

by Darynda Jones

  “I don’t recall Bob being on any missing persons case at the moment.”

  “It’s more like a potential missing persons.”

  “Fine, I’ll do anything I can to help.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t bother you.”

  He ignored me, flashed his badge to the receptionist, and said, “Employees named Nicole, if you don’t mind.”

  “All right.” She clicked a few keys and gave me the names of two Nicoles. One worked in diagnostics and one was a charge nurse in the neonatal unit.

  As bad as I hated to do it – I didn’t want to give him any more clues than I had to – I asked, “Does your screen bring up pictures?”

  “Yes, it does.” She swung the screen around to me. “This is Nicole Foster.”

  Nicole Foster was a tall redhead with a lot of miles on her. “No, that’s not her.”

  “Okay.” She tapped a few more keys. “This is Nicole Schwab.”

  This one was younger, but she was a blonde with freckles and glasses. “Darn. That’s not her, either.”

  “You know, we do have a Nicolette.” She turned the screen back toward her and tapped again. “What about her?”

  When she turned it around again, I nodded. “That’s her.”

  “Okay, well, Nicolette Lemay works in post-op. Third floor.” She flashed a smile at the captain. “I’m glad I could be of help.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and looked over my shoulder at the captain. I had never realized it, but he was an alarmingly handsome man. Okay, I’d buy her interest as genuine. Many women were attracted to the uniform and little else.

  I took off toward the elevators. Captain Eckert followed. “I can take it from here,” I said to him, then gestured toward the receptionist. “You know, if you want to get her number.”

  He raised his brows in surprise. “I’m good, thanks.”

  The captain was a widower. His wife had died of cancer a couple of years earlier, and I felt like that was one reason my approval for a consultant position with APD went through so seamlessly. He was mourning his wife. I doubt he would have noticed if Uncle Bob asked for an elephant in the break room. I stayed as far away from the man as I possibly could back then. His grief was suffocating. It enveloped me and pushed the oxygen from my lungs and I could hardly look at him without feeling an overwhelming sense of loss. Even now I associated him with that feeling of extreme discomfort. It made him genuine and honorable, but my knee-jerk reaction to him was to run the other direction.

  Still, I’d had a soft spot for him ever since I met him. A soft spot that was full of wary reverence. The guy was sharp, and now that he was on my trail, I’d have to be careful. He’d just never paid much attention to the goings-on of Ubie and me. We solved cases and that was good enough for him. But after my last fiasco, which involved me solving four cases in one day, including one of a serial killer… well, okay, I could understand his sudden interest.

  We walked to the elevator and I pressed the third floor. Nothing screamed awkward like being in an elevator with someone who sucked the oxygen from the room.

  “So, how’s crime been treating you?” I asked to get my mind off the lack of ventilation. My red blood cells were screaming for air.

  He only looked at me.

  Okay. I rocked back onto my heels and found a fascinating panel of buttons to look at. After a thousand years of agony, the doors opened. I tried not to gasp for air aloud.

  We stepped out onto the third floor and I walked to the nurses’ station, pretending like the cap’n wasn’t stalking me. I flashed my PI license. “Hi, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Nicole Lemay.”

  Of the three nurses who sat behind it, only one didn’t look up right away, clearly too busy to answer any questions.

  “Nicole?” one asked me. She had wiry brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses.

  “Yes, I was wondering when you last saw her.”

  The nurse stared at me, her expression blank. She checked her watch. “I guess about five minutes ago.”

  “No,” I said, shifting on my feet. “Nicole Lemay. I’m sorry, Nicolette?”

  The other nurse spoke up then, a pretty blonde with an affinity for carbs. “You’re right,” she said, checking the clock on the wall. “We haven’t seen Nicolette in about twenty minutes.”

  The first nurse laughed. “Right. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

  “I told you not to get near Mrs. Watson. She likes her bubble.”

  “I had to get her vitals.”

  “Oh, there she is.” One of them pointed.

  “I’m Nicolette.”

  I turned around and came face-to-face with my departed woman. Only she wasn’t departed anymore. She was alive. And, well, breathing. It was a miracle!

  “Um, Nicolette Lemay?”

  “My whole life.” She was busy cleaning out her pockets, relieving them of syringe wrappers and stray wads of tape. “Sadly,” she added. “If I don’t get a marriage proposal soon, my mother is going to take out an ad.”

  “Oh, well, I was just —”

  “You look familiar,” she said. She paused and looked me over, then focused on my sidekick.

  “Right, sorry. I’m Charley and this is Captain Eckert of the Albuquerque Police Department.”

  She straightened, growing alarmed. “Did something happen?”

  “No, no, not at all,” I jumped to assure her. “It’s just that – Um —” I stood there completely tongue-tied. I’d never had a departed woman show up, tell me where to find her body, then show up later completely alive. She was just so corporeal. Not a hair out of place. No wonder we couldn’t find her body. She’d moved it.

  “Have you ever been to the old railroad bridge on 57?”

  “I have no idea where that is.”

  “Oh. Do you, by chance, have an identical twin?” I asked her, realizing how inane I probably sounded.

  “Nnnnno. What’s this about?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. My mistake. I think I have the wrong Nicolette.”

  “Oh.” That seemed to calm her a bit. “But you really do look familiar. Did you ever date my brother?”

  “It’s quite possible. I tend to date. Or, well, I used to. So, like where?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Where would your mother take out an ad?”

  “Oh, well, she’s talked about taking out an ad in the personals but has also threatened to list me as an escort. You know, to get dates.”

  I could understand that. Captain Eckert tensed, not used to having to listen to the idle chitchat of us womenfolk. “But we’ll let you go for now. So sorry about the mistake.”

  I turned to leave, but the captain just stood there as though confused. Left with little choice, I took hold of his arm and led him away with me, a maneuver he did not appreciate at all.

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s it.”

  “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. I was mistaken.”

  “You recognized her, so clearly —”

  “No, I’m not sure what happened. That wasn’t the girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “The girl who might or might not be missing.”

  “What makes you think there’s a missing woman? Did someone file a report?”

  “I got an anonymous tip. Someone must be playing a joke.”

  “Do you always go to such extremes for anonymous tips?”

  “No. Sometimes.” He was trying to trip me up. He suspected something; he just had no idea what. I got that a lot. “It seemed legit at the time.”

  Once I stuffed him into the elevator, I let go of his jacket sleeve. “Sorry,” I said, smoothing it.

  He took a step in the opposite direction and gazed straight ahead when he spoke to me. “You solve cases, Davidson. A lot of them. I want to know how.”

  Crap. This was not going to end well for anyone. “You know, it’s really all Uncle Bob. He’s great at his job.”
r />   “I know he is, and yet I can’t help but wonder how good he would be if he didn’t have you at his beck and call.” He turned to me then. “Or is it him at your beck and call?”

  The elevator doors opened. “I should probably be offended, Captain. My uncle is a fantastic detective. He’s helped me a lot over the years.”

  “I’m sure he has. You scratch his back. He scratches yours.”

  I backed off the elevator. “I have skin allergies. I’m itchy.” Before he could ask me anything else, I practically ran for the glass doors of the hospital.

  The minute I got to Misery, I called Ubie. “So, I found our missing girl, but so did your captain.”

  “What?” he asked, alarmed. “Captain Eckert was there? Did he see the body? Has he called in a team?”

  “Not exactly. There’s no body. She’s alive. It’s a miracle!”

  He let out a lengthy sigh, and I could see him scrubbing his face with his fingers. “Charley, you told me she came to you.”

  “She did. Trust me, Uncle Bob, I am just as lost as you are. But we need to deal with your captain. He’s acting really strange. Like he knows something, or thinks he knows something. I’m not sure what to say around him. He wants to know how I am solving so many cases.”

  “Damn. He said that?”

  “Yes, and he knows that I’ve basically been helping both you and Dad since I was five. He went back and checked! How is that possible?”

  “I have no idea, pumpkin. But everyone knows you help me with cases, thus the consultant position. Hell, he approved it.”

  “Yeah, but now he’s getting curious. He’s digging. I totally shouldn’t have solved a murder, missing child, bank robber, and serial killer case all in one day. It drew too much attention. I’m going to have to spread out my cases better. Solve them at regular intervals.”

  “That might be a good idea.”

  I tried three more voices on my way to Rocket’s, and while I’d never considered Bela Lugosi particularly creepy, his telling me to turn right here and take a left there made me think he was leading me to my death. Especially since the guy had died before I was born and I doubted they had navigation back then. Either these voices were done by impersonators or Bela really was immortal. I ultimately decided to stick with Ozzy. I may get completely lost for lack of understanding, but at least he was entertaining.

  I was excited to see the Rocket Man. Rocket, a giant version of the Pillsbury Doughboy, was a departed savant who knew every name of every person who had ever lived and died on Earth. And he was a great resource. I could give him a name, and he could tell me where that person stood in the cosmic scheme of things. Alive. Dead. Not dead yet but well on his way. But trying to get any other information out of Rocket was like pulling teeth with tweezers.

  The abandoned asylum where Rocket lived was owned by the Bandits, a motorcycle club whose leaders were now wanted and on the run for bank robbery. One of those leaders, a scruffy rascal who went by the name of Donovan, held a special place in my heart. Actually, they all did, but Donovan and I had shared something special. Thankfully, not herpes. Our relationship had never gone that far, but he was such a gentleman. I realized how much I missed him when I drove past their house next to the asylum. Well, I would have driven past their house if it had still been there.

  I screeched to a stop in front of an empty lot. Where the Bandit headquarters – aka Donovan’s house – had been now sat a single tree that had been in their backyard and a bald patch of land where the house had once stood. Even the detached garage had vanished, along with all the tools and motorcycle parts therein. I could’ve sworn that’s where I’d left it. Donovan was going to be pissed when he got back. If he ever came back.

  Thankfully, the asylum was still there, but my key to the front door, which I’d never even had the chance to use, would do me no good. In place of the old chain-link fence that had surrounded the asylum was a new chain-link fence, shining and sparkling in the sun, and it bordered the entire block, not just the asylum itself. Normally this would not be a big deal. I could just scale the fence and sneak in through a window out back that led to the basement of the abandoned hospital if they’d changed the locks. But this new fence, with its crisply installed posts and tight weaving, had been topped off with razor wire. Razor wire! Who did that?

  I sat in Misery and contemplated my odds of getting over the razor wire unscathed. I’d seen it done in film. All I needed was a prison uniform, a pair of gloves, and a few sheets tied together.

  I coasted forward until I could see the new billboardlike sign in front of the asylum. It simply read private property in huge black and blue letters. And below that, this property is owned by c&r industries. all trespassers will be prosecuted.

  Sounded ominous. How was I going to get to Rocket now? I’d just have to come back tonight and try to find a way in.

  Fortunately, it would be dark soon. I could go grab a bite and make a plan. As I headed that way, the super-duper downside of some big business buying this land hit me. Rocket. If they tore down the asylum, where would he go? Where would his sister go? I would invite him to live with me, but he had a habit of carving names into walls. My walls were drywall. They wouldn’t last long, and the landlord would probably have a cow. Or at least a small game hen.

  I dragged out my phone and called Ubie. Not having Cookie at my constant beck and call was turning out to be a pain in the ass. No more classes for her.

  “Did that guy try to kill you again?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s still Saturday and I haven’t finished my game yet.”

  “I need you to check something for me. Can you find out who bought a building downtown?”

  “Don’t you have an assistant for these things?”

  “I do, but I sent her off to a concealed weapons class.”

  “Why?” he asked, becoming alarmed. “Is someone harassing her?”

  “Besides me?”

  “When is she getting back?”

  “Tonight, but she has class all day tomorrow, too.”

  “Well, we’ll all be safer for it.”

  “Can you find out who owns C and R Industries? They bought the old abandoned mental asylum downtown.”

  “That old thing? What are they going to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping their overcompensating sign would say, but it just says ‘private property’ and shouts lots of threats in capital letters, all of which I plan to completely ignore later. I need to find out if they are going to tear it down, build apartments, create a sand garden, what.”

  After a long sigh, he said, “Okay, I’ll put someone on it. But you know, the Albuquerque Police Department wasn’t really created to find things out for you.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  Before he could get too snippy, I hung up and took one last look at the asylum. Then a plan formed. I didn’t need a prison uniform – sadly, because I was rather looking forward to the visit. I was on the outside. I had access to things those guys in the movie didn’t. Of course, I’d have to come back at night, but come nightfall, I would be reunited with Rocket. Hopefully I’d come out of there alive. With the merry band of ghosts inside, that outcome was always questionable. Especially since Officer Taft’s little sister, Strawberry Shortcake, had joined the gang. Either way, I made a mental note to put my hair up in a hat before going in.

  I got another text from Cookie on my way home.

  Almost home. Learned a lot.

  Well, good. If I had to do without her for two whole days for nothing, Noni, the instructor, was getting an earful.

  I stepped to my door and for the first time in several days there was no sticky note on it. I looked over at Reyes’s door. Was that it? Was he already tired of me?

  It would figure.

  Being extra careful, I opened my door slowly, not really knowing what to expect. Would the departed women still be in there? I found out quickly the answer to that would be a resounding yes
. And yes. Where I’d left probably nine or ten women, my apartment was now populated with at least twenty dirty blond women in varying states of trauma. I stopped just inside my threshold and looked on as women crawled across my carpet, scurried up my walls, and clung to my ceiling like a spider. One was huddled in a corner where two walls met the ceiling. It was the same woman from this morning. She hadn’t moved.

  While the average person would walk through this carnage none the wiser – besides being a little chilly perhaps – I could not walk through the departed. They were as solid to me as anyone else on the planet. So I ended up having to maneuver around my houseguests, trying not to step on fingers or toes. It made for an interesting walk. If anyone were to see me, they’d think I’d had one too many margaritas.

  After finally making it to the breakfast bar, I put down my bag and hurdled the counter to get to the kitchen. Mr. Coffee was waiting for his usual greeting, and I couldn’t let him down just because we’d been invaded. And I came up with a plan. I seemed to be full of plans lately. Maybe it was my new outlook on life. Don’t invite certain death without a backup plan. Maybe I could plan other things. Like a wedding shower for Cookie and Uncle Bob. Or a bar mitzvah.

  While Mr. Coffee gurgled and sputtered, I summoned Angel with the power of my reaper mind. Okay, I just thought about him and sort of wished him beside me.

  Annnnnd… Poof!

  “What the fuck, pendeja? Didn’t I tell you not to do that anymore?”

  I gestured to the women surrounding us. “Can you talk to them?”

  “What do I look like, the ghost whisperer? They’re loony. I’d have better luck talking to my cousin Alfonso’s Chihuahua. At least Tía Juana knows Spanish.”

  “Your cousin’s Chihuahua is named Tía Juana?” When he shrugged an affirmation, I said, “Just try. If anyone can talk to them, it’s you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you’re dead. You’re one of them. You can do this.”

  “Not for five hundred dollars a month, I can’t.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, mijita. And my mom needs a new car.”