by Mia Thompson
When she went home to change after the hospital, another birthday card waited for her in the kitchen.
Happy 21st Birthday.
See you in court.
He was here somewhere. What he didn’t know was that Sapphire was counting on it.
“Ms. Dubois.” Mr. Goldstein stood when his turn came. “You said Sapphire stabbed your uncle. And you don’t think it was possible that she was pulling the knife out of him instead?”
“No.”
“Did Sapphire look like she’d been crying?”
“No.”
Mr. Goldstein held up a paper. “Every single witness said Sapphire had dried mascara on her face when she ran out of the cigar lounge.”
“Um, well, she might have been crying… a little.”
“Why would she cry when she’d just killed someone she wanted dead? Maybe she had just witnessed someone close to her get murdered and she was devastated. Maybe she launched at Richard Martin with the same knife he’d held to kill Charles Dubois, because she feared for her life. What do you think, Ms. Dubois?”
“Well, I—”
“Let’s go back in time instead,” Mr. Goldstein cut off. “Let’s talk about when you were six years old and gained a cousin. How did that feel?”
“I always liked Sapphire ever since we were small.” Petunia looked at Judge Biggs in panic. “I mean short, tiny, young. Young. But she was always mean to me.”
“You said you liked her?” Mr. Goldstein continued. “Then can you explain these?” He brought up a child’s drawing. “Here’s a note your teacher sent home to your parents about this drawing. And I quote ‘when I asked Petunia what this picture was, she said it was Sapphire getting eaten by a gazillion ants.’”
Sapphire turned to the crowd in puzzlement, wondering how Mr. Goldstein got his hands on the drawing. Her eyes connected to her aunt and uncle. Uncle Gary glanced at his wife then gave Sapphire the tiniest wink.
“I was a child when I did that.” Petunia peeked at Pearl, who’d obviously prepped her. “That doesn’t count for anything.”
“Okay, but how about this printout of recent texts where you display close to psychopathic hatred for your cousin…” Mr. Goldstein pulled up a paper and held its front to his chest. Petunia looked at the prosecutor with alarm.
“Objection! This evidence has not been presented to us!” Prosecutor Pearl yelled.
The judge looked equally confused. All evidence had to be presented to both parties before being brought into the courtroom. Mr. Goldstein held his hand up, telling everyone to wait.
“Would you like to read them, or would you rather I do it?”
“Who gave you those?” Petunia asked in panic. “Janice? Ashley?”
Mr. Goldstein whistled at the paper. “I’m not going to lie, what I’m about to read is pretty vile.” He took a breath, about to start.
“Fine!” Petunia yelled, embarrassment and anger on her face. “Maybe I sent a few texts about how I hate Sapphire and wished she’d die. But you don’t know what it’s like to be the sole heiress of an entire fortune. You have no idea what it’s like to have everyone in your family treat you special because you are the only future. Then one day she waltzed in and demanded half the attention.” Angry tears filled her eyes. “So what, I wrote stupid texts about her? Sapphire robbed me of my life then, and she robbed me of my life now!” Petunia stood, her face red with fury, and pointed at Sapphire. “Even if she didn’t kill Charles, she still killed the other guy just like she killed my birthright!”
The if hung in the air, and everyone had heard it.
Sapphire stared at Petunia and her rage. She always thought her cousin hated her more in an I-hate-peas way. Not in this I’ll-smother-you-in-your-sleep way.
Mr. Goldstein turned to Judge Biggs. “Your Honor, the reason this paper was not turned into evidence, was because… there was nothing to turn in.” He held up the empty sheet and showed it to the room.
“No!” Petunia gasped and fell back in her seat.
Sapphire covered her mouth at the shock of her lawyer’s move.
Mr. Goldstein dropped the paper off to the judge. “I’d advise the jury to disregard Ms. Dubois’ testimony, because, clearly, Petunia Dubois had ulterior motives long before the deaths even took place.”
Judge Biggs nodded, then looked at the shocked Petunia. “You can step down, Ms. Dubois, and may I suggest,” he studied the drawing, “find a psychologist.”
Sapphire caught Marissa Pearl looking at her again and there was something about Pearl’s face. A familiarity came and went so quickly Sapphire couldn’t grab it. Maybe the prosecutor reminded her of someone?
Sapphire walked out of the courtroom feeling hopeful again. Without Petunia, there was no witness. She stepped out of the courthouse and a shaggy homeless man came up to her with a card in hand.
“Sapphire, right?” He gave her the card she’d been waiting for all day.
Happy 22nd Birthday. Beverly Gardens Park.
Sapphire looked after the homeless man, trudging down the steps. Her eyes drew to his faded green jacket, and his what-were-once-black boots.
“Archer Woodland?” she shouted.
He turned, and she knew.
“So that’s it?” she yelled as she ran down to him. “He gave you the money to pay my bail. And promised you’d get to keep it when the court gave it back?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “He’s such a nice guy. A real American.”
“Right,” Sapphire said, her face hard. “I need you to do me a favor.”
She held the birthday card high up, knowing William Dubois was watching, and tore it in pieces. She brought up her own envelope, held it up, then gave it to Archer.
“Give this to him, and after that you run.” Sapphire grabbed his arms and looked him deep in the eyes. “No matter what he says, or how persuasively he says it, he’s not going to let you keep the money later, Archer. He’s going to kill you.”
Archer Woodland looked from her to the envelope.
Sapphire clenched her purse, heavy with Aston’s gun, then moved down the stairs with burning determination.
Happy Father’s Day, the card said. 240 S Beverly Dr.
Chapter 18
“Interesting choice of location.” William Dubois entered the establishment.
He touched the charred walls and took in the burnt remains of Mulberry Street Pizzeria. It was a sad sight. Tools, silverware, tables, chairs, and photos of celebrities who’d once visited the famous pizzeria, lay scattered, burnt to crisps. The only thing still standing virtually unaffected was the massive pizza oven. He scanned the dark corners for Sapphire.
“Is this your way of playing hide-and-seek with your father?” he mused.
His curiosity piqued when his puppet, Archer Woodland, handed him the card. He wanted to see how she’d strategized, and the plan’s outcome. William opened it while Archer stood there like a faithful dog, waiting to be tossed a bone.
He’d only kept the old vet around as a backup. William had stolen the jewelry, then sold everything but the Rolex he liked on the black market. Of course, he couldn’t tell the cop that.
Once he had the cash, he found the old man at a homeless shelter. He manipulated Archer until he was a marionette and William his master. If Sapphire did go through the whole trial before he got her and ended up in prison, at least William would have enough money to live out the rest of his life wherever he may choose to go. No more petty stealing from dead hookers, no more living in squalor like he had before he returned to Beverly Hills.
William patted his inner pocket, holding the next birthday card and his new concoction that he’d finally perfected this morning. He no longer needed Archer now that his new plan was in effect. As the old, frayed man in his old, frayed clothes stood there waiting, William had sliced his jugular.
“You know!” William shouted. “This place had just opened before I took off. Excellent pizza.”
Whispers emerged from the darkened pl
ace, and William froze. There were two voices. She wasn’t alone.
He took his knife out and moved toward the whispers. A closed steel door, tainted with soot, appeared in front of him and he leaned his ear against it.
The voices’ volumes grew, one male, one female, but he couldn’t make out the words.
William held the knife military style with the intention of only hurting one of them. He yanked the door open and charged inside.
He stopped, knife in the air, and stared at the abandoned walk-in fridge. Besides the spoiled food and beverages, it was empty. He picked up the recording device from a shelf. The voices were Spanish and sounded like they’d been recorded from TV.
Much too late did William realize that the walk-in, despite the obvious, was a dead end.
He turned just as the heavy steel door shut. Moments later, the vent cover above the door was kicked out, and Sapphire dropped from the petite opening.
William gave her time to settle on her feet, then clapped. “Brava. Brava. Impressive.”
Sapphire’s mouth was a mere line as she raised a gun at him. He held up the recorder. “Homage to your Hispanic nanny, Julia, I’m presuming?”
“Los Amigos was on TV. It was convenient. Perhaps you would’ve preferred Days of Our Lives?” Sapphire’s voice was hard, and her face emotionless.
“I always hated that about Beverly Hills,” William inhaled. “Rich people paying others to raise their children.”
“Sure, way worse than a man who chose to abandon his wife and daughter so he could go kill people in peace.” She cocked the gun.
“Chose wouldn’t be the word I’d use.” William set the recorder down, and tilted his head. “What now? You’re going to kill your own father because of a cop? Burn my body in the pizza oven where I’ll blend in with the rest of the ash.” He shrugged. “It’s a good plan. I’m very proud of you.”
Sapphire looked at him with frustration. “You give me no choice. I can’t let you hurt anyone else I care about.”
“Care.” William approached her and she steadied her stance. “Do they care about you, Sapphire? Did they choose not to arrest you? Did they come visit you in jail? Did they make damn sure to pay your bail?”
Sapphire’s eyes sank to the floor.
“No,” he answered for her, then took another step toward the barrel. “I was the one who spent a month breaking into mansions until I had enough to get you out.” He stopped when the gun grazed his stomach. “I was your only ally when everyone else abandoned you.”
Sweat dripped from Sapphire’s forehead as she stared down at her finger. “You almost killed Aston.”
It was clear she was trying to convince herself to pull the trigger. A realization emerged from somewhere deep inside him, deeper than The Hunger. “Then kill me.”
Shut up. The Hunger roared in him. Shut up!
“Pull the trigger, Sapphire!” William grabbed her hands and pushed the gun into his stomach. He closed his eyes, and begged for silence.
When nothing came, he opened his eyes to witness his daughter at her worst. Her face was distorted in frustration and confusion. She wanted to pull the trigger, but couldn’t make herself.
Nice try. The Hunger laughed inside him, then whirled up through William’s throat and materialized in words. “We both know you’d never be able to kill me.”
Sapphire drew a shocked breath as William removed the gun from her hands and dropped it into her purse. He shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I have plenty to teach, and you, everything to learn.”
Sapphire looked up at him with sudden gusto.
“Yes,” she agreed, “you may be smarter than me.”
He nodded.
“You may play mind games better than I ever will.”
“True.” William turned to pull the card out of his inner pocket.
“And I may not be able to kill you for what you did to Aston, Chrissy, Erika,” Sapphire continued, “but I have skills you don’t.”
“Oh yeah?” William turned with amusement. “What’s th—”
Sapphire released a snap kick to his sternum. The pain exploded in William’s chest and the force sent him flying backwards. He crashed into a shelf. He looked up at his daughter in shock as he scrambled to his feet.
“Ass kicking.” She brought her fists and feet to defense position. “That was for Aston.” She punched him on the left. “That’s for my mom.” She sent a kick to his knee cap and his leg folded at the searing pain. “That’s for Chrissy.”
He grabbed onto the shelf and pulled himself up. He touched his bloody lip as he pushed off the wall.
She jumped, twisted her leg mid-air, and executed a powerful roundhouse kick to his head. His body rotated in the air and smashed into a pile of boxes. He writhed as every nerve and muscle in his body screamed in pain.
“And that’s…” Sapphire finished, barely out of breath, “for me.”
The box below him pushed against the card in his inner pocket, and reminded him of what was to come. The laugh rose out of William’s throat. It was thick, lined with venom, and full of hunger.
William reached in his pocket and pulled out the birthday card.
• • •
Sapphire was in a defensive stance, watching her father get up with the card in his hand. He straightened his suit, then dabbed his bleeding lip with a handkerchief and smiled. “Did you expect that to stop me?”
“No,” Sapphire said grimly. “I expected it to hurt.”
She didn’t like the stoic way he brushed himself off.
He held out the birthday card for her. “Thought I’d give you this in person.”
“Number twenty-three, the last one. I’m honored.” Sapphire snatched the card and backed away.
“On the contrary.” Her father’s eyes were glazed with hope. “I’m planning to be there on your birthdays for years to come.”
Sapphire looked down at the card.
He adjusted his cufflinks. “You remember the animal fables your mother and I read to you as a child. If you recall, in the fables with battles of brain and brawn… brain always won.” He gave her a toxic smile. “I want what I came here for. Tomorrow night, you and I leave Beverly Hills.”
Sapphire’s tongue sharpened. “And if I don’t?”
He nodded to the card. “I took some precautions.”
Sapphire looked down at the Happy 23rd Birthday card.
“As you can imagine,” he said. “I’ve got friends in very low places. Some people call them gun-for-hires, others mercenaries.”
Sapphire opened it up to see the picture of the happy family inside. The confidence she felt earlier vanished. She may have kicked his ass, but Sapphire never had the upper hand.
“Don’t you dare hurt them.” She wanted the words to sound strong, but they came out fearful.
William straightened his three-piece suit. “I won’t hurt them, as long as you join me tomorrow and…” he eyeballed her purse with the gun inside, “as long as nothing happens to me. If I place a call to my man by tomorrow night at 3 a.m., Julia, Antonio, and little Elsa will be safe. Oh, and I wouldn’t try to move them. This man could get them in a guarded bomb shelter in Norway.”
“So let’s say I come with you,” Sapphire said coldly. “Then what? I can leave when I want to?”
“Once I’m done, you won’t want to leave. Now,” he nodded to the door, “you mind climbing back over to let me out?”
Sapphire stared at her father, then kicked backward. The steel door opened with ease.
It was never locked. The bolt was jacked up.
“Ah.” Her father nodded as he realized her play, then passed her in the doorway. “We’ll make an excellent team.”
She swallowed her fear and took a step after him. “What terrible thing happened in your childhood that made you this way? How come you didn’t turn out good like Charles and Gary?”
“You’re asking me if I was abused, ignored, over-coddled?” He headed toward the bordered windows.
“I had a wonderful childhood. The Duboises gave me all I needed. I was born this way, Sapphire, not made.”
Her legs seized mid-movement. His words had an impact, but she wasn’t sure why.
“I can trust you will meet me here tomorrow night, in a timely manner?” He secured his tie. “I loathe tardiness.”
“Yes.” Sapphire closed her eyes. “Just please don’t hurt anyone else.”
Her father opened the door, and turned. “People like us don’t belong with people like them for a reason, Sapphire. I suspect you got people hurt on your own long before I even came back to Beverly Hills.”
He pushed the door open and Sapphire caught it in its swing. He was right.
Aston had gotten injured more times than she could count. Julia nearly drowned. Shelly was tortured. Charles was killed. Yet, Sapphire had kept hunting serial killers. Why couldn’t she stop after it all went wrong?
Because… A thought whispered the answer. Because the obsession to hunt was greater than anything and anyone else. The pain of the truth grew as Sapphire watched her father cross Beverly Drive.
A parked van squealed into traffic to make a u-turn. It stopped in front of Sapphire’s father. A tranquilizer held by a gloved hand popped out and shot her father.
William Dubois sank to the ground and a small-framed, black-clad woman in a ski mask jumped out. It was the Copycat.
“No. No-no-no!” Sapphire yelled, realizing what was happening. “Stop!”
The Copycat tilted her head at Sapphire, then pulled her father into the van and jumped into the driver’s seat.
Sapphire sprinted into the street. “Don’t take him! You don’t understand!”
She raced toward the van, feeling like her legs would fall off and her heart would explode. The van took off and swerved through traffic.
Sapphire stood in the middle of Beverly Drive, surrounded by honking cars and pissed off drivers. If she didn’t find the Copycat before she killed William Dubois, he couldn’t place the phone call. If she didn’t get him back by 3 a.m. tomorrow night, Julia and her family would be dead.