Deserving of Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 1)

by James Paddock

  Chapter 7

  CJ checked the time as he stepped out into the hot sun. It was almost 1:30. Stella should be home by now. Despite his initial inclination to run by and check for sure, he decided it would be better to hold off. Maybe she would be less likely to make fun of him if he waited until this evening. And what about this evening? Should he go by or not? Lucas would be there and things could become rather awkward; his aunt kissy-facing with a guy she wasn't married to.

  He was parked in the university parking garage. He started his car and then remained parked, out of the sun, while the AC struggled back to life. He looked over his notes. There really was little else to do outside of visit a couple of other professors of whom, earlier, he was only able to leave voicemails. Until they called back all he had left was the ex-girlfriend in Florida and he didn't know if he was ready to reach that far just yet.

  Browsing back to the beginning, he looked over the notes Mrs. Lindendale provided and then his own after the meeting with her and her husband. He flipped between his walk around Lizzi's apartment and the visit to Professor Jarvosky. Then it occurred to him that there was something that he'd missed, or something that he'd seen and overlooked. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the photo on Lizzi's bookshelf, the one of her and a friend. He looked at the name he wrote down after convincing Mrs. Lindendale that the ex-girlfriend may be important. It was Kelsie. She didn't know the last name, had never cared enough to find out anything about the woman with whom her daughter was in love, though she did have her phone number. Was the photo of Lizzi with a friend that of her and Kelsie? And was the friend the same face he saw in the collage of faces on the professor's desktop? The longer he sat there with his eyes closed, flipping between his memory of the two different images, the more certain he was that the two were the same. Whether they were Kelsie or not made little difference at this point. The fact was, it was one hell of a coincidence, or, more than likely, the professor lied not knowing Lizzie personally.

  He locked the car and headed back to Professor Jarvosky's office.

  As CJ debated between knocking or simply barging into the office he had left only twenty minutes before, the door opened and Steven Jarvosky stood before him, frozen in mid-step.

  Between the shocked look and recovery, he managed to say, "Mr. Washburn." He squared his shoulders. "I suppose, like Columbo, you have just one more question."

  "Yes, I do, professor." Looking directly into his eyes, he said, "Who is Kelsie?"

  Steven tilted his head and furrowed his brow. "Kelsie? I don't know a Kelsie." He pushed the door closed, checked that it was locked and then added, "If there is nothing more, I do have someplace to be."

  As the professor walked away, CJ said, "I don't mean one of your students, Professor. I'm referring to your niece, or is it your sister? Where in Florida did she transfer to, and why?"

  Steven Jarvosky spun around, looked up and down the hall and then returned to his office door. He unlocked and opened it, then motioned CJ to enter. When the door was closed and they were both seated, the professor said, "She's my half-sister. How in the hell did you figure it out?"

  "I'm an investigator, Mr. Jarvosky. It's what I do and sometimes I even do it well. May I assume, since she is a half-sister, that Kelsie's last name is not Jarvosky."

  Steven shook his head. "Mom and Dad divorced when I was nine. Mom remarried a couple of years later and had Kelsie. Her name is Progue."

  "And you kept your father's name."

  "Yes."

  "Where is Kelsie now?"

  "She transferred to Florida State."

  "I don't mean what school she's attending; I mean, where is she right now, today, this minute?"

  Steven's jaw tightened. After grinding his teeth for a few seconds he said, "I made a promise that I wouldn't divulge where they are."

  "They?" CJ's eyebrows went up in fake surprise about something he was already beginning to guess at.

  "Kelsie and Lizzi," Steven said.

  "They're having a reunion of sorts, patching up their relationship?"

  "You might say that, yes. And I've probably said a lot more than I should have."

  CJ nodded as he considered his next question. "You maintain a lot of loyalty toward your sister."

  "My mother and step-father turned their backs on her. I saw no big deal in the fact that she was gay."

  "Why did they break up back in December?" CJ asked.

  "My step-father refused to pay for any tuition if Kelsie kept up her, quote, lifestyle. She and Lizzi got in a fight over it so Kelsie thought the best thing to do was leave Tucson, transfer to a school far away and try to convince her father that she became heterosexual. She even took on a boyfriend in Florida."

  "That didn't work out very well, I gather."

  "No. Greg, her father, paid the semester and then it all fell apart around spring break."

  "So, now," CJ said, "Kelsie's father has kicked her off the feedbag and she is back here trying to patch things up with Lizzi. Where are they?"

  "I'm afraid, Mr. Washburn, that I have to draw the line there. I'm all Kelsie has now. I'm not going to violate her trust."

  "What do you think I should tell Lizzi's parents? They're very distraught over her disappearance. They saw the news about the women being left in dumpsters, so you can imagine, I'm sure."

  "Yes, I can. Believe me, I was worried at first with where they were going and then this came up. I'm now glad they aren't here."

  CJ smiled. "If I was a good investigator I'd be able to deduct from that statement that they went to Mexico."

  "You're obviously a top notch investigator, Mr. Washburn. I'm sure you'd figured it out eventually that they both applied for passports."

  "Then this was planned for a while?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you talked to your sister since they left?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you have a way to get a hold of them?"

  "Yes."

  "Here's what you do. Call her and tell her that some asshole investigator is on their tail and if they don't want to be found to have Lizzi call her mother and ensure her that she is not dead."

  Steven blew out a lungful of air and said, "I can do that. Thank you."

  "No." CJ stood and presented his hand. "Thank you." As they shook he added, "Do it right after I leave. Her mother is waiting for my report this afternoon. I'd like it that she receive that call from her daughter first."

  As he walked through the front entrance of the hotel, CJ double-checked the room number Mrs. Lindendale had given him and then went straight to the elevator. When the elevator door opened he stepped aside for a man with a cane, then entered and punched the button for the fourth floor. He thought about how easy this case had gone and wondered again if he should go by Stella's apartment, or go home. Or maybe I should just walk in circles, he thought. He hated it when he got like this and he couldn't make a decision.

  After leaving Professor Jarvosky he had gone by his office to create an official case file—Stella would have his ass if he didn't—and an invoice for three hours in an official "Desert Investigative Services" envelope with the client's name printed on the outside. Before Stella came to work for him, things weren't quite as professional. She had improved his life in so many different ways.

  He stepped off the elevator and wondered where it was all going. Was there going to be a time when she'd want more from their relationship, more than just sleeping with the boss?

  He stopped at the door, checked the number again, and then knocked.

  Mr. Lindendale opened the door and a big smile blossomed on his face. He grabbed CJ's hand and started shaking it. "Thank you, Mr. Washburn."

  CJ spotted Mrs. Lindendale looking out the window, her cell phone pressed to her ear. "It's what you hired me for," he said and then pointed to the wife. "She talking with your daughter right now?"

  "Yes," Mr. Lindendale said.

  "Then I guess this case is closed." CJ opened his folder and handed the env
elope to Mr. Lindendale. "This is my bill."

  George Lindendale opened it, considered the amount for only a few seconds and then fetched a checkbook from a briefcase on the bed. As he wrote out the check, CJ was able to pick up on some of the mother's conversation with her daughter.

  "Like I already said, your father and I are going to have to think about it."

  CJ wondered what they were going to be thinking about. Hanging around until the girls return from Mexico? Extending an invitation to the newly reunited couple to their Missouri home for Christmas? Accepting a Thanksgiving invitation from the happy couple? Accepting that their daughter was homosexual and they'd never get a grandchild? All of it?

  CJ's thoughts had drifted to his own daughter when George handed him the check. He took the 2-part invoice back, wrote that it was paid, with date and check number, returned one copy, shook George's hand again and left. On the way down the elevator CJ thought about the fact that that was probably the easiest $500 he'd made in some time. He'd have to serve a lot of court subpoenas to make that much. And this was much more satisfying.

  CJ stood outside Stella's apartment door trying to decide whether to knock or just go in. Her car was in its usual spot, so he knew she was home. He looked at his sweaty hands—nervous or just hot?—and knocked. The door opened and he found himself looking down at a young boy.

  "You must be Lucas," CJ said.

  "Let him in, Lucas," Stella called from within. "That's Mr. Washburn, my boss. He's okay."

  Mr. Washburn? Her boss? Why not her boyfriend? Suddenly feeling even more awkward, CJ stepped in and let Lucas close the door.

  The young boy turned from the door and said, "Hi. I'm Lucas," and extended his hand.

  CJ took it and said, "Good to meet you. I'm CJ."

  "I thought Aunt Stella said your name was Clint."

  "She does call me Clint, sometimes. I mostly go by CJ. You can call me anything you like."

  "You call him Mr. Washburn," Stella said from the kitchen.

  "Okay." His duty done, Lucas trotted over to the sofa and picked up a handheld device. Some kind of game thing, CJ assumed.

  CJ turned toward sounds in the kitchen and found Stella at the sink. He leaned against the counter next to her and crossed his arms. "Your boss? I thought I would be introduced as your lover, sex slave."

  She gave him the evil eye. "Hush! And keep your voice down. Lucas has enough turmoil in his life already. Until he gets to know you, you're Mr. Washburn, my boss. I'm sorry, but that's the way it'll be for a while."

  CJ stared at the refrigerator for a time without saying anything.

  "Are you going to be okay with that?" she asked.

  "I guess I have to be, don't I?" CJ tried to understand, but couldn't overcome the building indigestion-like pressure growing in his chest. "Caught a case this morning. Missing girl. Found her. Closed case."

  "Excellent! Did you do a case file?"

  "Yes. Did the invoice, received payment, have yet to make the deposit."

  "Oh." She rinsed a glass and put it in the drainer. "Guess you don't need me around then."

  CJ could tell she was trying to be humorous, trying to thin out the heavy air. He wasn't having it. "No. Guess not." He pushed away from the counter and walked to the kitchen door. "Have to get going. See you tomorrow unless you need to take more time off. If so, that's fine." With that he walked through the living room, past Lucas who was engaged in his video game, and out the door, ignoring Stella trying to call him back.

  Chapter 8

  On the way back to his office, CJ received a call from the county clerk of court. They had three subpoenas that needed to be served. He put on his process server hat, figuratively, and detoured downtown for the paperwork, then continued to his office to finish closing out the Lindendale case. When that was done he sat down with the subpoenas to consider which to do first. He wished Stella was here because she knew how to get online to determine where best to catch up with the individuals.

  The farthest away was a woman who lived and worked in Nogales. From his office it was an hour and a half drive, almost to the Mexican border. Of the three she appeared the easiest as her home and work were the same. Chances of catching her on the first try was high. Sure didn't need Stella to figure that one out. The other two were men living in South Tucson. By the time he would get back from Nogales it would be after the end of the work day so there would be a fair chance of catching them at their homes. These three might be a slam-dunk.

  With his plan in mind and addresses ready to enter into his GPS, he sat down with his cell phone. He punched the speed dial for Trish and stared out the window at the ugly building next door. After four rings he knew she wasn't going to pick up. He debated on whether to leave a message.

  "Obviously I'm not answering. You know my excuses so just pick one. If it's really important, text me. If you want to leave a message I might call you ba..."

  He hung up. When did they teach their kids to be rude? Neither he, nor her mother, treated callers that way, not even sales or political calls; although he had to admit it would feel good to tell them where to stick it.

  He flipped the phone closed, stored it in its pouch and headed out the door.

  By the time CJ arrived back in South Tucson, it was after 7:30. The woman's business in Nogales was closed when he'd arrived and she wasn't home, so he'd waited. When finally she returned, and as she and a young man Lucas' age were pulling bags of groceries from the back seat of her car, he served the subpoena. She said something in Spanish and then he was on his way.

  The second subpoena was as though the guy was waiting for him. He was sitting on his front porch when CJ pulled up, met him halfway up the walkway.

  The third, not so lucky. His GPS took him to a rundown trailer guarded by a snarling black lab on a heavy chain. The trailer was dark and no vehicles sat out front. CJ considered waiting, but from the scatter of what appeared in the waning light to be beer bottles around the platform that passed for a porch, he surmised that the individual was at a bar somewhere and would likely be late. Besides, he'd rather serve the subpoena in the daylight on someone who was sober.

  On the way home, CJ stopped for gas. Standing at the pump, watching the numbers to the right of the dollar sign get bigger and bigger, he wondered if he should stop by and see Stella. He was still a bit peeved by the way she dumped him to the backseat with Lucas there. And then he thought about Trish again and considered trying to call her once more. He’d tried a second time on the way to Nogales but in the middle of connecting he’d lost service.

  When he was through and had shoved the receipt into his folder, he pulled up to the gas station exit. Left to Stella's, right to home. For nearly a minute he debated back and forth, then turned right.

  Chapter 9

  CJ awoke in a sweat. As he tried to remember the dream, images of trees and dark water faded until he could no longer recall anything. He looked at the clock. 2:18. He hadn't even been asleep an hour; had finally gone to bed when the bottle of Jack Daniels was empty. He lay for ten more minutes then got up, went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There were two beers and no sodas. He was thirsty for something besides water and there was no way he was drinking a beer at 2:30 in the morning, even if he thought it would get rid of his headache. Jack Daniels maybe, but there wasn't any left.

  He pulled on a T-shirt, which still smelled of where he had spilt the whiskey, and a pair of shorts, slipped into his sandals, grabbed his wallet, keys and phone, and headed out the door.

  Out of habit, again from his days as a police officer, CJ backed into a spot in front of the convenience store a half mile from his house. After he completed his purchases, he sat in his car with the windows down, sipping on a Dr. Pepper and munching on chocolate chip cookies, thinking about those days too many years back when he wore the uniform. How many nights did he do just this, drinking sodas or coffee while sharing history and solving world problems, he and his partner bored out of their skulls, hopin
g they'd get a call on a domestic disturbance just to be doing something? And how many nights did they wish all the crazies would go to bed so they could get a break long enough to grab a mid-shift sandwich?

  And what about Stella? He pulled another cookie from the pack. The right thing to do was go apologize, even though he knew she was half the issue. He should be more understanding, but then so should she. If he apologized, then maybe she would too and then they could work something out.

  Maybe he should wait for her to apologize first. It wasn't his fault that she had her nephew staying with her.

  CJ half noted a dark-colored van cruise by significantly slower than the speed limit—half noted, meaning he was aware of it—but didn't record any detail, something he would have done automatically a decade back. He drank some soda and shoved the remainder of the cookie into his mouth. He extracted another cookie.

  If he didn't call her, would she call him? He looked at his phone to be sure he hadn't missed a call during the short time he was asleep. He hadn't. He put his head back, hoping it'd help ease his headache, and closed his eyes. He swallowed the last bite of cookie and wished for a breeze. It had to still be 90 degrees. He drifted for a time, slipped into a light doze and then awoke with a start to something like a car door slamming in the distance. While his senses struggled to come fully alert he considered whether the sound was a gunshot, decided that it wasn't. He could see a fair distance to the east but not far to the west. To the south, directly in front of him and across the street, stood a restaurant, it and the parking lot fully dark. He was still the only one in the convenience store parking lot, other than the store clerk's car parked to the side. He glanced in his mirror and could see the clerk watching something on a small portable TV. All was quiet.

  And then he wondered what the hell he was doing anyway. He wasn't a cop anymore. What had his life come to that he was sitting in a convenience store parking lot in the middle of the night? He should be spooned against Stella. It was going to be a while before that happened again, if at all. He considered another cookie then took a sip of the soda instead.