The Naughty Box (9 books in 1 box set)

by Davis, SJ

  “Hello, Mr. Judson? This is Detective Stan Spaulding up in Greenville. I’d like permission to speak with your client, Jake Morris...Yes, that’s correct...Yes, we did. I just got off the phone a minute ago... When’s good for you...Tomorrow at two? Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you then...That’s right, at the Greenville Police Department...Thank you, I will...I appreciate it, sir...You too.”

  He replaced the phone and picked up his pen, tapping it against the desk while he reviewed the facts of the case. First: Annie Janson had dumped Jake Morris in December. Second: Annie Janson had disappeared in April. Third: Annie Janson had been found murdered in late July, cut into pieces and dumped… first, presumably, in Selene Walker’s cabin, then the Monson Transfer Station, then the Greenville Landfill, where her body had been recovered. Fourth: Annie Janson had been dismembered with Jake Morris’ saw and she’d been three months pregnant. Fifth: Her head had been found on Lena’s property after a note in her handwriting had been found telling them where to find it and implying guilt. Sixth and lastly, Selene Walker had committed suicide, apparently overcome by that same guilt.

  Those were the cold hard facts. Or were they? Stan picked up the folder and rifled through the papers inside. His pen tapped as he re-read the statements given by the dead woman, Selene Walker. One thing in particular stood out: her unwavering testimony that there was another man in Annie Janson’s life. The detective frowned thoughtfully. Thanks to the results from the two forensics teams, it appeared that she’d been right.

  He put down her statement and picked through his files for Jake Morris’s interviews. Jake had adamantly stated that Annie Janson’s baby was not his. He’d also claimed that he was being framed. As the stack of evidence mounted against him, he’d remained stubbornly attached to his story, maintaining his innocence.

  Tap. Tap, tap, tap. Lena Walker was the key. Lena Walker, Jake Morris’s only remaining friend at the time of her death. Lena Walker, the woman reputed to be having an affair with both Jake and Odin Andreassen. Lena Walker, who’d gone missing on the morning that they’d found Annie Janson’s head on her property. Lena Walker, who’d left the wedding ring that her husband had sworn she’d rejected along with her clothes and wallet by the shores of Bald Mountain Pond on the day that she’d presumably drowned. Lena Walker, whose body was still missing.

  Tap, tap.

  Stan Spaulding’s forehead creased as he opened his mind to a new train of thought. If Jake Morris had been telling the truth all along and he was innocent, what were the odds that he’d been set up?

  “Blake,” he called.

  The officer stuck his head around the door. “What’s up, Chief?”

  “If you were being framed for murder, what would you do?”

  Blake Scully frowned. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Would you stick around and wait to be arrested, or would you run?”

  “It depends on how bad the evidence looked, I guess.”

  “Say the evidence was overwhelmingly against you…kind of like what we have on Jake Morris and the Walker woman. Would you let yourself be arrested and trust a lawyer to clear your name?”

  Blake Scully laughed. “Not hardly,” he said. “I guess I’d probably pack up my truck and skedaddle out of here. Anything else, boss?”

  Tap, tap, tap. “No, that’s all. Thanks Blake.”

  Stan sighed as the door swung shut. In the wake of the new information, the evidence that had once appeared irrefutable allowed for the shadow of a doubt, and, as improbable as Jake’s claim was, it wasn’t impossible. He pushed his chair away and stood, removing his jacket from the hook beside the door. He didn’t really feel like making the drive but, come hell or high water, he was responsible for the safety of the community, and, by God, he’d be sure they had the right man behind bars.

  “Where are you going, Stan?” Gracie Marks asked as he passed her desk.

  “Breakneck Ridge,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours if anyone’s looking for me.” Pulling his collar up against the cold October wind he headed for his cruiser.

  Where to start? The Interim Chief of Police pulled onto Main Street and hooked a right out of town. There was only one place. The neighbor, Odin Andreassen. He’d meant to call the man in for official questioning after the sudden death of Selene Walker, but had put it off to deal with the rest of the activity surrounding the case. Between the FBI and the dive teams, the ground searchers and the many meetings with both the State Prosecutor and Jake’s defense team, he’d been swamped. He should have made it a point to drag the guy downtown for a formal statement, he admitted to himself now, as he climbed Breakneck Ridge. Odin Andreassen was a loose end, and he knew from experience that one loose end could unravel a sweater.

  The gate to the private road around Blackwater Pond was locked when he finally made the turn from the Foss Mountain Road. Stan swore and searched his glove compartment for the key, breathing a sigh of relief when his fingers closed around it. Hurrying, he crossed to the gate and fit the key into the padlock. With a turn and a push, it swung open. Shivering, he returned to the driver’s seat and pulled forward. Where the road split, he hesitated. Left led to Lena’s cabin, right, to the only other camp on the lake. He took his foot off the brake and swung right.

  The long driveway that led to Odin Andreassen’s home showed signs of neglect. He swerved around a fallen branch as he reassured himself that there had been no need to bring the man in at the time. He’d gotten everything he’d needed from him on the dock the morning she’d committed suicide. That day, as he recalled, Odin Andreassen had corroborated the fact that Lena Walker and Jake Morris had been on intimate terms, as well as the fact that Lena had been unnerved and depressed by the discovery of her best friend’s remains. It was all the information that anyone needed to close the case.

  Then again, there was the information he’d gotten from Alex that her affair was with Andreassen and not Jake at all. It could be true, he thought; the Norwegian had seemed quite fond of Selene Walker at the time of her death, despite the fact that she’d supposedly thrown him over for Jake Morris. He’d been concerned enough to check in on her on the morning of her disappearance. Concerned enough to let the police know that he was concerned.

  Stan picked up his cell phone and dialed the office of the State Prosecutor. “Shit,” he said to the no-signal message.

  A minute later, the driveway swung back toward the lake and opened into a parking area. There were two vehicles squeezed into the small slot. Stan recognized the black Forerunner of Odin Andreassen. The other car, a red Toyota Camry, was unfamiliar. Retrieving a pen, he jotted down the license plate. Maine 533BZ20.

  The air was still in the watery light of the early November afternoon. Stan perused the area for signs of life. The pond was flat and empty as were the dock and yard. He walked around the side of the cabin and mounted the steps to the porch. The house was quiet, almost eerily so.

  Raising his hand, he knocked three times on the front door. There was no response. He knocked again and waited. Giving up, he started down the steps toward the pond, eyeing the sky doubtfully. It looked like snow. He considered his options. He could either wait for the Norwegian’s return or leave and come back later. Neither choice was appealing. Stepping onto the dock, he walked its length and searched the calm waters of Blackwater Pond.

  Empty. Even the Loons were gone for the season. Sighing, he returned to the porch and knocked a last time. As he started down the steps, a man’s voice called out from within.

  “Just a minute. I’ll be right there.”

  The Norwegian, he thought with a smile. He’s home, after all.

  ***

  The God peered from the window at the unmarked cruiser and pulled on his robe, cursing softly. “Hold the pillow over her mouth, Maeve. Don’t let her make a sound.”

  Maeve smiled, her eyebrows raised. “Are you going to tell me the truth if I do?”

  He shook his head. “You already know the truth. She’s my neig
hbor and she’s into bondage. Now hold her down.”

  Maeve sighed. “Come on, Dylan, or Zeuss, or whatever the hell your name is. She won’t talk and she barely eats. She’s obviously not your sister and there isn’t a neighbor around for miles. For God’s sake, you keep her chained in the shed! She’s obviously not in this for fun…if she is, she’s a hell of an actress.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “She’s not. Hold her or we’ll both be in a world of trouble.”

  Maeve clamped her arm tighter around the pillow. Lena thrashed beneath it, her neck chained and arms and legs bound. The God left the room and returned with a syringe and bottle.

  “Hold still,” he directed.

  Lena gave a last heave and Maeve lost her hold. “Help,” she screamed. “Help me!”

  “Shit! I said hold her, Maeve.” He pulled back the plunger and the needle filled with clear liquid. Holding Lena’s arm down he plunged the tip of the needle into her vein. She thrashed again and the needle went flying.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?” came the voice from the front porch.

  Beneath his hands, Lena’s body remained taut for a moment before the sedative worked. Slowly her muscles relaxed and her eyes fluttered closed. He turned to Maeve as he unlocked the anklets that bound her to the bed. “It’s up to you, now,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

  Maeve smiled, a sly upturn of her lips. “Why, Dylan, what do you think?” She slipped his shirt over her arms and rolled up the sleeves. “I’m going to save your sweet ass, that’s what. Just give me a few minutes alone with the big bad policeman…I’ll take care of everything.”

  “What if he finds her?” The God said, taking her arm.

  “Trust me. He won’t.”

  The God let her pass. There was nothing in her voice to signal betrayal. Then again, there was no reason to believe her, either. He swore with frustration; with the cop right outside the door, there was no other option but to keep his fingers crossed.

  Maeve looked back once as she reached for the doorknob. “Roll her under the bed and chain yourself up,” she whispered. “We’re going to give him an eyeful.”

  The God nodded. Quickly, he unlocked the rings that kept Lena bound and placed her on the floor. With a shove, he pushed her body under the bed and placed the bottle and syringe beside her. Smoothing down the dust ruffle, he looked the room over; except for the chains, all was in order.

  With an ear to the door, he listened to the conversation between Maeve and the police officer. From the sounds of things, she was flirting with him unabashedly. Returning to the bed, he hesitated then clipped the rings closed around his ankles. The last ring snapped around his neck. He’d always wondered what imprisonment would feel like. The truth was that it was odd but not entirely unpleasant. Lying trapped upon the bed, he waited to see what she would do next.

  When the door opened at last, he glowered at her. “What kept you so long?”

  She smiled and took a step toward him. “We have a visitor. He’s a little worried about you. I told him you’re fine, but he insisted on checking.” She shrugged and stepped aside. “Sorry. I know it’s kind of embarrassing.”

  The God’s frown deepened as the cop stepped into the room. “What’s the problem?” he said, reviving his deep accent.

  “I, I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.” The detective said, his face crimson. “I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone was in distress.”

  The God shook his ankles. The chains clanked dully. “Of course someone’s in distress! That’s the whole idea! This isn’t a social visit, I assume.”

  Maeve sauntered to the bed and pulled his robe closed. He watched the officer’s eyes swing to her ass as she leaned over him, adjusting his garments.

  “N-no sir, Mr. Andreassen. I’m sorry to bother you. I would have called first, but you’re out of phone range up here.” Stan Spaulding blushed furiously. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Selene Walker, is all. I didn’t mean to interrupt your afternoon.”

  The God sighed heavily. “No apology necessary, Officer Spaulding.”

  “Detective.”

  “No apology necessary, detective. Maria, get these things off me. It seems I’m needed by Detective Spaulding for a moment.”

  Maeve retrieved the key from his pocket. Her shirt, open to her navel, exposed her full breasts as she unlocked the bands around his neck and hands. The God watched the police officer’s eyes. They were glued to her chest. He removed his bindings and stood, smoothing down his robe.

  “Let’s go to the living room, yes?” he suggested.

  “Sure.” Stan Spaulding backed from the bedroom. He took a seat on the couch, clearly relieved to be back on familiar turf.

  Maeve perched on the chair opposite him, her legs curled beneath her. She played with a strand of hair, twirling it around her finger as The God placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Would you like some coffee, detective?” he asked. “Or perhaps some tea?”

  “No. Nothing thanks,” Stan Spaulding stammered.

  “What, then, may I help you with this afternoon?”

  “Blow job, perhaps? Hand job?” Maeve said.

  The God silenced her with a light squeeze on the shoulder.

  “I, uh, had a couple of questions about the statement you gave me on the day that your neighbor committed suicide,” he said, clearly flustered.

  “Is that what they’re calling it, officially?” The God asked. “A suicide?”

  “Yes, sir.” The detective frowned and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. It’s been the talk of Greenville for the better part of the month.”

  “I don’t get down to Greenville very often. I do most of my shopping in Dexter and Guilford. I find the women there more, shall we say, enticing.”

  Maeve smiled. She shifted and the shirt rode up her thighs.

  “You’ve met my friend here. You can see for yourself.” The God winked as he bent to kiss her hair.

  Stan Spaulding’s throat jerked as he swallowed. “Not formally, no.”

  The God shook his head. “Where are my manners? Forgive me, please… I assumed you met when she answered the door. Detective Spaulding, this is my good friend Maria. Maria, Detective Stan Spaulding of the Greenville Police Department.”

  “Ah, um, Interim Chief of Police, actually,” Stan Spaulding said, extending his hand.

  Maeve held it for a long moment, caressing his fingers as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Detective Spaulding,” she said.

  “You, too, ma’am. You’re from Dexter?”

  “Born and bred.” She stood, stretched, and sauntered toward the bedroom. “I guess I should leave you to your business. I’ll be in here when you’re finished, Mr. Andreassen. ‘Bye detective… maybe I’ll see you around some time.” The door closed behind her.

  The God watched the detective rub his palms on his knees. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  Stan nodded. “Very. Is she your girlfriend?”

  The God chuckled. “I think she’d prefer ‘friend’. Maria is what you in America would call a ‘free spirit’. She’s very European in mind and manner. I wouldn’t presume to put a claim on her.” He tapped his fingers against his arms as he regarded the policeman. “Now…what, exactly, can I help you with?”

  Stan Spaulding cleared his throat and pulled his notes from his pocket. “I wanted to go over your relationship with Ms. Walker, Mr. Andreassen. How you met, how well you knew her, what you did together…that sort of thing.” He uncapped a pen and waited while The God sighed and paced the length of the room.

  “This is quite difficult for me,” he said finally.

  “I understand. Please take your time.”

  “We were friends. We saw each other casually on a daily basis.” He shrugged. “We often walked together and shared a few meals. I even painted her portrait once.”

  Stan Spaulding jotted the information down and read from his notes. “
When I last spoke with you, you said that you’d have liked the opportunity to be more intimate with Lena Walker, is that correct?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, as I also told you, she was already involved with another man.”

  “Her husband, Alex Walker.”

  The God shook his head. “No. They were separated soon after she moved in. I’m referring to the man from Greenville. The one that she hired to help her fix her camp. Jake Morris.”

  Stan Spaulding scratched his head. “That’s funny,” he said. “Jake denies having anything other than a platonic relationship with Ms. Walker.”

  The God smiled. “Why would he admit to it? It wouldn’t do much for his defense strategy to admit to an affair with her, would it?”

  Stan tapped his pen against his notebook. “I can’t speculate what his admission would or would not do to help his in his defense, Mr. Andreassen. Tell me this…what gave you the impression that Lena Walker and Jake Morris were having an affair?”

  “I can’t say for sure. The way they looked at each other…the way they touched. He spent odd hours at her cabin.” The God turned to gaze out the window. “That and the fact that she told me.”

  “Selene Walker told you she was sleeping with Jake Morris?” Stan said, surprised.

  “I’m afraid so. It was shortly after we first met. I asked her to dinner and tried to kiss her before she left. She said that she was already spoken for.” The God shrugged. “I was disappointed of course. Lena Walker is…was…a very beautiful and desirable woman, but I could respect her wish to remain only friends. I thought then that Jake Morris was a very lucky man.”

  “That’s funny...” Tap, tap.

  “What’s funny about it, Detective Spaulding?” The God frowned. “I think there’s nothing at all funny about murder and suicide.”

  “Forgive me,” Stan said. “I didn’t mean funny, funny, I meant funny peculiar.” Tap. “Alex Walker told me just the opposite. He said his wife had nothing to do with Jake Morris…it was you she was involved with.”