by Peg Brantley
She had been weak. Stupid. A girl. But even a girl should have been bolder than she had been. She had listened to the half plea and half command of her mother.
Bond thought of Angela and Stephanie and prayed first of all that they’d never find themselves in that situation, and second of all that they’d raise holy hell if they did.
Not like her.
She found her voice. “Damn you, Chase Waters. I know you’re working on a murder investigation. Your focus is on the job. Don’t ask me to talk about this now when I know you need to leave soon. Don’t ask me to be so damned selfish that I would interfere with that. Damn you.” She threw off the afghan and reached for the remote to turn off the television.
“And don’t ask me,” she continued, “to be so insignificant that you can squeeze me in. I’m more than that. What I have to tell you is more than that.”
She felt the tears flowing freely and made no move to wipe them away but she would need a tissue if she wanted to breathe through her nose. Chase stood and walked to the powder room across the hall, coming back with a box of tissues. Damn. She loved this man even though he could aggravate her easier than anyone else.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not before you tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Fine. Make it my fault if someone else gets murdered because you were waiting for me to talk to you. Perfect. Just perfect.”
“If that’s how you really feel, you might want to start talking now because I’m not going anywhere until you tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.” He reached for her. “I’m not leaving you, Bond.”
They’d been through so much—dealt with the worst thing parents could ever deal with—and managed in the end to come out stronger as a couple. Their love, and their commitment to that love and one another, made them unique among their friends. When she looked into his eyes, Bond saw the depth of her husband’s love for her. She saw him work to hold on to that love, wondering what she had to tell him.
But if what Bond had to say could alter their future in a negative way, they really didn’t have much of a future anyway.
She found a place where she could turn on her voice and produce her words and hold her emotions in abeyance.
She told him everything.
* * *
After a superhuman effort to control his rage, Chase fully processed what Bond told him. She needed him to be there and not be crazed. She needed to know he loved her. She needed to say the words out loud for only the second time in her life.
Why the hell had she never told him? What kind of mother would make a child promise to keep her molestation a secret? Scratch that. He knew exactly what kind of a mother would do that to a child. His mother-in-law.
Chase wrapped his arms around the woman he loved. She cried until she couldn’t cry any more, her used tissues scattered all around the sofa. McKenzie, for once not interested in the tasty treats, sat pushed up against Bond. The little bichon waited, as Chase did, for Bond to cry herself out. For the person they both loved to come back to herself and to them.
The fire, embers now, lay quiet. The peaceful silence came with a little chill to the room. Chase kissed Bond’s forehead and put his hands up to cradle her face. “You are a remarkable woman. I am more in love with you this minute than I have ever been. I have some questions but they can wait for another time.”
She gasped in some air. “You need to leave.”
“I need to make sure you’re okay.” He ran his thumb along her jaw line and waited for her to look him in the eye. “As okay as you can be.”
“Go.” She pushed him away. “Please. I have enough guilt.”
“You’re joking, right?” Chase reached for one of her hands. “Nothing that happened to you, not even keeping the secret you promised to keep, is your fault. None of it is worthy of an ounce of guilt from you.”
“But you said you have some questions. You doubt me?”
“Not for a minute. Not ever.”
She sighed. Breathed a little easier. Fell deep into the sofa, pulling the afghan up to her neck. “Thank you.”
Chase’s cellphone rang. He looked at the caller ID and then to Bond. He had to take it. His wife smiled and quirked her head.
“What’s up, Daniel?”
“I think I may have found that black Mustang.”
He put his hand over the phone and told Bond the news.
“How?” Chase asked.
“The old-fashioned way. I went looking for it.”
His eyes searched Bond’s for understanding. She nodded.
“I’m on my way.”
“Will you be okay until we can talk some more?” Chase asked.
“You know I will be. That’s who I am. Go. Work. Make the world a better place.” She attempted a smile then reached out and touched his hand. “Just one thing.”
“What’s that?” Anything, Bond. Anything that’s within my power is yours.
“Find out who owns that black Mustang.”
Chapter Fifty
Aspen Falls Police Department
Monday, September 24
Chase didn’t remember the drive between his house and the station. His anger at his mother-in-law blocked his mental awareness. Somehow he managed to arrive in the parking lot without killing anyone. Though that’s exactly what he’d been thinking about doing.
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a handful of Twizzlers, then stuffed all but one of them in his coat pocket. The one he stuck in his mouth was stiff from the cold and he welcomed the additional pressure. Better than grinding his molars into powder.
Bond had assured him she felt better—relieved, even—and would take a sleeping pill and go to bed. Before he left he’d kissed both of his daughters good night and hugged his wife one last time. She had looked less tense. Tired but not anxious. The brittleness had left her, but an exhausted fragility remained. She’d kissed him, assured him again she was okay, but what he saw was the sadness in her eyes.
It was almost eleven thirty in Chicago. He wanted to call his father-in-law and get him out here on the first plane smokin’. But if his mother-in-law answered the phone, he didn’t trust himself to talk to her without ripping her a new one. He’d wait until the morning to call Stuart Wentworth at his office. Chase would make the man promise to say nothing to Celeste. Bond didn’t need the stress a call from her mother would produce.
His cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Waters.”
“It’s Mex. I may have some information for you. Come by my house tomorrow morning.”
Chase took down the address. Nice part of town. He wondered how that went over with the people at Juan’s Place.
“Why can’t you tell me now?” Chase paused. “Mex?” The man had hung up. Call over.
Chapter Fifty-One
Aspen Falls Memorial Hospital
Monday, September 24
When Terri returned to Memorial Hospital to ask Leslie James some questions about the Preston Clinic, she was busy with a patient. A quick trip to the hospital cafeteria and Terri returned to the front desk carrying two cups of hot coffee and two bowls of what looked like brownies à la mode.
The doctor didn’t miss a keystroke as she entered data into a computer. “Back so soon, Detective?”
“Do you have time for a break?”
“I’m not getting you any more lists of names today. You’ve met your quota, don’t you think?” With a click of the mouse the computer went back to the login screen.
Terri smiled. “Yeah, thanks for that. But this is something else.”
Leslie checked the status board and nodded. “Melanie, mark me out for fifteen but page me if the patient in three becomes a problem. He’s stabilized and asleep right now. We’re working on getting him admitted.”
The doctor checked out the gifts Terri still held in her hand. “I could use some caffeine and sugar. Nice bribe.”
Settled into a quiet corner of the doctor’s lounge,
Terri felt her tension build while Leslie James’s appeared to slip away.
Terri left her food untouched and waited while the doctor took both a sip of coffee and a bite of brownie. Leslie closed her eyes in total food rapture.
Terri took a breath and jumped in. “Have you heard of the Preston Clinic?”
Leslie opened her eyes. “Sure. The private clinic just outside of town.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Well, it isn’t for the rich. It’s for the filthy rich. The one percenters. And apparently there’s plenty of money in the world. In addition to the clinic here, the same owners have clinics in Zurich, Caracas, and Rio de Janeiro. There’s a rumor they’re opening one in Los Cabos.”
“Are they regular hospitals?”
“Yes and no. I’m sure they have plenty of patients who are there for the same reasons you or I would be admitted to a hospital. But these clinics have specialties. Plastic surgery, rehab, fertility… all the things that if you’re a private person, or a very, very public person, you’d prefer to keep secret.”
“What’s the specialty for the one here?”
“They perform the same things their other clinics do, but the one in Aspen Falls has become known—as much as a secretive clinic can become known—for transplants.”
That matched what Chase had been told.
Terri took a sip of coffee. Lukewarm. Scanned the room for a microwave and saw one about twenty feet away. “I need to warm this up. How about you?”
“I’m an emergency room doc. Cold coffee is the norm for me. I’m not sure if my body would know how to process hot caffeine.”
Terri warmed up her coffee. When the microwave signaled she pulled out her cup and turned back to Leslie.
“Are there any rumors surrounding the clinic?” she asked the doctor.
Leslie sniffed and turned her head away from Terri.
Bull’s-eye.
Terri slid onto her chair. “C’mon, Leslie. This is important. It might help take some of the heat off Memorial.”
“What heat?”
“The heat that’s likely to come. We don’t have enough information yet, and in any event, we’re still investigating. But you might be able to help us cast a wider net.”
Another doctor came in and pulled open the refrigerator. Slammed it shut.
“Fuck. Someone ate my goddamned pizza. Why the hell can’t the assholes around here buy their own shit?” He stormed back out.
“Embarrassing,” Leslie said.
“Cops aren’t anywhere near that bad.”
“Please believe me, he’s an exception.”
“Is his bedside manner as colorful?”
“From what I’ve seen, he reserves his best for those he works with.”
“What’s his name?”
“Armand Fyfe. I think he had to fight the Barney Fyfe thing too much as a kid and sort of went over the top.”
“Sort of?”
“Anyway, you asked if I’ve heard any rumors about the Preston Clinic.” Leslie James squished her fork against the brownie dish to get up the last bit of chocolate. “In the interest of spreading the net you’re about to throw over us, I think I’ll share a couple.”
“There’s another brownie in it for you if one of those rumors includes something about a celebrity.” Aspen always got the Hollywood gossip and now it looked like maybe Aspen Falls might have something of their own. Terri’s movie-goer ears perked up, even as her professional senses amped into high gear.
Leslie told her the hot new “It” couple had supposedly checked in together. One for a little nip and tuck, one for some rehab.
“Both of them? At the same time?”
“Yep.”
“What did she have done?”
Leslie grinned. “Detective, you know better than to jump to those kind of conclusions. She was in for rehab. He went under the knife.”
“I’ll bring your brownie with me the next time I come by.”
“Promises, promises.”
“What about any rumors related to our investigation?”
Leslie seemed to consider. “We all work through UNOS to coordinate ninety-nine percent of our transplanted organs.”
“UNOS?”
“United Network for Organ Sharing. What’s that big network law enforcement uses?”
“NCIC? National Crime Information Center?”
“Yeah. UNOS is the NCIC for organ donors and recipients.”
“Okay, so…?”
“The list of people who need a new organ is huge. Right now there are about a hundred and fifteen thousand people waiting, ranked by need.”
“Okay, so…?”
“Either all of the wealthy patients at the Preston Clinic are right at the top of the list, or they have another source for viable organs and tissue.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Rumor has it, that tiny little clinic on the outskirts of this tiny mountain town performs three times as many transplants as Johns-Hopkins—and Johns-Hopkins is the big house on the block.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Aspen Falls Police Department
Monday, September 24
Chase, energized with the idea of new information, worried about Bond, pissed off at both her parents, and frustrated with Mex, marched into the space he shared with Daniel and Terri. Daniel sat at his desk, fingers flying over his keyboard.
Without missing a beat Daniel said, “The car is registered to Robert W. Carlisle, aged thirty-nine. LKA is 271 Spruce, apartment 312.”
“Checked for priors?”
“Coming up any minute.”
“How did you find the car? Are you sure it’s the right one?”
“I felt guilty and angry about the fire at Elizabeth’s and decided to go find the black Mustang. How many black Mustangs have you seen in Aspen Falls? I’m pretty sure this is the right one, all right. We’ll get a better idea if he has a sheet. And we know a black Mustang seems to be involved, at least in a witness capacity, with at least one murder and an arson. I just started my own grid search, beginning on the west side. The apartment complex where I located the Mustang only has carports, no individual garages. In Aspen Falls, can you imagine?”
Daniel was hyped.
“The guy’s car payment must be twice what he pays for rent.” He shook his head. “I almost missed it. I had about tossed in the towel and given up for the night. The parking lot wasn’t well lit, the cars were difficult to make out in the carports, and I didn’t want to put the spotlight on all of them.”
The detective finally glanced up at Chase. “You didn’t happen to bring any coffee, did you?”
On cue, Terri walked in bearing not only caffeine but also brownies.
“Terri, you’re an angel,” Daniel said.
“Not really. An angel would do things like this even if she didn’t get quantity discounts.”
“One of you can have my brownie,” Chase said. He pulled out his Twizzlers. “I’m glad we’re all here. You guys up for a quick team meeting before we call it a night? We could each use some rest.” Chase looked at the other two. Both of them bursting with pieces of information to add to their developing pile. Chase only hoped the pieces fit. And that they weren’t too tired to see it if they did.
Daniel walked up to the white murder board and picked up a marker. “Go,” he said.
“There’s someone approaching people in the Hispanic community, offering them money if they agree to sell one of their dispensable organs.” Chase updated them on the numbers of people Mex personally knew about who had sold something—usually bone marrow or a kidney. “Most seem to have lived to tell about it, but there are quite a few who have simply gone missing.”
“That might tie in with the rumors about the Preston Clinic.” Terri gave her report. “They’re anecdotal at best but it sure does make that place look sketchy.”
“Good work. Since we’re dealing with some political heat from the clinic, I’d better bring the chi
ef in on this before we push them more.” Chase made a note to call Whit in the morning. He also made a note to get Mex some copies of the drawings the sketch artist had made of the people José Sanchez’s wife had seen with her husband.
“By the way, I’m meeting with Mex Anderson in the morning. He says he might have something for us,” Chase informed the others.
“He didn’t say what?” Terri glanced at Daniel.
“He hung up before I could press him.”
“The man has issues,” Terri said. Daniel had fallen silent.
“Tell me about it,” Chase said. “Daniel, bring Terri up to date on the black Mustang.”
Daniel told Terri how he’d found the car and Terri took notes regarding the driver’s name, address and license plates. “We’re not sure there’s any direct involvement, but it’s interesting.” He nodded at Chase. “I got the guy’s sheet. Mostly simple assault, a couple of felony menacing. A brother was mentioned. Samuel. His LKA is in the same building. I’m guessing since brother Bobby has a few priors, Sammy does as well.”
“If you find any kind of connection to our cases, let me know. I don’t care what time it is. I’m heading home.” Chase rubbed his forehead, then reached for some more red licorice.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Waters Home
Monday, September 24
Angela tied her shoelaces, then moved to her bedroom door. The snick of the latch sounded like a gunshot and she froze. Listened. Inched the door open and peeked out. The silence and darkness told her what she wanted to know.
Her parents were asleep. They’d told her she couldn’t go to the party, but she didn’t want to miss out. And a lot of her other friends would be getting there the same way—by sneaking out.
Stealth-like, she moved down the stairs and toward the front entry. There she entered the code to disable their home security system, checked to make sure she had her house key, and eased out the door. Angela whispered a quick thanks that the beep tones for the alarm keypad had been disabled because of her dad’s hours. She made a mental note to remember to reset the alarm when she got home. The last time she’d forgotten and her mom had noticed the next morning.