She hesitated, considering. It was too important. And too much of a coincidence. “No. Just follow my lead.”
Sonny approached the boat. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said with a smile, modulating the pitch of her voice. “Sloppy weather, isn’t it?”
The fisherman’s lingo she’d picked up didn’t seem to put the Matthews men at ease.
“Sloppier than a TJ whore,” Arlen Matthews agreed, pulling his hat low on his forehead. Mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, and he had a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Like his sons, he had the lean, whipcord build of a lifelong sailor. While James and his brother had thick brown hair, Mr. Matthews’ was all tarnished gold. The two older men were scruffier than James, less clean-cut, but they were all handsome. And wary.
Sonny wasn’t amused by Arlen’s off-color remark. “Good catch?”
“Fair,” he grunted. “What can I do for you?”
“A couple of kayakers claim they saw the body of a drowned woman on the south side of the reserve. You all been out that way?”
Stephen and James made a busy show of swabbing the deck, their eyes downcast.
Arlen took a deep drag on his smoke. “Can’t drop a net there. It’s protected.”
Sonny didn’t say anything.
Arlen did a slow perusal of her body, insultingly obvious even though his eyes were covered. When he smiled, her blood ran cold. “Only dead bodies I’ve seen are these two,” he said, jerking his thumb at his sons. “Get lazier every year.”
Sonny glanced at James, wondering if he recognized her. She noted that his trembling hands were chafed and his arms sinewy with muscle. Both boys looked half-starved, but strong. She took a picture of Lisette out of her pocket and handed it to Arlen. “This is the girl we think may be out there. Do you know her?”
Arlen took the photo. “Nope,” he said, barely glancing at it. He tried to hand it back, but she wouldn’t take it.
“Maybe your sons do. She’s more their age.”
Arlen shrugged, but when he attempted to pass over the picture, it slipped from his hand and fluttered to the water. “Sorry,” he said, making no move to retrieve it. In fact, he threw his cigarette butt right at it.
Lamont’s nostrils flared with anger, but he maintained his silence.
“That’s a filthy habit,” she said, meaning smoking, littering, and disrespecting women.
“Ain’t it just?” he replied with a smirk.
Wishing Arlen would remove his sunglasses, so she could see his eyes, she took a card from her pocket, fresh and hastily made, with a Harbor Police phone number and her assumed name. “If you boys see or hear anything, give me a call.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Arlen said, brushing his tobacco-stained fingers over hers. “We sure will.”
At Harbor Police Headquarters, she picked up the phone to call her contact with local law enforcement, Staff Sergeant Paula DeGrassi. “Let me hear that message,” Sonny requested. She listened to the boy’s voice carefully, confirming her suspicions. “When did he leave it?”
“Christmas Eve. Late. I didn’t get it until this morning. The body might be off the coast of Mexico by now.”
Sonny thanked her and hung up. The hair she’d collected from Ben’s bed was being processed at the crime lab. It could always be compared with hair taken from a brush at Lisette’s house, or a DNA sample if one was available, in the event that her body was never recovered.
In most cases, no body meant no murder charge. James’ phone call may have taken care of that technicality.
If the hair from Ben’s bed belonged to Lisette, body or no body, Ben would be a prime suspect. Unless Sonny could get something on Arlen Matthews, other than that he didn’t report dead bodies because he was too cheap to pay a $500 fine.
Scumbag.
She was angry with Ben for lying to her, but she couldn’t believe him a murderer. Arlen Matthews, on the other hand, was as shady as they came.
It was time to have a talk with James.
Sonny followed Carly down Windansea Beach, staying far enough behind that the girl wouldn’t notice. Sure enough, Carly met James near a group of elephant-sized rocks, and the pair went behind them to engage in some hanky-panky.
When Carly emerged thirty minutes later, flushed and smiling, Sonny was too jaded to find it cute. Ben had better get ready to be a grandpa.
A hot, thirty-four-year-old grandpa.
Sonny waited for Carly to get out of earshot before she went in for James. The instant he saw her, he tried to run, proving he’d recognized her earlier at the docks. He was so fast he almost got out into the open, where she couldn’t tackle him without taking the chance of being seen. He put up a hell of a fight, until he realized that while she wasn’t exactly hurting him, neither could he break free from her hold.
“What do you want?” he asked, panting with exertion.
“Did you tell Carly you saw me today?”
“No.”
Sonny breathed a sigh of relief. “I know you reported Lisette’s body. I recognized your voice.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“You might as well keep talking.”
“Are you crazy? You’re a cop. I’m not telling you a fucking thing.”
It was a pretty good impression of Ben, and it pissed her off. She twisted James’ arm behind his back far enough to make it hurt. “Talk or cry.”
She knew he was in pain, but he didn’t make a sound. “You think you can do something to me that my dad hasn’t already done?” he asked quietly.
She thought about it. “I can tell him about Carly.”
He was silent for a moment. “Fine. Take your fucking hands off me, though. I’m not going to run.”
She released him carefully, because she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t try to hit her, and he was stronger than he looked.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said in a cold voice. “I don’t know shit. When we brought up the net, Lisette was in it. My dad shook her loose. That’s it.”
“Did he kill her?”
“How should I know?”
She found it telling that he didn’t deny the notion out of hand. “What condition was her body in?”
James’ skin took on an unhealthy pallor. “All messed up. Naked. Blue. Pieces missing.”
“Cut out by a person?”
“No. Crabs will eat anything.”
Sonny nodded, pleased with his sea expertise. “Could you tell how she died? Gunshot, stab wounds, marks on her neck?”
“I didn’t look too long. But I didn’t see anything like that.”
“Did your dad know her?”
“Maybe not by name.”
“Did he have sex with her?”
“I doubt it. She had some standards.”
Sonny realized that James was either familiar with Lisette’s reputation, or he knew her better than he let on. “What about your brother?”
“No. He didn’t even recognize her.”
“And you?”
His stricken face said it all.
“James, if it comes out later that you were with her, it will look bad. I need to know now, to protect you.”
“I don’t trust you not to tell Carly.”
Ah, the single-mindedness of youth. His greatest fear wasn’t going to jail or getting charged with murder, but being in the doghouse with his new girlfriend. “You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”
He sighed. “We didn’t have sex, exactly. She sort of, um…” He made a quick gesture, indicating activity below the waist.
She understood what he meant. A no-strings blow job was hard to resist. Could Ben? “How long ago?”
“A few weeks. Before I started seeing Carly,” he stressed.
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me about your dad. What kind of man is he?”
“A psycho,” he admitted. “But I can’t say he’s done anything violent. Other than rough up hookers. And me.”
Sonny had suspected as much. “Will you be all right a
t home?”
“Not if he finds out I made that phone call.”
A plan had already begun to form in her mind. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”
When James opened the door, it was clear he didn’t recognize her. She’d dyed her hair black with a temporary rinse and covered her blue eyes with brown contacts.
Sonny wasn’t sure the disguise was necessary. Even though she’d seen Arlen at the docks earlier, she doubted he would recognize her face. Or even look at it. She was wearing ratty jeans, a black tank top with no bra underneath, and way too much makeup.
She looked like a whore, all right.
“Buenas noches,” she said, scanning the room as would an FBI agent, or a money-grubbing hooker. “Listos?”
Arlen was sitting on the couch, cheap sunglasses shielding his eyes. He pulled at the brim of his cap lazily, not bothering to stand. “We don’t speak Spanish here, señorita.”
“I speak English, if you like.”
“I like,” he said. He had a whisky bottle in his hand, from which he took a slow, measured sip. “How much?”
“Para los dos?” She gestured, indicating both James and Arlen. “Two men?”
Arlen laughed, kicking James in the shin. Sonny forced the smile to remain on her face. “He don’t like women.”
James’ mouth thinned into a hard line, but he didn’t bother to defend himself.
“Pobrecito,” she said, reaching out to run her hand down James’ cheek. “I like you, papi. You don’t like me?”
As was her intention, Arlen immediately turned his anger toward her. He yanked her by the arm, bringing her atop his lap and spilling whisky all over the front of her shirt. “I’m the one paying you, bitch. You’ll take care of me.”
Suppressing the reflex to gag, Sonny murmured an apology as she explored the muscles in his shoulders. “I like you, too, señor. You are very strong.”
When he tensed, she got the impression that he was just as uncomfortable with physical contact as she was. In a flash of intuition, she realized that his interest in women wasn’t strictly sexual. He didn’t want to touch her-he wanted to hurt her.
“You remind me of someone,” he said, his gaze wandering over her face, the movement discernable through the dark lenses that hid his eyes. She wondered if the glasses were an affectation, a disguise, or if he was simply sensitive to light, after years on the ocean.
Sonny batted her lashes. “Sophia Loren?”
“No,” he said, his mind far away, remembering, chasing, searching…“Anita.”
Her stomach did a slow somersault.
“Anita Vasquez. You look just like her. Enough to be her daughter.” Suffused with memories, he continued, “Damn, what a woman. Liked to get roughed up almost as much as she liked to fuck.”
Sonny clenched her hand into a fist. She wanted to kick his ass into a blubbering mass of leathery skin and tobacco breath. Instead, she relaxed her fingers and raised them to his face. “No entiendo, señor. I am Juana, not Anita. Can I see your eyes?”
He grew instantly wary. “I don’t kiss whores.”
“No, no. Just look. You are very handsome.”
He shrugged, liking the attention, probably intent on reliving some long-forgotten memories of her mother. If he only knew.
She lifted his sunglasses and stared into pale blue eyes, just like her own.
James stood over the prone body of their father. Arlen was sprawled on the dirty carpet, unconscious, covered with broken pieces of ceramic lamp. “What the hell? He didn’t even do anything. You can’t arrest him now.”
Breathing hard, blood still pumping adrenaline, she looked up at James, wondering if he understood what had happened. Why she’d freaked out.
“What?” he asked, noticing her perusal.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. Sonny felt as though she’d just had her own brains knocked around. “Which way to his bedroom?”
James led her back to the master suite. It was a real shithole. Swastikas and Confederate flags hung on the walls, there were empty bottles all over the place, and hardcore pornography magazines littered every surface.
“Nice,” she said, kicking a dingy pair of briefs out of the way.
James laughed, all but brimming with nervous energy. Then he got quiet. “He’s not going to wake up, is he?”
“Probably not until morning. You might get a day off out of it, bud.”
He stayed quiet while she rifled through Arlen’s meager belongings. “I don’t think I should be around tomorrow.”
“That’s probably wise,” she said, cursing herself for losing control. Physically attacking a suspect before any evidence had been gathered was a grievous error. Not only had she put James in danger, she may have compromised the investigation.
What the hell was wrong with her lately? She’d never let her emotions get in the way of work before. “Does your dad keep mementoes?”
“Like what?”
“Jewelry, panties, women’s stuff?”
James shrugged. “No. He always gives them a little something to remember him by, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Bruises.”
Sonny thought about the trace evidence found on the victims. Like surfers, fishermen used durable, water-resistant fabric. “Do you guys wear titanium-lined gear on the water?”
James snorted. “Titanium’s expensive. I’m lucky to get a pair of regular gloves.”
She found of lot of disgusting things, some mildly illegal, none incriminating Arlen as the SoCal Strangler. He was an abuser of women and children, a racist, a cheat, and an evil man. But there was no evidence in his bedroom linking him to the murders.
Although she had no choice but to move on, Sonny was reluctant to leave James to his own devices. The kid was a disaster waiting to happen, and who could blame him? “Why don’t you go to your brother’s,” she suggested. “Is it cool there?”
James nodded silently, and she knew he was shielding the truth behind his pretty blue eyes, the way she’d been doing most of her life. He reminded her so much of herself that she almost couldn’t bear to look at him. Like her own reflection in the mirror, his angst was heart-wrenching to witness.
Together, they cleaned up the broken lamp and put Arlen to bed. Then she took James to Stephen’s, because he had nowhere else to go. Several times on the drive over, she came very close to telling him who she was.
In the end, she remained silent, cursing her job, hating herself.
CHAPTER 12
Ben couldn’t sleep. What he’d said to Summer was killing him, keeping him awake, taking hold of his continence and ripping it to shreds.
Feeling like a bastard, and a fool, he dragged himself out of bed. After pulling on some clothes, he walked across the street to her apartment and knocked on her door. There was a light on inside, and he wondered if she was in there with another man. Her boss, maybe.
He gave himself a mental shake, knowing he had no cause to be jealous.
When she opened the door, she looked different. She let him in, her expression wary and her hair dark. Not a shiny, rich obsidian, like Carly’s, but opaque black, sooty and lusterless.
“What did you do to your hair?” he asked, appalled.
She raised a hand to her head. “I dyed it.”
“It looks terrible.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Are you here to insult me?”
“No,” he said, darting a glance around the room, more nervous than ever. Was he screwing this up on purpose? “I wanted to talk to you. To apologize.”
“Just leave,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to hear it.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that she would shoot him down before he’d made his play. “I’ll tell you what happened with Lisette,” he said, unease welling up within him.
“I don’t want to know, Ben. Don’t you get it? It’s too late. I don’t care.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “Now get out.”
“She came into my room,” he said, in a rush to convince her. “I was asleep. I didn’t know what was going on-”
“Yeah, right,” she said, her sarcastic tone belying the assertion that she didn’t care.
“I was dreaming about you,” he continued, following her as she stormed down the hall toward the back bedroom. “I’d been thinking about you all day.”
“Oh, God,” she cried, whirling to face him and thrusting her fingers into her coal-black hair. “You are so full of shit! Do you think I’ll forgive you because you thought about me while you fucked her?”
“No. I mean, I didn’t. When I realized she wasn’t you, I pushed her away.”
She paced the room a few times, considering his words. Then she stopped and faced him. “I don’t care,” she repeated, crushing him with her apathy.
His stomach clenched with regret. He hadn’t felt anything but a mild stirring for a woman since Olivia. The prospect of getting involved in a serious relationship terrified him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her like this.
“I care,” he said, laying his cards on the table.
She stared at him in angry disbelief.
He fought against the urge to divulge all. His fear that Carly had something to do with Lisette’s disappearance. The conflict he felt over his wife, whom he still wasn’t ready to let go of. He’d never been able to do right by Olivia, and this new, insatiable lust for another woman seemed like an insult to her memory.
A memory that faded more every time he looked at Summer’s face. Gazing upon her, blue eyes flashing with pique, her chest rising and falling with pent-up emotion, Ben had to admit he’d never felt so alive. While the woman he had vowed to protect with his own life was lying cold and dead, because of him.
“I shouldn’t have said that I didn’t owe you anything,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “That all I wanted from you was sex.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “I can’t give you anything else. I can’t even give you that.”
He tried for humor. “Sure you can.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up, but she closed her eyes, shutting him out.
Crash Into Me Page 15