The Body Counter (Detective Jude Fontaine Mysteries Book 2)

by Anne Frasier

  There it was. The explanation of the empathy Jude felt for Iris even though the girl was lying. She believed her about the molestation. If she’d been standing there, Jude would have told her so. Was this another piece of the puzzle? Tamping down her flare of unexpected emotion, Jude asked evenly, “Are you saying she had something to do with it?”

  “I’m just saying trouble follows her like a dark cloud of her own making. My brother would have paid for her to go to college anywhere, but she stayed in town. That’s fine, but her grades were terrible and she dropped out after a year. She uses people and she’s a negative, mean person.”

  “Teenagers aren’t the easiest to deal with.”

  “She’s not coming home with me. If I cared about her, it might be different. We’d figure something out. Right now, I’m here for my brother. That’s it. And I’ll help from a distance. But she can’t be in my house. I think a nurse got the wrong idea and said something to her. I’m sorry.”

  “Does she have any other relatives she could stay with?”

  “No.” She relaxed a little now that her feelings were out. “Could you tell her? In a nice way?”

  It was the last thing Jude wanted to deal with, but it sounded like she’d do a better job of breaking the news. In the meantime, it also sounded like she’d have to figure out what they were going to do with Iris.

  Minutes later she told the young woman that she wouldn’t be going to her aunt’s house. Iris took it well, but a place to stay probably wasn’t her biggest concern after losing her family.

  Upstairs, Jude found Uriah’s bed empty and made. She felt a moment of panic until he appeared from behind a door, dressed, a bag of belongings in his hand. “The MRI was fine and I’ve been released,” he announced.

  A wave of relief rolled over her, and yet she couldn’t shut off the worry that immediately followed. What if he wasn’t telling the truth about being okay? What if it was serious and he didn’t want anybody to know?

  “It was the migraines,” he said. “Because of them, I wasn’t drinking enough fluid. Along with that, I wasn’t getting much sleep.”

  “Where are your father and mother?”

  “Headed home. My mom had to work. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to meet her, but they’ll both be back for the gala in a couple of days.”

  His parents leaving lent validity to the positive news he’d just related. They wouldn’t have gone if his test results had been bad. She wanted to bring up the cancer, but she also wanted to respect his desire to leave it in the past.

  “Roof Cat?” he asked, nodding at her scratched hand.

  “Yeah.” She told him about the photo of Iris standing next to the blond girl at one of the crime scenes, but avoided going into the stalker aspect of Elliot’s behavior. And she didn’t tell him about her neighbor’s photo wall. If Uriah knew, he’d probably head straight to Elliot’s apartment to confront him, then faint. But she did share the news about Iris not having a place to go. “I showed the picture to her and she denied being there. I’m pretty sure she’s lying.”

  “If it is her, if she knows the people who killed her family, why would she lie?”

  “Because she’s involved somehow and she’s scared. Also, you probably won’t like this idea, but I think I’ll offer to let her stay with me.”

  He looked skeptical.

  It was unusual. A detective taking in a victim. “I can keep her safe that way. Not only keep her safe, but maybe gain her trust and find out what she’s hiding.”

  A nurse appeared with a clipboard and passed it to Uriah for his release signature.

  “Do you need a ride?” Jude asked. She was on her motorcycle, but they could call a cab.

  “My dad left my car in the ramp.”

  “Should you be driving?” He gave her a pained look, and she didn’t push it. “I’ll talk to you later,” she told him.

  Uriah was deep in discussion with the nurse and Jude wasn’t sure he heard her say good-bye. She left and dashed down the hall, spotting the red Exit sign. She crashed through the door. In a fresh rush of overwhelming relief over Uriah’s good news, she sat down heavily on a step, elbows to knees, and buried her face in her shaking hands.

  CHAPTER 42

  Uriah surprised everybody by showing up for work a few hours later. He roamed the office and sat at his desk, getting welcome backs and updates from the team. Someone had tied a helium balloon to his landline phone. Also in celebration of his return was a bouquet of flowers, along with a box of candy. The gifts were things Jude would have done prekidnapping, but today’s Jude hadn’t even thought about it. That bothered her. But then, she hadn’t expected to see him back on the job hours after being released from the hospital.

  He opened the box of chocolates and offered her one.

  She took a piece, for no real reason other than the distraction and surprise of his presence. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not sick, and I’m not dying. I’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure to drink plenty of fluid and sleep at least a few hours a night.”

  “Five hours. At least five hours.”

  Caroline McIntosh interrupted their conversation to hand Uriah a sheet of paper with a list of names and addresses. Were the flowers from her? There was a card in the vase, attached to a tiny plastic fork, but Jude couldn’t read the writing from where she stood. She bit into the chocolate. Beige interior and an unpleasant flavor. Faux coffee? Caramel? Neither seemed right.

  “I’ve been researching local residents with strong math ties,” Caroline said. “I found a few with records. Nothing serious, but a couple of odd public disruptions that ended in arrests. One guy attacked a woman on a bus for wearing numbers on her shirt. I also pulled a couple of people who wrote articles on number sequencing in nature.”

  Looking up from the list, Uriah said, “Good work.” Caroline blushed.

  Chief Ortega emerged from her office to give them the now-familiar talk about not enough manpower. The Fibonacci murders, as they were now officially calling them, weren’t their only case. “We can’t allow ourselves to become so focused on these killings that we forget we have others to investigate.”

  Everyone murmured in agreement.

  Uriah offered Ortega candy. She dug a chocolate from the box, then gave Uriah a hard look. “That said, I don’t want anybody making foolish decisions because of lack of sleep. Take care of yourselves first. Eat decently, drink plenty of water, sleep. Every night. I do not want to lose any of you. Not because I don’t want to be down more detectives. I don’t want to lose you. Either by your reaching a breaking point, or by getting yourself killed. Lack of sleep and lack of proper nutrition lead to mistakes in the field.” She bit into the candy and seemed pleased with the surprise she found inside.

  “Do we still have to do yoga meditation?” Caroline asked. “Is that a requirement?”

  The chief chewed, then talked around the candy in her mouth. “I plan to have the yoga instructor here once a week, but until the Fibonacci murders are solved, it won’t be a requirement. But it’s my opinion the people working the case are the very ones who need it right now.”

  “I’ll try to participate,” Uriah said. Probably not a good endorsement that the person who’d enjoyed the yoga meditation the most had ended up in the hospital.

  Ortega returned to her office, and McIntosh returned to her desk while Jude and Uriah looked over the list of names she’d given him.

  Their friend the math professor was on it. Jude checked the clock. “I say we try to catch him at home. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.”

  Uriah was already reaching for his coffee. “And McIntosh and Valentine can hit the other names on the list.”

  She drove while Uriah sat in the passenger seat. He’d brought the box of candy along, and he offered it to her again. She shook her head and said, “The unknown is too risky.”

  “There’s an easy way around that.” He squished a few of them to see what was inside before choosing one.<
br />
  She stopped at a red light. “That’s not the healthy diet Ortega was talking about.”

  “At least it’s not hard liquor.”

  “You know those things usually come with a cheat sheet underneath so there are no nasty surprises.”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  He did seem to be feeling better. His color was good; the circles under his eyes were gone. He looked relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. Maybe rest and hydration had been all he needed. She’d just have to watch him more closely.

  “I know my dad invited you down to his place, but do you even like to fish?” he asked.

  She made a right turn at a red light. “I used to. I don’t think I’d like it anymore.”

  “Kinda wondered about that. Bad memories?”

  “Not because I used to do it with my family, if that’s what you’re thinking. I did, but I just never thought about the fish before. Or the worm. I’d think about both of them now.”

  “Even the worm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, well, when this is over, let’s go canoeing down the Saint Croix. It’ll be a great time to go, with the leaves turning.”

  “Is this something the doctor suggested?”

  “Yeah, more recreation, but that’s not a bad thing. He suggested I actually put relaxation and recreation on my calendar, no matter what we’re dealing with.”

  “I’d like to do that. The river.” It was a nice thought in a dark time. Something to look forward to. And it put a wishful deadline on the case. Fall would be over soon, and there would be no canoeing once winter hit.

  At Professor Masucci’s apartment building, Uriah pressed the number on the box next to the entry door. Under the awning were stacks of thick, weather-curled phone books and moldy newspapers in yellow plastic bags. There was no intercom response, but unlike on the previous visit, the door buzzed and unlocked.

  The interior smelled of a combination of curry and cigarette smoke, along with the more unpleasant scent of disinfectant. From behind a wooden door came a deep and phlegmy cough, the kind of cough that was a permanent part of life until there was no life left.

  Up one flight of stairs, Jude knocked on the door and spoke through it, hoping the professor was nearby. “Professor Masucci? It’s Detectives Fontaine and Ashby. We’re wondering if we could talk with you.”

  After a moment, the door opened.

  He was dressed for the day in the suit and burgundy tie he’d been wearing the last two times they’d seen him. “I was just leaving for work.”

  The odor here was coffee and toast, not unpleasant, but it mingled with the others in the building, rendering them all slightly disagreeable.

  “Just ten minutes of your time,” Uriah said.

  He stepped back and they stepped in.

  Not a surprise to see they were in the presence of a hoarder. Not one of those people featured on TV or in the news. There was no garbage to climb over. Here, things were neatly arranged in piles of mostly newspapers and books, four feet tall, with a narrow path of bare floor that wound through the stacks. A single chair in the corner was dwarfed, a side table and lamp next to it, the table also loaded down with reading material.

  “I’m a book collector,” Uriah said, not seeming the least taken aback by the professor’s living situation. Jude decided this was exactly the kind of thing she could imagine happening to Uriah over time. When she was last in his apartment, everything had been neat and on shelves, but he was running out of room.

  The setting probably felt familiar to him. Surrounded by old books and papers that smelled of mildew and age. It probably brought both men comfort. She’d have to make sure Uriah didn’t end up like this.

  “There’s a little more room in the kitchen,” the professor said.

  They followed him through the stacks. He’d been right about the kitchen when he’d said “a little more room.” Three chairs and a small table were squeezed against one wall. He rearranged some piles. “Have a seat.”

  Jude and Uriah each took a chair. The professor sat down. “You’re here about the most recent murders.”

  Uriah pushed at a small Jenga-like tower of books, trying to clear a spot for his elbows on the surface of the table. It seemed impossible, but the kitchen was even more packed than the rest of the apartment. Jude could hardly move her arms. “Have you thought any more about students you’ve known who might have had a special interest in the Fibonacci sequence?” she asked.

  “You’re talking about a lot of people.” He seemed a little more lucid today, not distracted by pigeons. “Many of my past students were fascinated by it. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Any people more fascinated than others?” Uriah asked.

  “We’ll understand if it takes you a little time,” Jude added. “You’ve had so many students.”

  “And still do.”

  She played along, the way everybody played along. “Yes.”

  The space was so cramped it was a struggle to open her messenger bag and pull out some of the images she’d gotten from Elliot. Back at her apartment, she’d sorted through them, choosing various ones to present—the equivalent of a photo lineup—to see if he’d pick the shot Elliot had fixated on.

  The professor looked over the images, lifting one at a time, giving each careful consideration. When he’d gone through them twice, he placed one down on the table and tapped it. “This girl looks familiar.” It was the blond standing next to the girl who might or might not have been Iris.

  “What about the girl next to her? The one with brown hair,” Jude asked.

  He bent forward, shook his head, and checked his watch. “I have to get to work. I have to go.”

  Jude wasn’t sure if his sudden burst of anxiety was caused by a memory he didn’t like, or frustration over not being able to remember. “Look at her again, please.” She slid the image closer. “Where do you think you’ve seen the blond girl?”

  “Was it recent?” Uriah asked. “Or years ago?”

  “I don’t know.” He shifted, and a book crashed to the floor. Jude picked it up and placed it beside him. “I have to go,” he repeated.

  “The photo.” Jude’s voice was soft but insistent. “This is important,” she reminded him.

  “Numbers are exact,” he told them. “That’s why I like them. There are no gray areas. No confusion. They are what they are. I don’t like to be wrong. I don’t like to guess.”

  “A guess could help us,” Jude said.

  He looked at the photo again. “She might be a friend of an old student. Maybe I saw her with him.”

  “What student?” Uriah asked. Jude could see he was struggling to keep his voice casual so his question wouldn’t be the end to the conversation.

  “I can’t remember.” He sounded vague, and he seemed to float off, then come back. Nodding, he said, “He wrote an essay on the Fibonacci sequence and its close relationship to art.”

  “His name?” Uriah prodded.

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  “What did he look like?” Jude asked.

  “Dark hair. Average build.”

  “Ethnicity?”

  “White, I believe. The girl might have been his girlfriend.”

  “Would you have that paper here?” Uriah asked.

  “The students get them back.” He eyed Uriah with suspicion. “That would be unethical. In fact, this whole conversation is unethical. Students have rights. And you’d need a search warrant to see such a paper. I’m done talking about this.” He struggled to extricate himself from the confines of the table. Standing, he said, “I can’t discuss any of my students with you. You both need to leave right now.”

  Jude tucked the photos into her bag and got to her feet. “Thanks for your time.” She’d given him her business card twice before, but in case he’d lost them or thrown them away, she gave him another. “If you think of anything we should know, please call.”

  In the car, Uriah said, “I’ll h
ave the photos of the girls cleaned up. We’ll run them through facial-recognition software and see if we get any hits. I’m also going to put out a person-of-interest alert on the blond girl.”

  “Who gave you the flowers?” Jude asked as she turned onto University Avenue.

  “Flowers?”

  “The flowers on your desk.”

  “Oh. Chief Ortega.”

  “That was nice of her. I’m guessing the balloons and the chocolate were from her too.”

  “Caroline McIntosh.” His phone rang. He answered. When he hung up, he said, “Iris Roth is being released today and Detective Valentine wonders what he should do about her.”

  “I’ll drop you off downtown and head to the hospital to pick her up.”

  “You sure about this?”

  Having a victim stay with a detective might have been unusual, but it would address a few issues. Jude could be the one protecting her so fewer cops would have to be pulled from their current beats, and when Jude wasn’t home, her fourth-floor apartment would be safer than most places. “I want to keep a close eye on her.” For various reasons. And she wouldn’t let her guard down or trust her for a second. No keeping anything personal in the apartment, especially case files.

  “Do tuxedo shops deliver?” Uriah asked.

  “I’m pretty sure anything can be delivered today.” With all that was going on, she’d forgotten about the upcoming gala and his live interview. “You have a good excuse to not go and avoid the stress.”

  “I’ve worried about it for too long to back out now. And I hope you’ll come, houseguest or not.”

  “I’m not sure.” She’d bought a dress, but she didn’t know about leaving Iris alone. Or maybe that was her own excuse.

  “There’ll be dancing.”

  He said it like that was a plus. “Nope. Not me.”

  “If my dad’s there, you’d better come prepared to dance. He taught me to waltz when I was seven.”

  “Are you trying to talk me out of going?” Dancing . . . Touching someone, standing so close. It terrified and intrigued her.