Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  "What did you buy?"

  "Uh... Alka-Seltzer." She gazed around the room and raked her hand through her messy hair again. "Where's my water? I'm thirsty."

  I eyed the door, knowing Theresa was watching the monitor. "I'll go check." I left the room and closed the door. Theresa was outside the door with the water. "What do you think?" I asked.

  "She's still not telling you the truth." Theresa watched Patricia on the screen.

  "Yeah, I know. She either did it or she's protecting someone else that did it." My cell phone vibrated. I glanced at the display and didn't recognize the number.

  "Want me to take a run at her?" Theresa held up the water. "I'll give her the water."

  "All right. Go for it." I answered the call. Tenley. Shit. I'd forgotten to tell him about the DNA test results confirming that Jamie was his biological son. I hadn't given him the contact info for Mike's financial advisor, either. Maybe he still had money left to receive advice on. I told him about the test results and that I'd give him a call soon. I leaned against the wall and watched the action on the monitor.

  Theresa slid the water across the table toward Patricia. "Listen. We just want to help you."

  She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

  "If we find out later that you knew something and someone else gets hurt, you're going to be an accessory to that crime."

  Patricia glared at her. "What's an accessory?"

  "It means that you failed to report a crime that was committed or you knew another crime could be committed by this person."

  "Really?"

  "It's serious. Talk to me, Patricia." Theresa was doing the good cop, 'I just want to help you' posture. "What do you know?"

  "I don't know anything." She glared, all done with us.

  Theresa stood, left the room and joined me. "You have any ideas?" She looked thoughtful.

  "No, but she didn't ask for a lawyer. Why don't you go work on a search warrant? We want one for her apartment. Maybe a motorcycle, Scrabble game, and a baseball bat are there. Come back when you're done. I'm going back in." I waited until she headed down the hall, then went in to sit next to Patricia, real close.

  She glared and leaned away. "I can't help you."

  "Unfortunately for you, there's one problem with that."

  "Yeah? What's that?" Her eyes narrowed. Good. Angry people made mistakes.

  "Besides your phone being in the vicinity of Mr. Harrington's condo, we've got your prints on something left at the scene."

  "No way! I didn't leave any prints anywhere." She looked around the room, her eyes shiny. She stood.

  I banged on the table. "Sit down!"

  She gasped and stared at me. She dropped into her chair. "I'm telling the truth. I didn't hurt him. I didn't hurt anybody." She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

  "Do you know who hurt him?" I locked eyes with her. "Tell me what you know."

  "I can't. I don't know." She shook her head. "I just don't know." She sobbed, cradling her head in her arms on the table.

  "I'm going to ask you again. Look at me." I wanted to see her eyes.

  She didn't budge.

  "Look at me!"

  She jumped, then raised her head, sniffling. She didn't resemble Rebecca anymore. Hell, she didn't resemble herself anymore. "What?"

  "We can lock you up. You know that?"

  She shrugged.

  I stood. "All right. I'll start the paperwork." I opened the door.

  "Wait!"

  I turned, but kept my hand on the doorknob. "What is it?"

  "Okay. I don't know what happened, but I'll tell you what I do know. Can I go after that?"

  "I can't make any promises. Your prints were lifted from evidence found at the scene. We're still checking for your prints at other crime scenes."

  "I wasn't at any crime scenes!" She rubbed her arms.

  "If your prints are found at more crime scenes, it won't look good for you. If you've got an explanation, you'd better start talking."

  "I can't believe this is happening to me." Her hand trembled as she pushed hair away from her face. "I've never even had a parking ticket."

  "Start talking."

  "I'm just not sure and don't want to get anyone in trouble."

  "Let me explain something to you in case you haven't figured it out." I leaned in close. "Right now, you're the one in trouble."

  She stared, blinking rapidly.

  I opened the door and Theresa came in.

  "I'm done with her." I didn't have to pretend to be in bad-cop mode now. "It's time to lock her up."

  "You can't do that!"

  "Watch me." I kicked her chair. "Get up."

  "I'll take care of it," Theresa said.

  Patricia trudged toward the door.

  Theresa led her away to be processed. I wanted to punch something—or someone.

  Theresa and I rode to the Campses' home to discuss the phone call made to Patricia. The Toyota Prius was in the driveway. We walked up to the door and it opened.

  "Detectives, I don't have time to answer questions now." Camps pulled the door closed behind him.

  "Make the time or you can come to the station with us and answer our questions there." I stood before him. "Your choice. It makes no difference to me."

  He glanced at his car, then his watch, and sighed. "All right." He unlocked the door and entered his house.

  Theresa and I followed. I got out my notepad.

  "What's this about now?" Camps stood in the living room and scowled.

  "This is about your phone call to Patricia O'Riley Monday evening between seven and eight o'clock."

  "I didn't call Patty that Monday night. I'm sure of it."

  I pulled out the phone records and showed him the call. "Is this your cell phone number?"

  He ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, it is."

  "Well, then let's say that a call was made from your phone to Patricia's," I said.

  "I don't understand."

  "Too bad because we were expecting you to explain." Somebody needed to, and soon.

  Camps plopped onto the sofa. "I was at the adoption class that night."

  "Right." I put the phone records in my purse and sat in a chair. The recorder went on the ottoman.

  "Did you call her during a break?" Theresa settled on the opposite end of the sofa.

  Camps stared at her as if he hadn't realized she was there until now. "People were asking me questions during the break, so I didn't get one." He continued to shake his head. "Why does this matter?"

  "Why did you leave the adoption class?" I flipped through my notes. Carmen Delgado hadn't been sure how long he'd been gone.

  "How did you…oh, Carmen." He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched it. "I had a personal matter to attend to."

  "What type of personal matter?" I asked.

  "My wife wasn't feeling well and I was worried about her, so I left to check on her."

  "What was wrong with Fran?" I asked.

  "She was really sick and I was worried. That's all." He focused on the floor. "Anything else?"

  "Where is Fran now?"

  "She had a doctor's appointment." Camps stood and paced, then dropped into a chair.

  "What kind of doctor?"

  "That's personal."

  "I agree. Answer the question." I tried to lock eyes with him, but it wasn't easy because he was looking at everything in the room except me. That was enough to get a read.

  He stared at the floor for several moments, then peered at me with tears in his eyes. All right. Now we're cooking.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The doorknob twisted and we all looked that way. Rebecca pranced into the house in a tight knit dress and heels that must've been at least six inches high. "Hey, Marky! Having a party without me? Shame on you." Marky?

  "It's not a party." He wiped his eyes and glared at me. "You have to leave now."

  Yeah, right. I wasn't going anywhere. "We're not done yet, Camps." What the he
ll was going on?

  "Marky, what are you up to?" Rebecca perched on the arm of Camps' chair, crossed her slender legs, and ruffled his hair.

  "Stop." He leaned away from her and smoothed his hair.

  Now that was interesting. "What's the story here?" I wagged my finger between the two of them. "What do you two have going on?"

  "Nothing. You have to go." Camps pushed himself up, but Rebecca shoved him back down. Who was in charge here?

  "Baby, where are you going?" She pouted, then puckered her lips. "Give Becky some sugar."

  Camps stood and paced. Perspiration stained his shirt. He looked me in the eye. "Please. Can we do this another time?" He glanced sideways at Rebecca.

  I shook my head. "We're not going. I want to talk to Fran."

  Rebecca leaned her head back and laughed, slapping her thigh. "Fran? Franny's gone. Poof, like smoke in the rain."

  Camps spun around. "She's. Not. Gone."

  "Oh, but she is. She couldn't handle it. Poor thing." Rebecca dropped sideways into the chair and hung her long legs over the edge, ankles crossed.

  "What do you mean gone?" I stared at her.

  "G-O-N-E. Gone with the wind—and I'm not talking about the movie." She smirked.

  "Shut up!" Spittle sprayed the air. Some clung to Camps' lips. The man had gone rabid angry.

  I watched him. "Where's Fran?" I was getting tired of repeating myself.

  "I told you. She went to a doctor's appointment." He swiped his hand across his mouth.

  "Marky's always been a wuss. Haven't you Marky?"

  Camps rushed over and got in her face. "Shut your mouth!"

  Theresa and I got between them. She pulled Camps aside. Rebecca sat there swinging her legs, grinning. She sure knew how to push his buttons.

  I closed in on Rebecca. "You need to explain what you meant when you said Fran wasn't able to handle it." I stepped closer. "Handle what?" Rebecca was at the top of my shit list now.

  She shrugged. "Life. Fran couldn't handle life."

  I was beginning to wonder about Camps. I glanced at him. "She's talking in past tense."

  Camps' nostrils flared as he glared at Rebecca.

  "Did she commit suicide?" I asked.

  "Hell no! Franny didn't have the guts to do that. I wouldn't let her anyway."

  "Why not? You don't seem to like her much," I said. Hell, she didn't seem to like Camps either. Did she like anyone she wasn't sleeping with?

  "Yeah. You're right. I didn't like her. She was a wimp. I didn't respect her, but I needed her." She glanced at Camps. "Right Marky?" She dug through her purse, pulling out a pack of Kools.

  Great. Another smoker. "And Patricia? How does she fit in?"

  "She doesn't. She's a tramp." Takes one to know one, I figured. Rebecca pulled a lighter from her purse.

  "You know you can't smoke in here!" Camps gritted his teeth.

  I'd had enough of their arguing. I turned to Theresa. "Can you take him into the kitchen?" I stood over Rebecca. "It's just you and me now. Tell me where Fran is or I'll take you down to the station and we can talk there." I'd love to get her into Interrogation—on my turf.

  "Well, now, here's the thing. I don't have to go if I don't want to. I've dated cops and lawyers. I know the law." She winked.

  I wanted to slap that smug smile off her face—and the wink, too. "From what you've said, I'm getting the idea that you've done something to Fran. We all heard you and it's recorded." I pointed to the recorder. "Have you heard of probable cause?" I raised my brows and flashed a smirk—the same kind she'd been giving me.

  She looked around the room. "I didn't do anything to Franny. She did it to herself."

  "Did what to herself? You're talking in riddles." She was a piece of work and I wasn't in the mood. Not anymore. I went into the kitchen. "Camps, I want you to call Fran's doctor and find out if she ever made it to her appointment."

  He removed his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at the display. "There's no signal."

  Theresa took her phone out and handed it to him. "Try mine."

  I left the kitchen and went back to Rebecca, the bitch from hell.

  "I'm telling you, Franny is fine." Rebecca held up her fingers. "Girl Scouts honor." Rebecca swung her legs around to the front of the chair and started to stand.

  I stood in front of her. "Sit down!"

  "I just want a smoke. Sheesh." She leaned back, looked over her shoulder at Camps. "Marky has a stick up his ass, as usual—and so do you."

  I leaned down and got in her face again. "Where's Fran?"

  "You sound like a broken record—or a parrot, Detective Whatever."

  Theresa and Camps came into the living room. Camps' face was flushed. The man was going to stroke out if he didn't get a grip.

  "What did you find out?"

  "Fran kept her appointment and left an hour ago," Theresa whispered. Then where the hell was she?

  I gazed at Camps. "Would she have come right home after her appointment?"

  "Yes. I'm sure she's fine. Detectives, can we talk later?" He walked to the door, taking long strides. He couldn't wait for us to leave.

  I didn't move. "We're not leaving."

  "Why are you trying to get rid of them Marky? Got something to hide?" Rebecca put her feet up on the ottoman. "Or is it someone to hide?"

  Camps snarled, charged across the room and grabbed her, shaking her. She clawed and kicked at him. Theresa and I pulled them apart. Part of me didn't want to get there too quickly.

  Camps slumped on the sofa, trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Becky." He cradled his face in his hands, shaking his head. Sorry for shaking her—or something else?

  "We're going to have to cuff you if you don't settle down," Theresa said. "She could press charges, you know. Do you want to press charges, Rebecca?"

  We all looked at Rebecca, expecting a nasty response. She had curled up in a fetal position in the chair, rocking herself. She scanned the room, eyes vacant. She shivered and sobbed. Camps leapt from the sofa and headed toward her. What now?

  Her eyes widened and she put her hands up. "No! Get away!" she shrieked. It was the voice of a young girl. What the hell?

  "Camps, get back!" I got between them. "Get away from her."

  "She's not talking about me. She needs me." He lurched toward Rebecca.

  I held him. Theresa pushed him back, then cuffed him. He twisted away and fell to the floor on his stomach. We left him there.

  "I need to go to her." Camps struggled and rolled.

  "Don't hurt me. No!" Rebecca cringed, made herself smaller and pushed her face into the back cushion. She kept her eyes on us. "Cecil, don't hurt me. I promise I'll be good. I won't tell."

  "Cecil?" Theresa frowned. "Judge Cecil Franklin?"

  "Probably." All of a sudden, a bunch of puzzle pieces fell into place. "How many Cecils have you known in your life?" My voice came out gritty. I eased closer, sitting on the edge of the sofa near her. "Nobody's going to hurt you, Rebecca."

  She turned her head around slowly and gazed at me. "I'm not Rebecca," she whispered.

  I shuddered at the picture the puzzle pieces were making. The tips of icy fingers crept down my spine. I turned to Camps, who had managed to flip onto his back. "What's going on here?"

  He stared at the ceiling, shaking his head. Tears streamed down the side of his face.

  I leaned toward Rebecca. "What's your name?" I spoke softly.

  "Janey." Oh, boy.

  "That's a pretty name." I forced a smile. "How old are you, Janey?"

  She held up seven fingers.

  Shit. I locked eyes with Theresa, jerked my head toward the door and met her over there.

  "We need the Psych Unit," I said.

  "I'll take care of it." Theresa took out her cell phone.

  I went back to Rebecca—I mean Janey. Whoever. "Janey, we're going to help you."

  She put a finger to her lips. "Shhh. Don't let Cecil find out," she whispered, eyes wide.

  "W
ho's Cecil?"

  "My foster brother." She sniffled. "What time is it?"

  I looked at my watch. “It's almost four o'clock.”

  Janey's gaze darted about the room. "Oh, no! He'll be home from school. I want Blanky and Ted."

  "Who?" I looked around the room.

  "The ottoman storage compartment. Lift the lid," Camps said.

  "I can't get a signal." Theresa held up her cell phone. "I'm going to radio it in if I can't get a signal outside." She headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

  "All right." I lifted the ottoman lid and found a tattered blanket and a one-eyed scruffy teddy bear—the ones I'd seen here before. I gave both to Janey. She snatched them and snuggled with the teddy bear. She stuck a corner of the blanket in her mouth and chewed it. So, that's why the blanket and teddy bear had been lying out earlier.

  I stepped over to Camps and knelt. "You want to tell me what you know?" The teddy bear zoomed past my head. I jumped up and spun to see Janey sitting up in the chair, body rigid, glaring at me. Her face had changed. It was harder and more angular.

  "Get away from him." The raspy voice sounded male now—and older.

  "Who are you?" I glanced at the door.

  "This is a family matter. You need to leave or I'll take care of you, too."

  "Too? Did you do something to Fran?"

  He laughed. "Sweet, sweet, Fran."

  "Well, did you hurt her?"

  "I'd never hurt Fran. I protected her." He stood.

  "Stay where you are!"

  He crept toward me, wobbling in the heels. He stumbled, but regained his balance. "That damn Rebecca!" He removed the heels and threw them across the room, knocking over a vase. He was closer to the door than I was.

  "I protect my family." He moved like a cheetah stalking its prey.

  Camps struggled and kicked. "Todd! Stop. Don't do anything. Please!"

  Todd? How many were there?

  Todd looked at Camps and scowled. "Look at you—lying there like a wrangled calf waiting to be branded." He laughed viciously. "You're weak. I'm in control now. You didn't protect the girls." He edged closer to me. "Don't worry. I will."

  Rebecca had alters coming and going. I felt outnumbered. Theresa, where are you? "Did you kill Judge Franklin?" Keep him talking.

  Todd snorted. "That's not your concern, cop bitch!"