by Brenda Novak
“I’d say a good five days.”
Five days… That took the murder back to Sunday, which was awfully close to Saturday, the night April Bonner had met Butch Vaughn at the Pour House.
Francesca sat alone at a table in the Palace Restaurant and Bar in downtown Prescott. Touted as the oldest frontier saloon in Arizona, the Palace had been in operation since 1875 or thereabouts. But, according to the story she’d read on a placard posted here in the historic district, in 1900 a drunken miner kicked over a kerosene lamp and started a fire that destroyed most of the town, including the Palace and a lot of other saloons on what was then called Whiskey Row. Even the state’s first capitol building, a log cabin, had burned to the ground.
Fortunately, some of the men who were there that night were either sober enough or smart enough to drag the highly carved bar, which had come all the way from New Jersey, out of the Palace and into the street. They continued to drink and watch the fire from there, but when the saloon was rebuilt a year later, the bar took its rightful place once again. Now it stretched along the wall to Francesca’s left. Memorabilia, including guns, ammunition, money and other artifacts from the 1800s, as well as bits and pieces of information about Palace regulars like Doc Holliday, the Earp Brothers and Big Nose Kate, hung on the rest of the walls. She studied these relics as she listened to a honky-tonk piano player, who was dressed in period costume, and waited for her burger.
Hungry though she was after skipping breakfast, she doubted she could eat. What she’d witnessed in Skull Valley was too new, too present in her mind. She’d spent an hour with Jonah and the investigators at the sheriff’s station afterward, sharing what she knew about April, but that suddenly seemed like a thimbleful of information compared to what there should have been to adequately represent a life. April had never been married. She’d had just two romantic relationships in her life, only one that lasted a year. She’d been thrilled to finally meet someone when she began e-mailing back and forth with “Harry Statham.” All the other teachers at her school, even the principal, talked about how happy the promise of their “love” had made her. And Francesca could see why. Harry had pretended to be everything a woman could want. Claiming he was a widower who’d lost his wife six months earlier, he’d flattered her with compliments on her picture and the cleverness of her responses, told her he wanted to take care of her for the rest of her life and keep her safe. He’d sent her gifts, too.
Francesca had read the e-mails she’d found on April’s computer, but thinking of them hit her harder today than ever, and she wasn’t ready to drive home yet. After losing her purse, her cell phone, her car and office keys, even the security she’d once enjoyed at her house, she felt she’d been cast adrift, somehow cut off from regular life. She couldn’t even retreat to Adriana’s, which would’ve been natural for her under any other circumstances. Suddenly, after more than a decade, Jonah stood between them again. No way did she want to discuss his presence at her place this morning, but she knew any conversation they had would be awkward if she didn’t.
So she’d chosen to recuperate at the Palace. The old saloon wouldn’t remind her of the years she’d spent in the police academy and, subsequently, as a rookie cop with Jonah, her confrontation with Butch yesterday, the body at the gift shop or the fact that this morning’s find might be connected to April Bonner’s disappearance as well as seven other murders. She loved history, spent at least one weekend a month visiting Arizona’s many ghost towns. But the upbeat music, the chatter of the tourists who streamed through, the high ceilings and wooden floors, didn’t carry her away as she’d hoped. She kept picturing the abused corpse propped outside the gift shop and thinking about the bat Butch had wielded so eagerly.
Whoever had killed that woman had done so in a brutal manner. If it was Butch, he was one sick bastard. And that sick bastard seemed to have become fixated on her. She even wondered if he’d dug April—assuming this was April—out of the ground and placed her in the center of Skull Valley as some sort of message. Why would he provide the police with a body, which could offer so much evidence and other information, unless he had a compelling reason?
Yesterday’s events could’ve given him that compelling reason. She’d gone to his salvage yard to search for April and brought the police down on him. And he’d basically flipped her off by delivering what she wanted in any condition but the way she preferred.
He was the real deal. So why hadn’t he tried to enter her house when he had her in such a vulnerable position last night? Why had he settled for letting her know what he could have done?
Because he thought he could get to her anytime he wanted….
The waitress appeared with her meal.
Francesca managed to smile and offer a brief thanks, and then attempted to eat a French fry or two. But she couldn’t taste the food and her stomach felt too queasy to force it down.
Giving up without touching her burger, she tossed fifteen bucks on the table and left the relative safety of the Palace. As much as she wanted to blend in with the shoppers outside and be anonymous for a while, she needed to get to a pay phone and call her assistant. Heather must be going crazy. She hadn’t heard from Francesca all day. They usually kept in fairly close touch. But then, Francesca usually had a cell phone.
That was what she needed to solve first, she decided. She had to shake off her fatigue and her reaction to the events of the past twenty-four hours and buy a new cell. While she was waiting for her phone to be activated, she could use one of the other phones at the store to call Heather; Heather could make sure her home line was repaired and check in with the locksmith, who hadn’t been able to leave a message because of her severed line.
But in order to buy a new phone, she needed to withdraw some money from the bank. And without her ATM card or her ID that wouldn’t be easy.
Fortunately, she knew the manager of her local branch. She could only hope he’d believe her about her purse being stolen. She’d try to get there before closing and hit the DMV tomorrow. There wouldn’t be enough time to do everything in what was left of today.
Butch had put her in a real bind.
And this might be just the beginning.
“Hey, I’m taking off.”
Jonah blinked, realized where he was and lifted his head off the desk to see Dr. Price at the door. He’d gone into the back office to check his e-mail and contact a forensic profiler he’d used in the past and must’ve fallen asleep. Fatigue still dragged at him, but he was hoping he’d feel better in a few minutes. At least he’d had a nap. “Good. You need a break, a chance to return to regular life,” he told her.
“I don’t really have a choice. It’s my daughter’s birth day and I promised to watch the kids so she and her husband can go to dinner. You can’t let work take over completely, you know? You have to draw a line somewhere.”
He got the impression that pep talk was aimed more at herself than him, but she was right. She needed to be there for her kids, despite the case they were working on. “I agree.”
She arched a motherly eyebrow at him. “I hope you’re going to leave, too.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because a two-hour nap won’t compensate for all the sleep you’ve lost in the past few days. We can’t run ourselves into the ground, Jonah. We’ve got to be fresh in order to do our jobs.”
That was true, too. But in a situation where every minute counted, taking time off felt as if he was putting lives at risk. After this morning, he was more motivated than ever to remain vigilant. “Does that mean you’ll be heading home after you babysit?”
A wry smile curved her lips. “We’ll see what time the lovebirds get back.”
“Right.” He chuckled at her evasive reply, knew that if the “lovebirds” got home early she’d wind up here until midnight or after. “Have you heard from Finch or Hunsacker?” he asked before she could go.
“No.”
“Thanks. Enjoy your grandkids. And be safe.”
�
�I will. Get some dinner, okay?” She threw those parting words over her shoulder. Then he heard the main door close as she went out and checked his phone for a list of the calls he’d missed while he was asleep.
Nothing from the investigators. Had they heard from the pathologist? Had they been able to identify the body they’d removed from Skull Valley this morning? It was a bit early to hope they had, but Finch had said the M.E. planned to do the autopsy right away. That was exactly what Jonah thought should happen. Because they were looking at such a prolific killer, the wheels of justice needed to move a lot faster than usual.
With a yawn, he scrubbed his face with one hand and continued down the list of missed calls. He hadn’t heard from Francesca, either. Other than leaving a message with her assistant, which he’d already done, he had no way of getting in touch with her.
He should’ve brought her here after their meeting so she could see what they were working with. But she’d left the sheriff’s station rather suddenly, while he was speaking to Finch and Hunsacker about the woman who found the corpse. He hadn’t gone after her because he’d known that what she’d seen had upset her. He’d felt she needed some space.
Now he regretted giving her that space. He had no idea where she was or where she planned to spend the night. He hoped it wasn’t at home again. Maybe Butch had only been playing with her when he showed up next to her pool last night, but a man like that could get serious very fast.
Taking a deep breath, he dialed Finch, who answered immediately.
“Investigator Finch.”
“Hey, where are you?”
“At the morgue with Dr. Jernigan. We’re in the middle of the autopsy.”
“Anything useful?”
“Lacerations in the vaginal cavity suggest she was raped.”
“Before or after death?”
“Before.”
“And the cause of death?”
“Blunt-force trauma. Unless she was also poisoned, which we won’t know until we get the tox screens back.”
Blunt-force trauma came as no surprise. Neither did the rape. “Is there any trace evidence that might help us identify her attacker?”
“No, but now we have a better chance of identifying the victim without having to resort to dental records, although we’ll probably go that route just to confirm.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She has a tattoo on her inside right thigh—a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.”
Jonah rubbed the razor stubble on his chin, realized he hadn’t shaved or showered today and decided to head over to his motel so he could clean up. “That seems pretty distinctive,” he said as he shut down the computer he’d been using. “Did April Bonner have a tattoo like that?”
“We’re trying to find out. I’ve contacted Mesa P.D. but the detective in charge of the case is out on a family emergency and the guy who’s stepping in for him hasn’t even had time to look at the file. He said he’d dig it out and get back to me, but I’m guessing I won’t hear from him until tomorrow.”
“Francesca might know whether April had a butterfly tattoo.” He took his car keys out of his pocket and turned off the lights in the office. “If she doesn’t, she could always check with the sister who hired her.”
“I thought of that, but I can’t reach her.”
“Her cell’s gone and her home phone’s out. I told you what happened last night.”
“I know. I was hoping the home line had been fixed, but whenever I call, it rings off the hook.”
Jonah’s eyes skimmed over all the bones, broken and otherwise, lying on the tables in the main room as he let himself out. Two of Dr. Price’s helpers were still working. They glanced up when they heard his voice and waved goodbye.
“That’s probably not unusual,” he told Finch. “Depending on workload, it could take the phone company a week or two to get out there.” But being unable to reach Francesca made him uneasy all the same. “What about her office?”
“Tried that. Spoke to some receptionist who said she’d give her a message. Past few hours the receptionist hasn’t even picked up. My call transfers directly to voice mail.”
The assistant, someone named Heather, had promised to relay a message for Jonah, too, but that was it. She wouldn’t share any information on whether or not her boss was in, had been in or would be in. “Shit.”
“You seriously think Francesca might be next on Butch’s list?” Finch sounded skeptical. Or maybe he only wished the situation wasn’t what it seemed.
Jonah’s rented Volvo chirped as he pressed the unlock button on his key ring. “You don’t?”
“That’d be pretty damn bold. He’s got to know that if she gets hurt, he instantly becomes our number-one suspect. Would he really put himself right between our crosshairs?”
The heat of the day had blasted Jonah like a furnace the second he walked outside, but the inside of the car was even hotter. “No matter what we suspect, we’d still have the burden of proving it. And he thinks he can out-smart us.”
“You really believe he’s that confident?”
Jonah slipped on his sunglasses, started the engine and cranked the air conditioner to high before taking off. Fortunately, his motel wasn’t far. About the time the interior of the car grew comfortable, he’d be getting out again. But it would be insufferable without some air coming through those vents. “He outsmarted us yesterday, didn’t he? We were forced to leave with our tails between our legs while he kept Francesca’s personal belongings.”
“That wasn’t our fault.”
“Maybe it was. Maybe there was something in that salvage yard Hunsacker should’ve seen or found or suspected. He couldn’t have performed a very thorough search, not in the time they were there. They had ten acres to cover. And let’s face it, he was probably shown that mannequin, thought he understood what had caused the problem and decided he was wasting his time, so he searched with half an eye. Either way, Butch Vaughn won. Easily. And I’m sure that only confirmed his belief that he can get away with anything.”
Silence. Then Finch said, “Hunsacker admits he could’ve performed a more thorough search. I’ve discussed it with him. He was embarrassed when he saw the mannequin and started to backpedal in case he invited a lawsuit or some blight on his record.”
“There you go.”
“Stealing a purse is a far cry from murder, though.”
“He was the last person to see April Bonner alive. Even if the body at the morgue isn’t April, she’s still missing. Something happened to her after she met up with Butch Saturday night.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll put Vaughn under surveillance until we can figure out what the hell is going on.”
“That should help.” If Finch had a couple of uniforms keep an eye on Butch, Francesca could go home tonight. She might even be able to begin rebuilding her sense of security. Jonah felt better already. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with her, tell her what’s going on and find out if she knows anything about a tattoo.”
“How are you gonna do that? Drive all the way out there?”
“If I have to,” he said, and hung up. But he knew he had one other option. Adriana would probably be able to tell him where to find Francesca or how to reach her. Maybe Francesca was even at her house. But contacting the woman with whom he’d made the biggest mistake of his life wasn’t something he wanted to do.
9
Adriana had never expected to hear from Jonah again. After that night when she’d taken him home with her, they’d spoken only a few times. He’d apologized the following morning, as soon as he saw he was in her bed, even though what’d happened was more her fault than his, and he hadn’t called her after that.
No doubt it would’ve ended there, but then she’d found out she was pregnant and arranged to meet him. When she broke the news about the baby, he’d responded calmly, politely. Except for the sudden tightening of his jaw, he’d been careful not to reveal how upset he was. To his cr
edit, he’d assumed full responsibility and said he’d pay for whatever she chose to do. But when he asked her what that might be, she’d had to face the truth—he was offering her money to fix his mistake. He wasn’t suddenly realizing that he’d loved her all along. Sleeping with him hadn’t changed anything. Being pregnant didn’t change anything, either. He’d never cared about her the way he cared about Francesca, and he never would.
Adriana couldn’t remember anything else in her life ever hurting quite as much as his rejection. It wasn’t that she’d meant to get pregnant. She hadn’t. They’d used protection. But she couldn’t deny that she’d harbored some hope that the baby would bring them together. She’d wanted Jonah badly enough that she’d risked her relationship with Francesca, and would’ve done so again if he’d been the least bit receptive. Which made her feel like the worst person in the world. What kind of woman stabbed her best friend in the back over a guy? It didn’t help to see how heartbroken and regretful he was because of what they’d done. She’d never forget his hollow-eyed, haggard appearance when he met her that night at Starbucks. She remembered thinking at the time that he must not have slept since they’d been together.
She still felt guilty about her role in what had occurred. Nothing would’ve happened if she hadn’t chosen to believe his drunken advances actually meant he had feelings for her. So she was grateful when Francesca had managed to forgive her. Somehow, they’d repaired their friendship and put her actions behind them. She’d thought it was all over, at last.
And now this. Jonah was back. She’d seen him at Francesca’s this morning, and he was on the phone with her right now.
“How’d you get my number?” She glanced into the living room where her two boys had been watching TV but were currently wrestling on the floor. Normally, she would’ve scolded them. She was afraid someone would get hurt or knock over a lamp. But today she let them go. At least they were occupied and didn’t seem to notice that she was suddenly having difficulty breathing.