Cut to the Quick

by Dianne Emley

  “Nan, I can’t let you go down there and meet this guy in a dark alley. You’re the one who’s all about officer safety. You told me not to go around Niland by myself and you were right.”

  She didn’t say anything at first. She knew there was no getting around him going with her, plus he was right. She had no business going there alone. She had no business taking Nitro’s necklace and threatening him either, but there she was. Trapped.

  “I’ll drive,” she said.

  “That’s all right. I’ll drive.”

  Kissick parked the Crown Vic near the Big G’s emergency room doors.

  “There he is.” Vining said. She started to get out of the car and he began to open his door.

  “I don’t think we should both go,” she said. “One of us should stay and observe.”

  “Why?”

  “Two of us showing up might spook him.”

  “Nan, you’re here to pick up something that belongs to you. We’re not doing a drug deal.”

  “Okay. Fine. Let me tell you this. That cash I got out of the ATM. It’s not for me. It’s for him. The psych tech.”

  “What? He’s extorting you? How much does he want?”

  “Two hundred.”

  “Bullshit.” He looked at her as if he couldn’t comprehend her. He got out and slammed the door.

  She knew better than to press the issue. She was glad not to pay Chapel the money. The only reason she had gone along with the extortion was her feeling that it might buy her some confidentiality about their dealings. She knew there was no guarantee of that anyway. She’d rather keep the money. The withdrawl had nearly cleaned out her checking account until payday.

  They approached the psych tech.

  “Who’s he?” Chapel threw down his cigarette butt and ground it out near a sign on a post that said “No Smoking. No Fumar.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Vining said. “Where’s my letter?”

  He took the envelope from the shirt pocket of his uniform.

  Vining immediately recognized the handwriting. The scrawl in black fountain pen ink was the same as on the note that had accompanied her pearl necklace. She felt more triumphant than afraid. He was coming out of the shadows. She was his unfinished project. He couldn’t resist completing it.

  Try it. Go ahead.

  She took the envelope from Chapel, holding it by the corner. She would have it analyzed for fingerprints. Finding T. B. Mann’s on it would confirm it came from him, but they wouldn’t help her find him. He’d left prints at the El Alisal house, and they hadn’t turned up in any of the criminal databases.

  She slipped the envelope into her slacks pocket.

  “Okay, thanks.” She and Kissick turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Chapel said. “Not so fast. Where’s my money?”

  Vining turned back. “No money.”

  Chapel aggressively stepped forward. “We had a deal.”

  He was bigger than Vining, but she knew how to hit him where it hurt and hit him fast, bringing him to his knees. She sensed Kissick tensing beside her, coiling to strike.

  Vining met Chapel’s eyes and shook her head.

  “That’s a bunch of crap,” he said. “I didn’t have to call you. You wouldn’t have known anything if I hadn’t called you.”

  Kissick’s voice was low and even, but he more than made his point. “You were attempting to extort a police officer. You’re lucky we don’t arrest you.”

  “Fucking cops.” Chapel raised a corner of his upper lip, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “Come down here and take whatever the hell you want. A patient’s personal property, whatever. I took a ration of shit because I gave you Nitro’s necklace. I had to explain to my boss, ‘Well, you know, she said it looked like one that was stolen in Pasadena.’ ”

  Vining felt a red flush prickle her chest. It would soon move up her neck and engulf her face.

  Kissick betrayed no emotion. Vining, however, detected a shift, as if his aura had changed hue.

  Chapel looked down, scuffed his shoe on the ground, and tried again. “C’mon. You’ve got twenty bucks in this for me, don’t you?”

  Kissick said, “Get lost.”

  He turned to leave and Vining did as well, glad to be out of one awkward situation, but knowing she was about to step into another.

  “Fucking shit-ass cops,” Chapel said to their backs.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Kissick opened the driver’s door and got in.

  In the passenger seat, Vining turned her head and fumbled with the seat belt. After she latched it, there was no place else she could look except at him.

  “What went on there?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Whatever went on. You saw.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You confiscated Nitro’s necklace?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  Their eyes didn’t leave each other’s. She knew he wouldn’t believe her story about the necklace matching a report of one that had been stolen, so she didn’t float it.

  “You’re not telling me everything.”

  “Right,” she agreed.

  He scratched his neck and turned away.

  She knew he wouldn’t press further now, but would later. When he reached to turn the key in the ignition, she said, “Let me borrow your Swiss Army knife.”

  He took out his keys, pulled down the small blade from the red knife’s set of utensils, and gave it to her.

  She sliced open the envelope. Inside was a card with a note written in that familiar spidery scrawl. It said “Officer Vining, your daughter looks just like you.”

  She again met Kissick’s eyes and said, “Emily.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Kissick sped to Mt. Washington Code Three—lights and siren.

  Vining called Emily while they were en route. It was late, but the girl was still up, as was her habit during summer vacation.

  Vining tried to remain calm, but nearly lost it when Em answered the phone.

  “I’m reading. What’s wrong, Mom? Are you okay?”

  Hearing the anxiety spike in her daughter’s voice made Vining wonder if maybe Kaitlyn, Emily’s stepmother, was right after all about Vining’s profession being a destructive influence on her daughter. Vining felt that she herself could endure anything except seeing her daughter suffer, especially when she was the cause.

  “I’m okay, sweet pea. I need you to pack some things. You’re going to stay with your dad for a few days.”

  Emily, every bit her mother’s daughter, watchful and perspicacious, and, sadly, too aware of life’s dark corners, said simply, “It’s him.”

  Vining imagined her daughter rising from the easy chair where she’d likely been reading. Neither of them was good at taking bad news sitting down.

  “Yes.” Vining had already decided there was no point in glossing over the situation to Emily. Both of them preferred concrete facts, even if they were tough, over soft theories about what might be. Vining had tried to shield her daughter from the truth before, but it had never worked. Truth, like evil, follows its own course, like a river.

  “Em, he left me a message. A note.”

  “Where? Did you see him?”

  “I didn’t see him. He left it someplace where he knew I would go. Not at the house or at work.”

  “What did the note say?”

  In her mind, Vining saw the handwriting.

  Officer Vining, your daughter looks just like you.

  “It’s like a taunt. He’s jumped onto the chaos surrounding the double homicide and is manipulating it.”

  “He’s messing with your mind. Scaring us.”

  “I believe so.”

  “He’s like a terrorist.”

  After picking Emily up and making sure the house was secure, Kissick drove the thirty miles to Calabasas. At that late hour, traffic was light, but there were still plenty of cars on the road.

  Vining was quiet with her thoughts, and Emily was
sullen. After initially being cooperative about going to stay with her dad, the girl’s adolescent defiance had found its teeth.

  Kissick tried to keep the conversation light, talking about a movie he’d gone to see with his sons. Vining politely participated while Emily sulked. Conversation trailed into silence after the discussion had run its course.

  While Vining appreciated his efforts, she and Emily were elsewhere. If T. B. Mann wanted to get their attention, he’d succeeded.

  Emily grabbed on to Vining’s seat and leaned forward. “But Mom, if T. B. Mann is just trying to scare us, why are we letting him? Why are we leaving the house?”

  “Jim and I have to go out of town, possibly overnight, to follow a lead, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “We can’t keep running. When can I go home? Aubrey and I and a bunch of us were going to go to the movies tomorrow. I already told you. Remember?”

  Vining didn’t remember. “You might have to miss it if I’m not back by then.”

  “Mom, I told you. I had plans.”

  “Your plans have changed. I don’t want you in that house alone when I’m three hours away.”

  “Granny can stay with me.”

  Emily flung herself against the backseat with a huff, her arms tightly folded across her chest. “I hate running. I thought we weren’t going to run. That we weren’t going to let him control our lives or mess things up more than he already has.”

  “Em.” Vining’s tone conveyed the message that the conversation was over.

  Kissick kept his eyes on the road and drove.

  He knew too well the devastating effects of crime on its victims, including the victims’ loved ones, especially a crime as heinous as the one inflicted upon Vining. Listening to Vining and Emily, hearing their tension and anger, brought it home to him in a personal way. He was still the lead investigator in Vining’s murder attempt case. The unsolved cases haunted the most, but this one did especially. He’d never had such a close relationship with a victim before, and didn’t like what it was doing to his objectivity. He’d experienced victims holding back the truth to protect their assailants if they were afraid of the assailant or if he or she was a loved one. Neither of these reasons explained why Vining wouldn’t tell him what the deal was with Nitro’s pearl necklace. He’d given her the chance to tell him what was going on and she’d chosen not to. Only one explanation made sense—Vining was cowboying, going it alone. The Lone Ranger, again. Her bad habit was affecting his ability to do his job, both his official job and his personal commitment to protect his loved ones, which included Vining and Emily.

  As he drove, his anger with Vining grew. He would pick the time and place, but he would get to the bottom of what she was up to. He fell into his own heavy silence.

  After exiting the 101, they drove down clean streets lined with older storefront businesses interspersed with newer Southwestern-inspired mini-malls. Kissick took a road that led back into golden rolling hills and arrived at the entrance to a gated neighborhood tucked there. He stopped at a kiosk, waking up a gray-haired guard inside. He flashed his shield.

  Vining leaned across and explained that they were dropping off her daughter.

  When they had driven through the gates, Vining goaded Kissick. “Just couldn’t resist badging him.”

  “It’s who I am, Nan,” he responded dryly. He followed Vining’s directions through the exclusive housing development, wending up to the crest of a hill, where the largest homes with the best views were located.

  “It’s the big white one there,” Vining said. “I haven’t seen it since they finished the addition.”

  Kissick whistled. “They added on to this thing?”

  “Yep. The media room and family room weren’t big enough,” Vining explained. “And they wanted a full gym. They added two thousand square feet, so it’s now about ten thousand.”

  “Where’s the moat?” Kissick joked.

  “Now the house looks even more like Tara,” Emily added with a touch of sarcasm. “Gone with the Wind is Kaitlyn’s favorite movie.”

  “Where shall I go? What shall I do?” Kissick pondered in a falsetto Scarlett O’Hara voice, working to lighten the mood.

  “How about pulling into the driveway and stopping the car?” Vining said.

  Kissick followed her orders but chided, “Come on, Vining. That’s not the right answer. Ladies, work with me here.”

  Emily and Vining recited at the same time, “Frankly, my dear, we don’t give a damn!”

  “A little too much enthusiasm, but okay.”

  Then Kissick was distracted by a lithesome woman standing on the front porch. She wore a low-cut cotton shift that showed off her reed-thin figure and substantial assets.

  A large yellow Labrador obediently stood beside her, trembling with excitement.

  “The dreaded Kaitlyn, I presume,” Kissick said.

  Vining felt a twinge of guilt over all the Kaitlyn-bashing she’d done, though some of it was well-deserved. Kaitlyn had lured a married man from his home and young daughter. Granted, Wes wasn’t an unwilling patsy. Still, Vining could only imagine Kaitlyn’s romantic pillow talk early on: “It’s not fair for you to be so unhappy, Wes.…”

  But now, Kaitlyn had walked in Vining’s shoes. “She’s just making her way, like the rest of us.”

  Kissick paused in opening his door, one eyebrow arched. “Did you get religion or something, Nan?”

  She got out and shot back as she headed toward the house, “Things change, James. Things change.”

  Emily bolted from the car and called, “Woofster!” Her malaise dissipated at the sight of the Lab.

  She dropped to her knees on the grass and the dog bounded toward her, knocking her over. They wrestled on the lawn, the dog prancing and barking. He licked Emily’s face while she laughed and tried to restrain his big head.

  Vining smiled.

  She and Kaitlyn exchanged a sincere hug. “Sorry to get you up and to impose on you like this.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. I’m glad to help.”

  “I really appreciate it. Meet my partner and friend, Jim Kissick.”

  “Oh, yes … Hello.”

  Vining guessed that Kaitlyn had heard the rumors about romance between them.

  He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Vining saw that he politely and probably with effort kept his eyes on her face. The woman didn’t seem to own clothing that didn’t reveal cleavage. Vining was grateful Caspers wasn’t with them.

  “Very nice to meet you too. Nan, is it bad? What happened?”

  Vining tried to put her at ease. “It’s just confusing. Saber rattling. I have to go out of town overnight for work, and I don’t want Emily to be by herself. Again, I’m sorry to drop this on you at the last minute, Kaitlyn.”

  She took Vining’s hand. “It’s all right, Nan. We’re family.”

  Vining sensed the wistfulness behind Kaitlyn’s words. She gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go. “Is Wes here?”

  “No.” Kaitlyn’s clipped response precluded any follow-up.

  Vining patted her shoulder and moved on. She raised her arms toward the house as if before one of the world’s seven wonders. “Look at the house. It’s spectacular. Wow.” She heaped praised on the house that she loathed, which represented a side of Wes that she despised.

  “Thank you. Come inside and have a look.”

  “Love to.”

  They left Emily playing with the dog on the lawn.

  The new rooms were big, airy, and expensively decorated, with the latest in contemporary furniture styles.

  As Kaitlyn showed them around, Vining detected that she no longer had the enthusiasm she’d once had about her showcase home. Her suspicions were confirmed when Kaitlyn said with a shrug, “Wes wanted the addition more than I did. I almost think he did it to keep me busy.”

  * * *

  Back outside, they said their good-byes.

  Vining was pensive as Kissick
drove out of the development, stopping to wait for the gate to open.

  “That’s a big, expensive place,” he commented. “It’s beautiful, but frankly it reminds me of a hotel, and it’s about as warm. I’ll take my little shack any day.”

  “I love your little shack.”

  “Do you? You missed my barbecue earlier this summer.”

  “We had other plans.”

  “You haven’t even seen the landscaping I put in.”

  During the few months of their brief romance, Vining had spent days off with Kissick looking for authentic fixtures and hardware to restore his Craftsman bungalow at swap meets and salvage yards. She’d since made excuses not to attend the couple of events he’d had. The house was too uniquely him for her to feel comfortable there after they’d split.

  Vining changed the subject. “Kaitlyn’s learned that a house doesn’t make a home.”

  “There’s trouble in paradise?”

  “My grandmother has a saying. ‘When a man marries his mistress, he creates a job opening.’ ”

  “Got it. They’ve got a couple of little kids, don’t they?”

  “Two boys. Kyle’s five and Kelsey’s three.”

  “That’s a shame. Think they’ll get divorced?”

  “Knowing Wes, he’s not going to want to pay more child support. Kaitlyn will get spousal support too. She doesn’t work.”

  “Wasn’t she a hairstylist?”

  “At Supercuts. She used to cut Wes’s hair.”

  “Boy, I need to change where I get my hair cut. My barber is seventy years old, had quadruple bypass surgery, and still smokes two packs a day.”

  She gave him a pained smile.

  “Off to the Salton Sea?”

  “It would be the middle of the night by the time we got there. Maybe it’s better to arrive first thing in the morning when Connie Jenkins opens up her business.” She yawned.

  “You want to go to bed first?”

  She gave him a baleful look.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I hope not. I thought you’d at least buy me dinner first.”

  “Okay. I’d buy you dinner.”

  “I bet you would,” she retorted.

  THIRTY-TWO