“From my interview with Holly, I learned her doctor was scheduled to put a feeding tube in her. Holly didn’t want one despite suffering from malnourishment. Claimed she didn’t need it, that her mother was poisoning her to make her too sick to keep food down. Thus, motive.”
“That’s one thing I don’t get. You grilled a mentally disabled teenager for sixteen hours?”
“First of all, don’t lecture me on procedure, Ballou. I can shit regulations better than you can recite them. Secondly, we had a child advocate present. And third, she’s not as disabled as people think.”
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t get me wrong, she plays the part very well. But trust me, there’s a sharp, wicked little mind in that head of hers. I am not letting her get away with murder.”
I sat there stunned. I wouldn’t have believed it from anyone but Hardin. “So she killed her mother because her mother was making her sick?”
“That’s my theory. And the evidence backs me up.”
“And there’s no connection to these two other women who were abducted from Maryvale earlier this year?”
“Feds believe those cases are part of a human trafficking ring they’re investigating. There’s no connection with the Schwartz case other than location.” He took a slurp of coffee and made a disgusted face. “Anything else? I have murders to solve.”
“Where would Holly hide to avoid jail time?”
“Try the aunt. The one who hired the attorney.”
“I did. Didn’t get the impression she’s hiding her. What about the Schwartzes’ friends or neighbors? I assume you canvassed the neighborhood after the murder.”
“We did. Everyone loved her. But would they risk jail time to hide her? I doubt it.”
“Can I get a copy of the witness statements?”
“Hey, Hardin! The lieutenant wants to see you,” a female detective called from across the room.
Hardin grumbled. “Wait here. And don’t touch anything.” He strolled into the lieutenant’s glass-enclosed office and shut the door.
I figured he’d be in there a while. I grabbed the murder book and hustled to the photocopier in the corner of the bull pen. With a clack, I opened the binder and made copies of call logs from the victim’s phone, fingerprint analysis, the medical examiner’s report, and transcripts from interviews.
I heard the lieutenant’s door open a crack.
“Shit.” I stuffed the copies in my waistband under my shirt, put the originals back in the murder book, and hightailed it to Hardin’s desk before he walked out of the office.
“Anything else you need to know?” Hardin asked when he returned. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah, how come you didn’t issue an AMBER Alert?”
“Two reasons. One, she turns eighteen in a couple months. And two, I’ve seen no credible evidence that she’d been abducted. Either her aunt or someone else is hiding her. I did issue a BOLO, however. Notified the sheriff’s department, state patrol, and border patrol. Anything else?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for your help.” I got up. “Good luck with the triple murder.”
“Thanks. Nice article in Phoenix Living, by the way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“What? I thought it was good. Nice to see people in your community getting decent representation. Especially in your line of work.”
“Thanks, I guess.” I started to walk away, then turned. “Hey, speaking of my community, you heard anything about the Ciara Vanderbilt case?”
He squinted. “Name’s not familiar. Another one of your skips?”
“A friend of mine, actually. Trans woman beaten and left for dead in a corporate office parking lot.”
“This is the homicide unit, Ballou. Unless she’s actually dead, it’s not my case.”
“Oh well. Thought you might have heard something. Thanks, anyway.”
“Good luck finding Holly Schwartz. You’re gonna need it.”
17
When I reached the Gray Ghost, Becca called. She sounded so fragile.
“Ran the phone logs for the Schwartzes. Bank records too.”
“Great! Anything interesting?”
“Bonnie’s calls were mostly to doctors,” she said as she took an audible breath. “A few to a company called Compassionate Care.” Another breath. “A handful to charities. Rare Disease Foundation. Campaign for Neuromuscular Research.”
“No surprises there.”
“Not many calls on Holly’s phone. Most to her mother. A couple to a George Peavey. Not sure who he is yet.” She paused for a moment and moaned quietly. “Final calls were night of the murder. One to Richard Delgado. Visiting nurse, I think. Last call was 911.”
“What about the bank records?”
“Expenses were typical household—Walmart, Safeway, utilities. Deposits were mostly disability payments and checks from charity orgs.”
“Can you email me that information?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, Becks. I know you need to take care of yourself. I’m just under such a time crunch.”
“I know.”
“When you’re feeling better, see what you can dig up on Richard Delgado and George Peavey.”
“Gotcha. Bye.” She hung up.
I hated pushing her like that, but I didn’t know anyone else who could get me the answers I needed. Unfortunately, none of the info I had so far gave me a clue where Holly might be or whether she was hiding from the law or had been kidnapped. Time to visit the scene of the crime.
The Schwartzes’ Maryvale residence was ten miles northwest of downtown Phoenix. The cars parked along their street consisted of junkers with crumpled quarter panels, missing bumpers, and cracked windshields. In this environment, the Gray Ghost was invisible.
The house was tan with brick-red trim. Candy bar wrappers and empty beer bottles littered the yard. Weeds grew four feet tall in places, while sunbaked earth showed in other spots.
I suited up with my body armor, tactical belt, and weapons. I doubted Holly was hiding in the old family domicile, but it was a possibility. Didn’t want to be caught unawares.
From the driveway, I followed a paved walkway into a narrow courtyard, which shielded me from anyone who wasn’t standing directly in front of the house. An aluminum ramp rose six inches to the front doorstep. Faded, tattered fragments of the Phoenix PD crime scene seal clung to the door, warning people not to enter without permission. But the techs had finished their work months ago. My only barrier now was the dead bolt.
I could have used the ram I kept in the back of the Gray Ghost but preferred to make a more low-key entrance, considering I was alone. I fished a couple of picking tools out of a leather pouch I kept in my cargo pants and set to work on the lock. The security pins made it trickier than the typical door lock, but soon the cylinder turned and the door opened.
Sunlight filtered through gauzy blinds in the room to my left. Tiny black flies buzzed around my face and ears. Despite the passage of time, the stench of death lingered in the air, compounded by the suffocating heat from the lack of air conditioning. I made a conscious effort to breathe through my mouth. It didn’t help much. It took all my willpower not to retch.
I flicked a light switch. No power. I pulled out an LED flashlight and swept the front room. A slate-blue couch stretched in front of the double window to my left. I crossed the room to a laminated wood bookshelf standing against the wall, filled with stacks of board games and stuffed animals. Nothing indicated where I would find Holly.
I stepped up to a dining area with a glass dinette table and four brass and cloth chairs. On the table, three colored pencils rested in the crack between pages of an open coloring book. No eviscerated animals in this one. Just beautifully colored abstract designs.
Next to the book lay a yellowing Arizona Republic newspaper featuring a photo of the Phoenix Suns’ Cedric Wilson on the front page. The article reported that the basketball star had apparently
undergone knee surgery following an ATV accident.
Something about Wilson’s photo piqued my interest, but I wasn’t sure why. I was a fair-weather sports fan at best. I scanned the article but didn’t find anything relevant to my case and tossed it aside.
I entered the kitchen, where the puke-green countertops didn’t help my growing sense of nausea. Neither did the dead maggots in a graveyard of dried refried beans occupying a saucepan atop the stove. Why hasn’t anyone cleaned up? I wondered. Maybe the property was still in probate.
I moved on to the family room on the other side of the kitchen’s breakfast bar. The smell of death was intense here. A three-foot-wide brown-black stain on the floor marked where Bonnie Schwartz had met her end. I stared at the bloody carpet, playing out the multiple scenarios in my mind. Home invasion or domestic disturbance? Either way, it was a tragedy.
A stack of mail lay on a water-stained coffee table. I sorted through the envelopes and flyers, hoping for clues. Most of it was junk mail promising amazing deals on hearing aids, solar panels, and dental services. A few medical bills were marked past due. One was an envelope from Compassionate Care, LLC.
There were also letters and cards hand addressed to Holly. I opened one. It was from a fan thanking her for the inspiration after she appeared on a telethon. The others offered similar thanks and well wishes. A few included cash and checks.
The last one I read was printed from a computer. It started innocently enough but soon got creepy and sexually explicit. It was unsigned. According to the postmark, this creep was local. My skin crawled. The stale air felt suffocating. I could feel the stench of decomp in my lungs.
I stuffed the stalker letter, the fan mail, and the bills into a pocket in my cargo pants. I’d go through them later to see if they pointed to anything. Maybe Becca could help.
A hallway led to Holly’s room, where an adjustable bed took up much of the space. Inspirational posters hung on the walls. Hang in there! Believe in yourself. Life is a miracle. Whatever. I checked the brightly painted chest of drawers and then the closet. Both were empty.
I continued my search in the guest bathroom, a spare bedroom, and the master bedroom without finding anything of note.
In the master bath, I discovered a sliding panel in the wall, concealed behind a wicker vanity shelf. I kneeled down with my flashlight to get a closer look.
“Find anything interesting?” someone asked behind me.
My flashlight clattered to the floor, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Bile rose in my throat as I snapped to my feet, ready to fight.
“Holy fuck, Conor! You scared the shit out of me. Again. I should put a bell on you.”
“Nothing to be scared of, love. Just the man of your dreams.” He wrapped his arms around me and leaned in to kiss me.
I pushed him away. “More like my nightmares, the way you keep sneaking up on me.”
“What’s wrong, Jinxie? Can’t a guy get some love?” he joked.
“Jesus, Conor, a woman died here, and her daughter is missing. Have some respect.” I sat down on my heels and slid back the concealed panel. With the beam of the flashlight, I discovered a small money-counting machine. I pulled it out to show Conor.
“Now why do ya suppose they have a counting machine hidden away in the loo?” Conor asked.
“Someone was apparently making enough green they needed help counting it.”
“Ya probably right. Unfortunately, it doesn’t tell us where our girl is.”
“No, it doesn’t.” My pulse slowed as disappointment settled in. “God, I wish I was at Comicon right now instead of this sweltering house of death.”
“Naw, ya don’t. I heard on the news some bloke inside the convention center got nicked with four loaded pistols and a shotgun. Security’s been ramped up a hundredfold. All props are now banned.”
“Geez! What the hell’s wrong with people?”
“It’s a mad, mad world, love.” He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. “Any luck finding your fugitive?”
“Bits and pieces of information but no workable leads.” I led him back down the hall and out the front door. I felt light-headed. The oppressive heat and the god-awful stench were taking their toll. I managed one more glance around the front room and got the hell out of there.
It wasn’t much cooler outside, but at least the air was fresh. Well, as fresh as the air in Phoenix ever was, what with the brown cloud of smog and all. As my eyes adjusted to the glaring daylight, I noticed a skinny white woman with blond dreads standing by the Gray Ghost and eyeing me suspiciously.
18
The woman wore a lacy halter top, Daisy Dukes, and flip-flops. A muddy kaleidoscope of ink ran down each pale arm. I guessed she was in her forties, but she could have been younger.
“What’re y’all doing in Bonnie and Holly’s place? Y’all cops?” she asked through a mouth of rotten teeth as we approached. Her voice was like gravel in a blender.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “Holly’s gone missing. Her aunt’s worried, so we’re trying to find her. Did you know Bonnie and Holly well?”
“Yeah, I knowed ’em.”
I perked up. “Any idea where Holly might be?”
She crossed her arms. “What’s it worth to you?”
About fifty grand, I thought. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. I didn’t generally carry my purse when I worked. It was unwieldy and just something to lose. All I had in the wallet was a ten and three ones. I handed her the ten. She looked at me as if I’d kicked her dog.
“A ten? That’s all Holly’s worth to you? Damn, I get more than that for a hand job.”
“Good lord.” I nudged Conor. “Hey, ya got any cash on you?”
“Ya mean aside from the fifty ya owe me from our bet earlier?”
“Come on, man, cough up some green so Trixie here can buy herself a new set of teeth.”
“For your info, my name ain’t Trixie. It’s Shartroose.” She spelled it for me. “You know, like the color?”
I didn’t know exactly how the color chartreuse was spelled, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t it.
Conor pulled out a wad of twenties. I snatched it from him and counted out three, then handed back the rest. She reached for the cash, but I held it away.
“First tell us what you know. Then we’ll see what it’s worth.”
“What I know is I saw a black creeper van parked in front of their house that night. I seen the same van there several times before.”
“You see who was in it? Or get a license plate?”
“No.”
“That’s it? You saw a black van?”
“Who you think I am? Jessica Fletcher or some shit? I told you what I know. Now gimme my money.”
“That little tidbit isn’t worth sixty dollars. Not even worth the ten.”
“It’s worth something.”
“It’s worth crap.” I strutted around to the driver’s side of the Gray Ghost, fanning myself with the cash. Conor stood to the side with a bemused look on his face.
“All right, fine,” Shartroose said, following me into the street. “Driver had brown skin, long black hair.”
“Any distinguishing features? What was he wearing?”
“I don’t know. I was busy getting ready for a date, and it was dark besides. I think I seen him wearing an orange shirt one time before, though.”
So far he sounded like the guy Holly described. “How old was he?”
“How’m I supposed to know?”
“Guess.”
“I dunno. Twenties, thirties, maybe.”
“What was he doing when you saw him?”
“I just saw him pull up and walk to the front door. ” Shartroose got quiet and mellow all of a sudden. “Makes me sad to think about it. Bonnie was real nice. Spent her life taking care of that poor girl. Then someone gone and kilt her.”
“Have you seen Holly since then?”
“Not since that night. Heard she moved in with a relative in the
East Valley.”
I paused, hoping she’d offer something else. When she didn’t say anything, I handed her a couple of the twenties. She looked at them as if they were trash.
“Forty lousy dollars? For all I told you?”
“Plus the ten I already gave you makes fifty. And trust me, that’s being generous.”
Conor grabbed the other twenty and handed it to her with his business card. “Thank ya, darlin’, for all your help. Would ya give us a ring if ya see either Holly or the guy show up? We’ll make it worth your trouble, I promise ya.”
Shartroose’s eyes got all sparkly as she nuzzled up to him. “Oooh, Mr. Lucky Charms, I like how you talk. I’ll call even if I don’t see them none. You and me can do a little partying.”
I pulled her hand off Conor’s thigh and shoved her away. “Thanks, but we got work to do.” I turned to him. “Come on, Lucky Charms. Before I shoot you in your shillelagh.”
“Bitch!” Shartroose shouted as she walked across the street.
Conor chuckled. “Not jealous are ya, love?”
I scoffed. “Of Shartroose and those nasty teeth of hers? Yeah, right. I’m sure you’re just itching to kiss that mouth.”
“Then why’re ya getting your knickers in a twist?”
“Because it’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I’ve spent the last hour in a house that smelled like hot death. If we don’t come up with a lead soon, I’ll miss out on fifty grand and any future jobs with Assurity Bail Bonds.”
He put an arm around me, and I didn’t resist. “Come on, Jinxie. I’ll buy ya a beer at Grumpy’s.”
I was about to say yes when a man with long black braids and wearing a blue-plaid shirt came strolling down the sidewalk. He spotted me and took off running the other way.
I raced south after him. Conor’s Charger roared to life behind me, but I was focused on the man I was chasing.
With the weight and bulk of my gear, I had trouble keeping up with him. Shortly before the road took a sharp right turn, he cut between the houses and hopped a block wall. I drew on my parkour skills and vaulted it with half the effort he used and spotted him running across the backyard, a Chihuahua yapping at his heels.
Chaser_A Jinx Ballou Novel Page 9