by Tyan Wyss
“You’re clairvoyant!” said Lea, half marveling, half repelled.
“Whatever.”
“You got more of these?” she asked excitedly.
“Dozens. But many have nothing to do with this case—or so I think. I figure if weeks pass and I haven’t figured out the connection to a drawing . . . then I missed the boat. Here’s three of the most recent, so these most likely have some relevance to the case.” He shoved the drawing of the tree limb with the word Phile on it towards her.
Fox cleared her throat. “I’ve . . . ah . . . seen this.”
“Figured. You goddamned snoop. And this.”
It was a picture of a crib with a large balloon and fluffy clouds. Lea didn’t tell him she’d also glimpsed this one in his trunk. “It’s not the same room, but the crib is familiar.” She punched her F & H and turned the screen towards him. “See, yours has clouds. This room doesn’t. Crib is similar, but not an exact match. At least now we know the crib is important.”
“And here.”
“The putrid playground. Lucky we can’t smell it. Any more?”
“Not that I’m willing to share at the present time. You amaze me, Fox. I felt you were so grounded in reality, but you accepting these ‘drawings’. . Wow. I’m shocked, to say the least.”
“I’m a shocking woman,” was all she returned. “I’ll meet you here at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning,” stated Lea, rising from her father’s chair. The food was finished, and she had some research to do and needed to get away from Thayne’s claustrophobic presence.
Nick untangled his long frame from her brother’s chair. “Alright. Maybe I’ll show the rose thorns around to some local nurseries and get a possible ID on the type of bush. I’d also like to head back to Connie’s. Maybe someone caught a glimpse of our Presidio boy or his car. I’d sure like to know his name and where he is now. I’ll also check on the wheelbarrow angle. It’s probably too soon to learn whether the feces are human or not, though our Dr. Koh is like some sort of forensics Superman. If I hear anything earth shattering, I’ll give you a ring.”
“I’ll wait breathlessly,” purred Lea. “Also, I’d suggest you serve yourself up a salad for later. If you keep eating fast food, the cholesterol and salt will likely result in high blood pressure, hardening of the arteries, and possible heart disease, just to name a few. You must treat your body as a temple, and if you do, it will serve you well.”
“You’re full of shit,” returned Thayne, tossing his crumpled fast food bag into the bin in an effortless arch. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten what a pain in the ass she was. If her body was a temple, he’d sprint to KFC.
After several hours of work at home, Lea spoke to Bernard for a while before fixing a simple late supper of soup and sourdough bread. Her tabby cat jumped up on her lap and Lea scratched his ears absently. After all her research, she was more in a quandary than before. Until Connie Judson was located, even with Thayne’s ‘gift’, they were stumped. She’d researched Thayne’s days at the SFPD, but none of the articles came right out and stated he was a psychic; they only hinted at his ‘spooky’ methods. Could she accept his ‘gift’ and somehow allow it to steer their investigation? Lea couldn’t believe how readily she had accepted what he was. Maybe his peculiarity made him more similar to the outcast she was. Lea ladled her minestrone soup from the copper cookware she preferred and sprinkled some Parmesan cheese on the top. The cat jumped down in disdain.
She loved this house, and as she wandered into the cozy nook straddling the kitchen, she wondered how long she could afford to keep it. Her cash flow nearly non-existent, Lea knew if she didn’t come up with some real money soon, the house would be forfeited to the mortgage company. Lea was intensely private by nature and if not peculiar in her habits at least particular. Plodding and methodical, she disliked—if not dreaded—hectic big cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco. Unfortunately, that was where the work was, and she had no delusions that without widening her work sphere, bankruptcy was inevitable.
A niggling feeling lurked in the back of her mind that Thayne, even with his classic, bright red Mustang and expensive suits, was probably in the same boat as she. Somehow, she had to finagle her way into the Monroe Country Police Department’s good graces and be taken on as a permanent consultant. Maybe between that and the independent jobs she hoped a good reputation might generate, she could make it financially. But, did Thayne have the clout she hoped would propel her out of this jobless purgatory perpetuated by Monroe’s malevolent police chief?
Thayne rang at 9:00 p.m. “I’ve had a bit of luck. Mr. McKinney at Rose World is positive thorns from a bush rose called Mr. Lincoln are similar to the ones extracted from Thad Fisher’s feet. Unfortunately, that rose is found in nearly everyone’s garden.”
“Let’s check again at Chester Street for Mr. Lincoln roses tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you around nine a.m.”
“No problem. I will also have you know that our Presideo lover is balding, thin, wears an officer’s uniform, whistles when he walks, and drives a 2002 Land Cruiser, the color black.”
“Jeez. Another ‘drawing’?”
“Nope. A legitimate source. And you?”
“Soaked in the tub, removed the fur balls from my cat’s throat, and whipped up some minestrone soup. Now I’m just watching reruns of the Joe Millionaire. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a hunk as cute as you.”
Thayne slammed down the receiver, and Lea grinned. He’d been hoping for a compliment. Wait until he saw what she’d dug up.
Sunday morning
The shrill jarring of her bedside phone awakened her at nearly two a.m. It was the ever-pleasant Chief Rollins.
“I wouldn’t have called you,” said the Police Chief nastily, “but I can’t get hold of Nick Thayne and thought you might know where he could be.”
“And . . . ?” she said letting the word dangle.
“We received a tip-off and found Connie Judson’s body twenty minutes ago, and it isn’t a pretty sight. I need Nick to meet me off of Highway 106 as it heads towards the Agrit-Empire’s potato fields and turn right at the first dirt road. We’re waiting about a quarter of a mile down. We’ve got a dual homicide on our hands, and unfortunately one of our best suspects has just been found pushing up some rock. You don’t need to bother showing up, as it would probably make you sick.”
“I doubt it. I’ve lived with men,” returned Lea. “We’ll be there as soon as possible.” She hung up before he could retort. While Lea suspected Nick’s whereabouts, she didn’t have the number of the young woman from the diner, so she called his cell phone and left an urgent message.
Lea parked her Mazda under a huge oak tree and walked towards the group of grim-faced men standing over a shallow grave. A large spotlight slanting downwards from a makeshift pole revealed the cordoned-off area. Fox forced herself to study the deceased woman, whose auburn hair shifted slightly in the breeze. While no blood or physical wounds were superficially evident, a horrible grimace contorted Connie Judson’s heavily made-up face.
The woman lay perfectly rigid in a shallow grave, her high-heeled red shoes standing daintily beside her as if she’d been asked to remove them. Her slender arms were duct-taped to the bright crimson dress distastefully stained by dirt and struggle. Her legs, bound together at the knees by the fabric tape, were clad in expensive stockings that were savagely ripped and shredded. One small piece of duct tape covered her mouth but hadn’t managed to conceal the horrible grimace twisting her features. Her wide-open, jade-colored eyes glittered eerily in the unforgiving spotlight.
“Where’s Nick?” rumbled the chief.
“Coming. How did you find her way out here?” asked Lea.
Randy Phelps had also been obviously roused from his bed. His haggard face glowed greenish-white in the harsh lamplight around which a hundred moths fluttered.
Officer Phelps answered for the chief, who hesitated. “We received an anonymous phone call around 1 a.m. from someone who said t
hey’d discovered what looked like a body in the field but didn’t wish to get involved. The guy had a Hispanic accent and is likely some wetback afraid he’ll be shipped back down south if we learn who he is.”
“How did she die?” asked Lea.
Randy seemed unable to answer, so the chief did it for him. “At first, we thought maybe she’d been strangled, but there are no contusions around her throat. Whatever it was caused her a great deal agony, if her facial contortions are any indication.”
Chief Rollins pointed a pudgy finger at Connie’s left hand. “They left the same calling card as the mayor.” Her slim ring finger had been removed.
Lea quietly studied the still corpse for a long while. If the horrible sight disturbed her, she gave no outward indication, and that fact alone irked the chief to no end
“You may find this interesting, girlie.” Chief Rollins bent down and pointed to a baggie Lea hadn’t noticed before clutched in Connie’s other hand. Inside, a hairy male finger still wore its huge gold nugget band. He paused for effect. “Gruesome, isn’t it?”
“Interesting, I’d say,” was her only response.
The roar of a well-tuned engine slid up the dirt road, and out of the red Mustang stepped Nick Thayne, his hair tousled and shirt askew. He swayed slightly.
“I guess this is one way to get out of a high school reunion,” he slurred mildly to the chief, who only frowned.
“Glad you made it so Miss Whodunit can get back to her knitting.”
“So, this is Connie.”
“Yep. Used to be quite a looker.”
Nick spotted the baggie and knelt down. “Talk about orchestrated by the killer. Jeez. How’d you find her?”
“Anonymous tip.”
“Any tire tracks?”
“We’ve isolated some over there and already took some plaster of Paris castings, but they watered the field tonight so the imprints have run. Hard to tell if they’re from a picker’s truck or car. From the looks of her, she’s been here at least two days. Hey, Fox, get away from that body! Jesus, can’t you keep her on a leash?”
Lea’s fingers froze while lifting Connie’s red hair at the chief’s bark.
“The coroner coming?” asked Nick seeking to distract the irate Rollins.
“Should be here any minute.”
“May I see those tracks?” Nick asked.
Lea rose as Chief Rollins pulled Nick over to examine the tire treads. As soon as they’d moved out of earshot, she called to Randy Phelps.
“Do you have a rubber glove, Officer Phelps?”
“Of course,” he said, fumbling in his pocket.
Lea pulled it over her slim hand and lifted up Connie’s hair, frowning intensely.
“Does that look like a piece of paper tucked atop her ear, Officer Phelps?”
He squatted beside her. “Why, it sure does.”
She carefully tugged at the dirty paper less than three inches long and folded in half. Lea squinted in the glaring light and read the simple words aloud.
“The red-nosed reindeer is next. Unless . . .” She peered across at Randy. “Unless what?”
“That can’t make any sense. It’s nowhere near Christmas time.”
“Give me the baggie.” She ordered and slipped the soiled paper inside.
Lea examined the bottom of Connie’s feet for several seconds before noticing a scratch and puncture on the right hand side of the slain woman’s trim ankle. She’d bet her eyeteeth the wound had been caused by rose thorns. Lea took out her mini digital camera and snapped several flash photos before leaning over the corpse.
“What’s that awful smell?” Randy Phelps shook his head, unable to identify the pungent odor.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve smelled it before. You okay, Officer?”
“I’m fine Inspector Fox.” He suddenly lurched away from the scene and vomited at the dark perimeter of the crime scene. “Sorry, sorry,” the young rookie gasped.
“Stand away for a while and get control of yourself, Randy.” Lea sniffed again. The odd pungent odor permeated the woman and Lea leaned closer to the dead woman’s lips and sniffed again. “It almost smells like ammonia.”
“What are you up to, Ms. Fox?” snapped the chief placing his hands on his beefy hips.
Lea glanced up at the belligerent man. “This woman has been poisoned, and in a particularly gruesome way. Our killer left us a Christmas card. I sure hope Dr. Koh doesn’t mind an early wake-up call.”
Chapter 13
As it happened, he didn’t. Dr. Koh organized the careful bagging of the once-beautiful woman under Nick’s watchful eyes. Lea observed the proceedings silently, keeping her distance from Chief Rollins.
“You still here?” he snapped, glimpsing her in the shadows. Lea’s baggy green sweat pants hung so loosely they threatened to fall off at any moment, and she wore a faded blue t-shirt and worn trainers without socks. Her tangled nutmeg hair hadn’t been combed, and her glasses needed a good cleaning.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Chief.”
“You can take off any time. Things are well under control.”
“Are you positive about that?”
Rollins growled and cornered Thayne away from the glare of the spotlight. Steven Koh removed his thin rubber gloves and watched his assistant push Connie towards the ambulance.
“Hello, Lea,” he said gently. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“Been steering clear of homicide. It’s bad for my mental health. I’m particularly not fond of the insects it attracts.” She pointedly glanced towards the chief.
Dr. Koh’s assistant, Daniel, deposited Connie inside the coroner’s van and signaled to Steven he was ready to head out.
“Meet me at my office. I have something I need to speak with you about.” Dr. Koh motioned to Daniel he was ready and swung his thin frame into the passenger seat.
Nick indicated he had a few loose ends to wrap up, so Lea trailed Dr. Koh’s white van to the County Coroner’s. She watched silently as he and his groggy assistant prepped the body. It didn’t take Steven long to find out the cause of death.
“See the severe inflammation of her upper torso?” Mottled scarlet patches covered Connie’s ample chest. “If you tap here, you can hear the fluid. But not just any fluid. Check out her tongue.” Connie’s normally small, pink tongue was swollen and bright red. His stoic assistant snapped a photo.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said David.
“I haven’t seen anything like it since med school. We used to work on cadavers, many of them pickled in formaldehyde. From the smell, combined with the swelling and odd color of her tongue and chest, I’d suggest she may have been forced to ingest the preservative.”
Lea shook herself. It was hard to imagine the agony Connie must have felt in her last moments.
“Why don’t you go type up your notes in my office, Lea, while I examine the corpse more closely?” Kindness was evident in his tired voice.
“Before I retreat, you had something to tell me?”
“Daniel, if you’ll give us a moment.” His sandy-haired assistant moved silently beyond hearing range.
Steven’s eyes shone coal black in the florescent glare. He removed his glasses and stared at them for a while as if reluctant to continue. “I’ve heard something about Nick Thayne that disturbs me.”
“Go on.”
“Either he’s been sleeping with the enemy or is involved in something else because he always seems to have the inside scoop. He was fired because of suspected collusion and possible receipt of bribes.”
“I know that.”
“And you still agreed to work with him?”
“Work is the key word. I don’t have much, remember?” She plucked at her wrinkled t-shirt dejectedly.
“Because of Rollins,” he surmised.
“And my own endearing personality.”
“I don’t think you’re so bad.”
“Then you’re the only one. As for Thayne,
don’t you worry about me. I know who I’m dealing with.” She eyed the sanctuary of his office. For some reason, his close proximity made her nervous. “I noticed a scratch on Connie’s ankle, Dr. Koh. Thought maybe she had a close encounter with a rose bush like Thad Fisher.” She normally called him Steven.
“I’ll check into it, Lea, and forward the results to you as soon as possible.”
Nick scuttled in just as she departed, and Steven Koh sighed after her retreating figure.
Nick stared at the once-beautiful Connie; she was now ghostly pale and puffy, her scarlet fingernails hideous in their mockery.
“Just getting started?”
Steven Koh ignored the question. “So, you’re working with Lea Fox, Inspector Thayne?”
“Just for now. And please, call me Nick. Fox had some information on the Peebles’ case I needed. It’s a relationship bred by necessity.”
Dr. Koh picked up the baggie and felt the severed male finger through the plastic. “Her father had reopened that particular case just before he was murdered. Has she . . . spoken at all about her father’s death?”
“Not much. I know both her father and brother were murdered and hanged from a tree about 50 miles from here.”
“That partially correct. Actually three men were killed and two by hanging. The other, their assistant, John Weinberg, was shot as he waited in the car. The case, technically outside the jurisdiction of Monroe County, remains unsolved to this day. Lea had to identify the bodies. Being there and know how excruciatingly painful it was for her. Everyone she loved was murdered that night, and since then, she’s retreated into a bitter shell. Lea’s still astute and prickly like always, but definitely changed. I suggest you tread gently with her and if you ever get a chance, see if she’ll talk about it.”
“Hell, I’m no psychiatrist. Shit, I can’t even come to terms with my own personal hang-ups.”
“Well, believe me—you’re probably relatively healthy compared to her. She’s a top notch detective but tough; too tough. She’ll help you solve this case if you’ll only let her. No matter what Lea says that’s personally inhospitable or downright rude to you, just ignore it. Don’t rise to the occasion, and for God’s sake don’t let your male ego intervene in any way. She hates men on principle—perhaps justifiably so—and you’re a man’s man, which in her mind is akin to a bad virus.”