The Next Victim (Kali O'Brien series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “That’s about it,” Kali said when she’d finished. “And now I don’t want to talk about it. I want a break.”

  He grinned. “And to have fun.”

  “Right.”

  And fun is what she got. A lovely mix of sex and margaritas and grilled filet mignon and a twilight swim followed by more sex. The perfect antidote for the trials of the last ten days. That night she slept soundly and peacefully for the first time since she’d learned of John’s death.

  After a morning swim and a sudsy wash-off in John’s oversized, double-nozzle shower, they faced the empty fridge. In their eager shopping for a delectable evening meal, they’d neglected to think about breakfast. Kali had thought maybe they’d have Sunday brunch at one of the fancy resorts in the hills, but the only flight Bryce had been able to get out left at ten that morning, so they settled for cold cereal and coffee.

  “I still can’t believe you flew here just for dinner,” Kali told him. “But I’m glad you did.”

  “I hope you don’t think dinner was the big draw. Admittedly, it was a first-rate steak and all, but . . .” He turned suddenly serious. “I’ve really missed you.”

  Kali had missed Bryce, too. She hadn’t fully realized how much. “I won’t be staying much longer. It’s just that I don’t know what John did or how he died. I can’t live not knowing whether he was a murderer.”

  Bryce rolled his empty mug between his palms. “Defense attorney syndrome?”

  “He was my brother, for God’s sake. And I want to understand, not to whitewash whatever he’s done.”

  “You seem to care more about him now than when he was alive.” Bryce paused. “Is that what it takes to get your attention?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He touched her hand. “Forget it. I guess I just feel that you sometimes shut me out.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” But she did mean to, Kali realized. It was more that she didn’t understand why.

  She got up to pour more coffee. When the phone rang, she said to Bryce, “You want to get that? My hands are full. It’s got to be Sabrina. You won’t get to meet her this trip, but you can talk to her.”

  He picked up the phone. “Kali’s up to her elbows in coffee. I’m Bryce.” There was a moment of silence; then he said, “Just a moment,” and handed Kali the phone. “It’s not your sister,” he whispered.

  “Hello,” she said, then felt the heat rise on her face as she recognized A. J. Nash’s voice.

  “I was hoping you might be free to take in the Desert Museum today.”

  “Uh, afraid not.”

  “I know it’s kind of last minute, but I—”

  “It’s not that. I have a friend visiting from home.”

  “The man who answered the phone? Bryce?”

  Kali cupped the receiver closer to her mouth. “Right.” If he was waiting for a fuller explanation, he wasn’t going to get one.

  “I see. Maybe another time, then.”

  “Okay, that sounds good.”

  By the time Kali hung up the phone, her palms were sweating. Get a grip, she told herself. You haven’t done anything wrong. But she felt as though she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Doesn’t take you long to make new friends,” Bryce observed when she returned to the table.

  “He’s a friend of John’s. Someone John worked with, in fact.”

  “Calling you on a Sunday morning.” It wasn’t a question, but the inflection in Bryce’s voice made it sound like one.

  “He has an annual pass to the Desert Museum. He offered to take me sometime. That’s all.”

  Bryce nodded and let the subject drop. But the mood of the morning had changed as surely as if ominous gray clouds had rolled across the open expanse of brilliant blue sky.

  Chapter 33

  Kali was of the last generation whose formative years had been spent in the pre-computer era. She was comfortable with modem technology now—in fact, she depended on it—but her brain was wired the old way. When she wanted to think, she resorted to pen and paper. Which was why, after returning from the airport, she was sitting at the kitchen table scribbling her thoughts down on paper and trying to make sense of them with the help of squiggly lines and arrows.

  The making-sense part wasn’t coming easily.

  She allowed herself a gratifying, if fleeting, reflection on the weekend and the sensation of Bryce’s touch against her skin. The house felt surprisingly empty without him. Once again Kali savored the memory of his departing kiss—the tension generated by Nash’s call seemingly forgotten—then reluctantly forced herself back to the task at hand.

  For the moment, she was operating under the assumption that John had been murdered and that his death was most likely connected to the deaths of Sloane Winslow and Olivia Perez. While she was less clear about Hayley Hendrix’s murder, logic told her it must also be relevant. What were the odds that two friends, both involved in porn, would randomly meet a violent death within weeks of one another?

  Kali worried about Crystal’s safety, but she also wondered about the girls’ complicity in the crimes. Why had both John and Sloane been interested in finding her?

  Kali drew a triangle and labeled the three points. The girls— Olivia, Hayley, and Crystal—at one apex, Sloane at another, and John at the third. They were all pieces of a puzzle, but she couldn’t see how they fit.

  She shouldn’t assume the girls were an entity, she decided. Kali took out a fresh piece of paper and drew five circles, one for each of the players. Then she added a sixth circle with a question mark inside. Were John and the girls together in something, and Sloane the odd person out? Maybe Sloane and the girls were in on something, and John was the odd one. Or was it John and Sloane facing off against the girls? Or Crystal against them all? Or all five players united against a common, outside enemy?

  Kali traced over the question mark inside the last circle. There was clearly a lot she was missing.

  John had been asking about Crystal at the Crazy Coyote. Sloane had asked the neighbor boy about her. Crystal had been living with Hayley before Hayley was murdered. It was obvious to Kali that Crystal would have answers. How to find Crystal was anything but obvious.

  Mitch Fisher, the neighbor’s son, had said she sometimes grabbed a free meal at Sunshine House. Kali’s chances of actually running across Crystal there were slim, but with luck she might find someone who’d have an idea where the girl could be found.

  She looked the address up in the phone book and headed out.

  <><><>

  Sunshine House was located a couple of blocks off a main thoroughfare in a neighborhood that had seen better days. It was a single-story structure that might at one time have been part of a church or a school. As she stepped inside, Kali heard the muffled drone of activity, although the hallway was empty. To her right, another hallway led to what looked like offices and meeting rooms. Farther down and to the left, through partially opened doors, Kali caught a glimpse of a large room that seemed to be the hub of activity.

  The walls were decorated with bold, urban-themed murals, which Kali guessed had been painted by the kids themselves. Mismatched area rugs dotted the floor, surrounded by overstuffed couches and puffy floor pillows. Bookshelves stood in one corner, a television set in another, and a Ping-Pong table at the far end. Music from a radio played in the background.

  As she stepped into the room, Kali saw maybe a dozen kids sprawled about inside—several of them dozing on the couches, a handful watching television, and others staring blankly into space. Near the library corner, two girls appeared to be deep in quiet conversation.

  Off to Kali’s right, a muscular man with heavily tattooed arms was loading canned soda into an ice chest. He wore cargo pants, a dark blue T-shirt, and a single ear stud. He looked to be in his late thirties. When he caught sight of Kali, he set the soda aside and came over.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for whoever is in cha
rge.”

  “You’ve found him. Well, it’s my wife who’s in charge of this end of things, but we operate as a team.” He offered a hand. “Gary Ellis. Sorry if my hand is cold. I’ve been digging around in the ice.”

  “Kali O’Brien. You and your wife run the center?”

  He grinned. “With a whole lot of help. But, yeah, we’re central casting. Are you law enforcement, Social Services, a pastor, or a reporter?”

  “I’m an attorney,” Kali said.

  Ellis raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say we’ve seen a lot of them around here.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was implying that was a good thing or bad. “I’m trying to find a girl who might have had some contact with Sunshine House.”

  He gave her a questioning look. “She do something wrong?”

  “No. She’s missing and I’m worried about her.”

  Ellis rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Our mission is helping kids, but we stay on the right side of the law. We’ve got a good working relationship with the cops and Social Services.”

  “I’ve got no problem with that,” Kali told Ellis. “In fact, I think it’s great.”

  A woman appeared in the doorway. “Gary, where are the chips?”

  “Still in the trunk, I think.” He turned to Kali. “Come meet my wife. This is Mara,” he said, making the introduction.

  “Hi.” Mara was trim and athletic with honey-blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She had an apron on over a sleeveless blouse and shorts.

  “Kali wants to talk to us about one of the kids.”

  “We’re kind of busy right now,” Mara explained to Kali. “Sunday is always hectic because we encourage kids to come by for a hot meal. Today we’re shorthanded, though. There was a mix-up about which group was sponsoring the meal.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Kali offered.

  “Great. Come with me.” Mara led Kali into a kitchen area at the end of the hallway. “Different organizations—churches mostly, but some schools and women’s auxiliary groups, too— usually take responsibility for Sunday meals. Today fell through the cracks, so Gary and I made a quick trip to the grocery. It won’t be the full-fledged hot meal we usually offer, but it’s food.” She put Kali to work making cheese sandwiches.

  “You don’t offer food at other times?”

  “Yeah, we do, but not one big meal. There’re always snacks and soda, and when we get a kid in need of a real meal, we usually order takeout. We’re more of a community center and referral service than a real shelter, though we’d love to have the funding to do that, too.” Mara pulled a large plastic platter from the cupboard. “A lot of what we do is outreach work, trying to hook up with the kids who need our help. It’s a slow process.”

  Kali had a friend in the Bay Area who volunteered with a similar group there. “Are you like Covenant House?” she asked.

  “Don’t I wish? They are much bigger and much better funded. They’ve got centers in six or seven cities and can offer so much more than we can. But we’re it for Tucson, so we do what we can.

  “And what’s that, exactly?” Kali peeled the cellophane wrappers from packages of sliced cheese.

  “We offer a safe place for kids to hang out, study, or meet with friends. We do have counselors and a basic medical clinic twice a week. We can get kids into shelters when need be, or a drug treatment program, or what have you. All of that is done one to one, as needed. Crisis by crisis, so to speak. The kids here today aren’t the hard-core cases.” Mara emptied containers of deli coleslaw into a bowl. “Oh, some Sundays one of the really needy ones ends up here. Mostly these Sunday kids just need a friendly face. It’s a way to get the word out, though.”

  “Where do they come from, the kids?”

  Mara shrugged. “It runs the gamut. Some come from homes where there’s abuse and neglect. Some are runaways. There are kids who’ve been bounced out of the foster care system, or outgrown it. Kids whose parents are drugged out, dead, or just don’t care. Throwaway kids. Every one is a sad story, and every one is different.”

  Mara looked at the tray of sandwiches. “That’s enough for now. Why don’t you get the cookies and put them out on a plate?” She washed bunches of grapes and laid them in a bowl. “Who’s the girl you’re interested in?”

  “Crystal Adams.”

  Mara’s forehead scrunched in thought. “We get so many kids. You think she’s been here recently?”

  “Maybe, but earlier too, back in the summer.”

  Kali had started to reach for the photograph in her purse when Mara’s face lit up with recognition. “Slender girl, right? With a birthmark on one side of her neck?”

  “Right.”

  “I do remember her. She was a drifter.”

  “A drifter?”

  “She wasn’t a regular, and she wasn’t a kid in crisis. At least not that she let on to us. She’d show up now and then. Never was interested in any counseling or referrals or any kind of help. I haven’t seen her lately.” Mara picked up the bowl of slaw and a handful of napkins. “Grab the sandwiches, will you?”

  They headed back toward the assembly hall. “That’s one of the toughest aspects of this work,” Mara continued. “You bond with some of these kids, whether you want to or not, and then they disappear. You never know what’s happened to them. The only hope is that you’ve planted a seed. That you’ve shown them life can be better, that they deserve better.”

  “What can you tell me about Crystal?”

  Mara tilted her head. “What’s your interest again?”

  Kali gave the same explanation she’d given Mara’s husband: “She’s missing.”

  “We get a lot of runaways. Sometimes, I can’t say I blame them. Let’s set the food down and get the rest.” Mara turned to a pudgy, freckle-faced boy who was standing eagerly by the food table. “Think you can keep everyone at bay until it’s all out? We’ll be right back.”

  The boy grinned. “No one’s going to get past me.”

  “Thanks.” On their way back to the kitchen, Mara greeted a few of the other kids

  “About Crystal,” Kali prompted, following after Mara.

  “She’s bright. Seemed like she was always in our library corner reading. And she borrowed books. She’s articulate.” Mara smiled. “She has a bit of a foul mouth, but she doesn’t have”— Mara made quotation marks in the air with her fingers—”an attitude, like some of the girls.”

  “Do you know anything about her background?”

  “No. She was very closed, very private. I suspected she was living on the street at least part of the time. I tried to get her to open up, but she was like a feral cat. She kept her distance.”

  Kali showed Mara the photo. “What about the other two girls? Do you recognize them?”

  Mara studied the picture, her green eyes sad. “I’m afraid I don’t.” She pointed to Olivia. “I’d remember a girl like that. She seems to have a presence and vivaciousness we don’t see here. Our kids either cower or they’re totally in your face. The other girl”—here she tapped Hayley—”looks a lot like a sketch the sheriff’s department showed us. A body they found not long ago.”

  “It is,” Kali said. “They’ve identified her as Hayley Hendrix.” She watched Mara to see if the name rang a bell. Apparently it didn’t.

  “She was a friend of Crystal’s?”

  “Right.”

  “How awful. And now Crystal is missing? You think . . . Oh, God, I hope not.”

  “If she comes here again, will you let me know?”

  Mara looked Kali in the eye. “Only with her permission.”

  “Tell her I want to help. She can call me anytime. Day or night.” Kali wrote her cell number and John’s local number on a piece of paper and handed it to Mara. Better than a business card. Sometimes “attorney-at-law” could be a barrier.

  She gestured toward the auditorium. “Do you mind if I talk to the kids?”

  “Go ahead. I should warn you, they might not be willing, and even i
f they are, they won’t always give you a straight story.”

  Gary Ellis came into the kitchen just then with two large bags of chips. He poured them into a bowl. “Is everything ready?”

  Mara nodded, and the three of them carted the remaining food into the hall, where the number of kids milling about had almost doubled since Kali first arrived. Gary gave a high-five to a scrawny boy with pants so baggy Kali wondered that he could walk in them. Mara handed out paper plates. A few kids raced to the table; most hung back or nonchalantly moseyed over. Kali wended her way through the group, photo in hand, asking about Crystal. In response, she got a lot of shrugs, a few wary glares, and a flash or two of hostility.

  But one heavyset girl with yellowed teeth looked at the photo and tossed her head. “Her, she’s such a snob.”

  “You know her?” Kali asked, barely containing her excitement.

  “Not like we’re friends or anything, but, yeah, I seen her around.”

  “Recently?”

  “A week or two ago. She looked right through me, like she don’t want nothing to do with me. Cut her hair real short, and bleached it. Totally fake blond. Like she’s hot shit or something.”

  “Where did you see her?”

  “Over by campus.”

  Kali wondered if she might have walked right by Crystal when she was on campus. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?” The girl’s chin jutted forward.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, you asking about her. Isn’t no one ever comes here asking about any of us unless it’s trouble.”

  <><><>

  The first thing Kali did when she walked back into John’s house was check the window. Nothing broken, nothing amiss. Still, she wandered through the whole house, just to be sure. It was untouched, but depressingly empty without Bryce.

  She took a quick shower, her second of the day, but she was hot and feeling at loose ends. The cool water refreshed her. A psychic cleansing as well as a physical one.

  About four o’clock, her phone rang. She figured it might be Bryce, who would be back home by now, or Sabrina, though, of course, she hoped it was Crystal.