Satan’s Lambs

by Lynn Hightower

  Mendez held her wrists, his gaze steady. “In the middle of what?”

  “Of this mess, Mendez.”

  “Go on. Tell me the whole story.”

  “I already told you everything.”

  “No.”

  Lena stared at him, deciding he had the steadiest, most penetrating brown eyes.

  “She’s my client,” Lena said finally.

  “You want Charlie back? Give me everything, so I can find him. We don’t have much time.”

  “What do you think Archie will do with him?”

  Mendez raised one eyebrow. Lena thought of Hayes.

  “It would help,” Mendez said, “if I knew why he took him.”

  “He …”

  “Lena. I’ve been a cop a long time. I’ve seen a lot of women, too many women, get beat up by husbands, ex-husbands, their boyfriends. Like you said, I pick up the pieces.” He looked down at her hands. “Some men want to hurt, some want to humiliate. A lot of them hit in places people won’t see. Some just lash out, blind rage.

  “Eloise Valetta’s injuries were systematic. Inflicted with maximum pain in mind. What was it he wanted? The robbery money?” He leaned forward. “You’re running a big risk, Lena. If this beating gets kicked to Domestic, that means no manpower on the kidnapping. And if and when we do catch up to Valetta, Family Court. Mediation instead of criminal prosecution. It’s in Charlie’s best interest to connect this up to the robbery.”

  Lena leaned against the wall. She began to shake.

  “Okay, Mendez, you’re right. God, you got that glass out yet?”

  “It’s out.”

  “I’m going to be sick. Go away, would you?”

  He moved quickly, dumping the bowl full of bloody water into the sink.

  “Go.”

  He slipped the bowl into her lap and pulled her hair back out of the way, then was ready with a cool rag when she was done.

  She took the rag with trembling fingers and bathed her face. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  “It just hit all of a sudden.”

  “It does that.” He took the bowl from her lap.

  “Give me that.”

  He ignored her.

  “I want out of these clothes, they’re bloody. I want a shower.”

  “Wait on that. Get undressed, sponge off. I’ll get you something to wear.”

  He left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor and took off the brown-spattered shoes. There were stains on the cuff of her left sock. Blood had stiffened on her jeans and shirt, and she peeled out of them and tossed them in the trash. She heard the sound of dresser drawers opening and closing, the squeak of her closet door.

  “There’s a big T-shirt,” she yelled through the door. “Football jersey. Second drawer, left-hand side.”

  The closet door closed and a drawer opened and shut. Mendez knocked.

  “Lena?”

  She opened the door a crack and he handed her the shirt.

  Lena slid the T-shirt over her head. It hung to her knees, loose and baggy. She rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. The telephone rang.

  “Mendez?”

  “Got it.”

  His feet pounded the staircase.

  “There’s an extension in the bedroom!” She opened the bathroom door, strained her ears for the murmur of his voice. She went back in the bathroom for the blanket, avoided looking at the clothes she had tossed into the trash, and padded down the stairs.

  Mendez was sitting in her chair, phone to one ear.

  “Yes,” he said. “No, he hasn’t checked in. Stay on it. I’ll send you some relief around six.”

  Lena curled up on one end of the couch and tucked her feet up under her.

  “What?” she said.

  “There are two—what would you call them?—under-the-counter doctors, locally. We’ve staked them out. Valetta may try to get his knee looked at.”

  “I think I broke it.”

  Mendez nodded. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea, Lena. Then I’m going to give you a couple of tranks—”

  “No, I don’t want them. Hayes might—”

  “He won’t come back tonight, and if he does I’ll be here. I had all my calls routed here when I left Eloise Valetta’s apartment. Any news, I’ll wake you up. Okay?”

  Lena nodded. Mendez got up and headed for the kitchen.

  “Mendez? I don’t think I have any tea.”

  “You do.”

  15

  Lena woke up on the couch, mouth cottony, head pounding. Mendez was asleep in her chair. He’d taken off his shoes and put his feet up, and a legal pad and a pen lay in his lap. His hands were folded and his head was tilted sideways.

  Lena swung her legs over the side of the couch and rubbed the back of her neck.

  He even slept neatly.

  She went upstairs and got in the shower, adjusting the water to the highest heat she could stand. She stood under the shower head, letting the water run, while steam misted and swirled.

  She still felt groggy from the pills.

  Lena toweled her hair dry and found a pair of clean jeans. She put the football jersey back on, grimacing when her hair, still wet, made a cold spot on the back of the shirt.

  She went to Kevin’s old room, sat on the dusty carpet, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  She had meant to think and plan, but dozed off instead, head on the top of her knees. A soft knock and the creak of wood woke her. Mendez stood in the doorway, the hallway dark behind him. The morning sun, rosy pink, filtered in through the animal-print curtains.

  Mendez came close and looked down at her.

  “What did you mean the other night? When you said it was supposed to be a nice evening?”

  Lena shrugged. Mendez sat across from her on the floor. He crossed his legs and put his chin in his hands, looking, Lena decided, as though he would be content to sit in that one place forever.

  Lena reached out and traced the line of his jaw. Her finger was thick, padded with gauze and white surgical tape. She touched the stiff white collar of his shirt. “You dress very neatly. You even sleep neatly.” She undid the top button of his shirt. “And you’re always prepared. First-aid kit. Blankets. Tell me, Joel, do you also have condoms?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her slowly. She took a breath and tugged him down on the floor.

  He touched her cheek and pushed her hair back off her shoulder. The hair held his interest. He took a handful of the black coarse curls, then put his hand behind her neck and brought her closer. Lena hooked her leg over his, feeling his warmth, smelling the faint scent of cologne—the same kind Hayes liked to wear.

  She grimaced. All the men in my life.

  He put both hands under the back of her shirt, fingers massaging the tight muscles. His hands moved up to her shoulders and down her spine—then around to her waist and up to her breasts.

  Strong warm fingers. His touch went from firm to delicate.

  She kissed him, eyes closed, and undid the other buttons on his shirt. She lifted the jersey up over her head. It tangled in her hair, then came off.

  He rolled her gently to her back and settled his weight onto her. She wrapped her arms around him and he buried his face in her hair and neck, kissing her throat, cupping her breasts in his hands.

  Over his shoulder, the child’s mobile was dazzling behind dust motes and sunlight.

  “Lena? What is it?”

  She scrambled to get out from under.

  “What—”

  She twisted sideways. “I can’t do this.”

  Abruptly, he let her go. She snatched the jersey and pulled it over her head, inside out.

  “It was your job to protect my sister.” She looked at him. “It was my job to protect my client.”

  He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. She was out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door in seconds.

  The phone was ringing as she went.

>   16

  His car was still in front of the house.

  Lena shivered, hesitating at the edge of the porch. The grass was ice cold and the bottoms of her jeans sagged with dew. Her ankles itched and her hair was still damp on her shoulders.

  She went in, closing the door softly.

  It was warm inside, and she sighed deeply. The house was rich with the smell of coffee.

  Go on, Joel, she thought. Make yourself at home. Don’t be a stranger to my kitchen. She took a breath and headed for the living room. Definitely going to be awkward.

  Mendez was on the phone. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she veered into the kitchen. Mendez had her favorite black mug, so she took the white one and filled it with coffee. She sat on the couch and waited for Mendez to quit talking. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled, and his tie was neatly knotted.

  The coffee scorched her tongue, and was warm going down. Mendez hung up the phone and looked at her.

  “Developments?” she asked.

  “Valetta’s been spotted in Tennessee. Knoxville. With the boy.”

  Lena put the coffee cup down. “Where exactly?”

  “Doctor’s office. One of those places I told you about, bad part of town. Specialize in bullet and knife wounds that people don’t want reported. He was seen by an Alfred Ritterman—Knoxville PD. He’d been on duty all night and heard the APB. On his way off shift this morning, he stopped to meet an informant at a Dunkin’ Donuts place across from this office. And he saw Valetta and the child.”

  Lena stood up. “So they’ve got him!”

  “No. He met with his informant, but he didn’t really register until Valetta had been in for a while. As soon as he remembered he called for backup, but they didn’t get there in time. He kept watch on the place, but figures Valetta left from the back.”

  “Aw, hell.”

  Mendez looked grim. “Can’t watch two doors at the same time. Knoxville PD has two detectives on the way right now, to question the doctor and her staff. I’m driving down this morning.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  Mendez nodded. “Lena, when exactly did Eloise Valetta divorce Archie? She did divorce him?”

  “Sure she did.” Lena stared at her feet. Surely, surely, Eloise had divorced Archie.

  “Can you say when?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Listen. If this can in any way be construed as a custody fight, I’ll be pulled off. I told my captain they were positively divorced before the child was even conceived.”

  Lena took a breath. “Thank you, Mendez.”

  “You need to find out for sure, Lena. Get the details, and make sure the paperwork is in order. If there is any question …”

  “She’s his mother.”

  “Eloise will be better off if she has a statement of custody. You know any lawyers?”

  “One. But the guy to hit first is Rick.”

  “Your ex-husband?” Mendez glanced at his watch. “Better do it.”

  Lena picked up the phone. “This early, at least I know he’ll be home.”

  The phone rang six times before a woman answered. Her voice was low and seductive, though all she said was hello.

  “Judith? This is Lena.”

  “Lena. How you doing, cupcake?”

  “I know I woke you up and I’m sorry, but this is kind of an emergency.”

  “You didn’t wake me up, I haven’t gone to bed. What’s wrong? You need Ricky?”

  Lena let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s him that’ll mind.”

  “Asleep?”

  “Ummm. Listen, cupcake, he told me about Jeff. I want you to know, you can come stay with us as long as you want.”

  “I always wanted to sleep three in a bed.”

  Judith chuckled. “Don’t think Ricky wouldn’t love it. Hang on while I get him.”

  Lena waited. Mendez looked at his watch.

  “Lena?” Rick’s voice was deeper, thicker than usual.

  “What’s … is something wrong?”

  “Rick, I got trouble and I can’t explain. I need a favor.”

  “Another one?”

  Lena heard Judith fussing at him in the background. “Yeah, another one. I need you to check some courthouse records and the dissolution of a marriage—”

  “The courthouse isn’t even open yet.”

  “I’m on my way out of town. Do it when you can. As soon as you can.” Mendez had shrugged into his suit coat. “Look, Rick, I got to go up and put on some clothes. You remember Sergeant Mendez? He’ll tell you what we need.”

  “Put on some—”

  “Here.” Lena handed the phone to Mendez. “He can figure out the dates and stuff. Tell him what we need and I’ll be right back.”

  Lena ran up the stairs.

  She got dressed quickly—black leotard, another pair of clean jeans, a jacket. She did a genuinely fast job on the makeup—mascara, yes; blush, no. She was ready in fifteen minutes, but could not find her watch. Had she taken it off in Kevin’s room?

  The door was ajar. The curtains were open, for the first time in seven years. Something silver glinted in the middle of the floor. Her watch. She slid it over her wrist.

  Something was off, besides the curtains. She glanced around the room, frowning. She slid her jacket over her shoulders, then looked once more in the far left corner.

  The mobile was gone—no more red-checked lion, hippo, and giraffe. Mendez had taken it down. She went into the corner and examined the tiny scars on the wall. He’d even taken the hooks out.

  Now the room was truly empty.

  17

  They stopped at a doughnut place for coffee, corn muffins, and raspberry doughnuts. Even with the coffee, Mendez was drooping.

  “Pull over,” Lena said. “I can get to Knoxville.”

  “You’re tired.”

  “I’m bouncing off the walls. Switch over and let me drive.”

  Lena licked sugar off her fingers as Mendez pulled the car to the shoulder of the interstate. A tractor trailer truck went past, making the Mazda quake. They got out of the car and switched sides, both keeping a wary eye on traffic. Mendez was grim and unsmiling.

  Men, Lena thought. Treat them like shit, they get huffy.

  It was still early enough that traffic was thin for such a well-traveled section of road. Lena merged the car into the flow with no trouble. Mendez adjusted his seat to tilt backward. The engine vibrated gently.

  “Nice car,” Lena said flatly. “It always just start right up when you put the key in? Don’t have to crank it?”

  Mendez opened one eye, then closed it.

  “Mendez. Joel. We need to talk.”

  “The whole idea was for you to drive, and me to sleep.”

  “I know, but I want to apologize about this morning.”

  “No need. I understand.”

  “I don’t see how you understand, when I’m not even sure I do. I just—”

  “Lena, it was a big mistake for both of us. Knowing how you feel about things, I … It was unprofessional of me.”

  “Unprofessional?” Lena raised one eyebrow. “Good point, Mendez. You should only make love to strangers you meet in bars.”

  He reached into the caddy behind the gear shift, selected a tape, and slipped it into the cassette player. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Lena kept her eyes on the road.

  Lena did not like the doctor, and not just because the woman was thinner than she was. Dr. Whitter had hard edges—too much eyebrow pencil, an overabundance of fragrance. Aliage, of all things. Lena curled her lip.

  “I talked to cops this morning already.” Whitter had the kind of deep Tennessee accent that would sound uneducated no matter how much schooling backed it up. There was lipstick smudged on her front tooth.

  Brash Pink, Lena decided. Maybelline.

  The doctor had received them, after a long wait, in a cramped office that smelled like mildew and gym socks. Lena’
s chair was hard orange plastic. Mendez’s was aqua. Dr. Whitter sat in a padded leather chair behind an immense chipped wooden desk that was covered with a glass top. Dust was thick on the few clear places that were not cluttered with stacks of files, papers, and magazines.

  Black wrought-iron shelves overflowed with books on women’s health, abortion, tubal ligation, and triage, trauma, and bullet wounds.

  “If I did have a patient like you say come in here, and he had an injury such as a badly torn meniscus, and a severely bruised kneecap …”

  Lena smiled.

  “… it would not, to my knowledge, be a matter for the cops. And I do respect patient confidentiality. You talking bullet wounds, stab wounds—I report downtown. According to standard procedure.”

  Mendez looked at her steadily. “Let’s cut the crap, okay?”

  The doctor glared at him. She leaned back in her chair and it creaked as she swiveled from side to side.

  “I’ve seen the report that was taken this morning,” Mendez said. “You treated Valetta, and he had a child with him.”

  “Yeah, so? He had a little ’un along.” The doctor’s voice was flat. “People bring kids in here all the time.”

  “What condition was he in?”

  “Knee was badly swollen and locked—”

  “The child.”

  She shrugged. “Charlene says she gave him a sucker and he ate it up so fast she gave him a whole handful. Most kids, you know, suck on it awhile. But she thought he was hungry, so she filled his pockets with ’em. Charlene’s a softie.” Whitter shrugged. “She be the one you want to talk to. I didn’t see much of him.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I got six abortions to do before—”

  “How come you don’t get picketed, like everybody else?” Lena asked.

  “’Cause I pay ’em off, that’s why. They like to close down the places on the nicer side of town. Their big ole cars tend to suffer ’round my neighborhood.” She winked. “I see lots of their girls in my office, though. Happens all the time.”

  Maybe, Lena thought, with the lipstick off her tooth, she might not be all bad. Lena glanced at the worn tile, caked with weeks of dirt, and wondered how she’d feel, coming in here. Probably prefer the places across town.