Skin and Bone

by TA Moore

  Javi raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That would explain why he doesn’t practice anymore.”

  “Well, had someone murder his family. It was over a decade ago. I wasn’t involved in the investigation at the time, but everyone that Macintosh had screwed over followed what happened. He tried to make it look like someone with a grudge had killed his wife and sons, but it turned out that it is a lot harder to manipulate people’s perceptions in the real world than it is in a courtroom. People suspected that he was involved right from the beginning, even before it broke that they weren’t such a happy family. His wife had talked to a divorce lawyer the year before. And she was his second wife. Macintosh had already gone through that once. It went to court, but Macintosh still had the friends—and money—so it didn’t stick. He didn’t even bother to mount a defense, no excuses or alibis, just sat and waited for the jury to return a hung verdict. Everyone knew he’d done it, though, even that woman whose ‘innocent’ he’d bought on the jury, and the guilt even got to him eventually. He started to lose cases, get drunk, and eventually he just disappeared. Mac the Knife was long gone by the time the sheriff’s department took over here.”

  “So why would a down-on-her-luck wannabe designer from New York have his card?” Cloister asked. He paused. It might not have been pointed. “Or maybe Stokes’s card.”

  It probably wasn’t a jab. Even Cloister’s fake-out birthday date was a blunt instrument compared to what Javi would have pulled. It was just the wrong day to bring up Stokes’s name.

  “Maybe she wanted to tail someone,” Javi said coolly. “Or she collects old business cards. At this point, speculation is pointless. Until we know more, Janet could have had that card for any reason.”

  Frome gave Cloister a warning look, his hand partially raised in a “stay calm” gesture. In the corner of his eye, Javi saw the hitch of broad shoulders as Cloister shrugged. There were times Javi suspected his desire to keep his private life exactly that was helped by the fact that Frome thought he didn’t like Cloister much. It would actually have been easier to stay civil if that were true. People Javi didn’t like didn’t get under his skin. They especially didn’t get under his skin without him knowing why.

  “I suggest we hold off on theories,” Javi said as though he hadn’t noticed the exchange. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to Stokes. He might be able to help shed some light on what Morrow wanted, and maybe who she is. I’ll get in touch with him, set up an interview.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Frome said. He stood up, put his jacket on, and tugged it straight over his gun. “I’m going to get lunch and a coffee. Deputy Witte, since you apparently feel you don’t need to recuperate, you can help SSA Merlo with any research he needs to do. It might keep you out of trouble.”

  Or, Javi thought dryly as they followed the lieutenant out of the office, Frome was perfectly aware of their—call it involvement, for lack of a better word—and just liked to watch them squirm.

  MRS. CRISTINA Lopez wasn’t happy.

  She was also probably only a decade older than Javi, which made him wonder how close to middle-aged Tancredi would call him.

  “I am the victim of a crime,” Mrs. Lopez said, the stress laid onto the words as though she thought the deputy on desk duty might misunderstand them. She slapped her hands on the counter. “I came down here to collect my car, and now I’m being held against my will. I demand to speak to someone in charge.”

  The deputy had the weary look of someone who had heard this rant more than once.

  “If you could just be patient, Mrs. Lopez,” he said, “someone will be out to see you soon.”

  Mrs. Lopez snorted. “You said that already.” She gestured behind her to the tall blond man on the bench behind her. He looked embarrassed. “My housekeeper needs to pick up the children from school. If they’re kidnapped or run away because they think I don’t love them, that’s on you.”

  “People know you’re here, Mrs. Lopez.”

  She huffed and stomped back to her housekeeper’s side. He patted her knee as she sat down next to him and murmured something to her. It made Mrs. Lopez roll her eyes.

  “That’s not the point, Jim,” she snapped.

  Javi turned to Cloister and handed him the file. “Take Mrs. Lopez into one of the interview rooms and calm her down. I need to make a couple of calls first, but I don’t want her to lose patience and storm out.”

  “Why me?” Cloister asked.

  “Because people like you, Witte.”

  “Dogs and small children like me,” Cloister corrected. “Irritated wealthy women, not so much.”

  Javi gave Cloister a brisk once-over. His black T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and his trousers hung low around his lean hips. Despite the scratch of irritation Javi hadn’t been able to shake, he felt an appreciative tug of lust in his stomach. Even the scrawled-on cast and the bruises that smudged up from Cloister’s eyebrow had a certain vulnerable quality that appealed.

  Most of the time, Cloister looked like the bad boy you’d pick up in a dive bar and hope wouldn’t break your jaw for asking. Right now he looked like a bit of rough who needed a cookie and a place to crash. It had its appeal.

  “Well, if she doesn’t warm to you,” Javi said, “take your shirt off. It worked on me.”

  He left Cloister to wrangle the irritated widow while he headed out to the parking lot. The door swung open just as he reached for it, and a vaguely familiar middle-aged man stepped inside.

  “Agent Merlo,” he said and thrust his hand out. “I hoped to speak to you on something to do with the case.”

  Definitely familiar. Javi wasn’t proud to admit it, but it was the smell of bleach and sour cigarette smoke that triggered his memory.

  “Mr. Hewitt,” he said. “How are you?”

  Hewitt frowned and scratched his neck. The skin was welted from the chemicals. “Bit on edge,” he said. “Look, that case you and Witte were on the other day. The cleanup? After you left, this homeless man came up out of nowhere. He asked questions, and just the way he asked… it wasn’t right.”

  “How?” Javi asked.

  “Just off,” Hewitt said. “Smug, like he thought it was funny. And he had this. He waved it around for a bit, but I took it from him.”

  He produced a stained pink scarf from his pocket. At some point he’d folded it up and put it in a sealed bag. An ex-deputy, Javi remembered.

  “Okay,” Javi said. He turned and gestured for Collins to come over. “Tell the deputy here everything that happened. He’ll get it logged into evidence. I appreciate you coming in, Mr. Hewitt.”

  “Tim,” he offered. “Or Hewitt. I was a deputy long enough to get used to both. I hope it helps. If that guy hurt that poor kid and tried to kill Witte, he deserves what’s coming to him.”

  Javi went outside and left Collins to get the details. He moved away from the smell of secondhand smoke and the distinct, unappealing mix of teenage body odor and huffed solvent. Sometimes it was hard to get the overnight guests to fly the nest once they were let out of the cells in the morning. He pulled Sean’s number up on his phone and hit the Call button.

  The phone rang long enough that he was about to hang up and try again. Then the line opened abruptly to the sounds of squealed laughter and Sean halfway through a sentence.

  “… need to take this. I promise you, though, I know what I’m doing.”

  Someone growled something back, and then Sean’s low, whiskey-rough voice poured down the line into Javi’s ear.

  “Special Agent Merlo, what an unexpected pleasure. Don’t tell me you’ve reconsidered my client’s offer?”

  “No,” Javi said. “Your client has information on who murdered three federales and their families. I’m not paying him for it. He can just go to jail with the killer when we find them.”

  He could hear the shrug in Sean’s voice. “Your choice,” he said. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation? Which is, by the way, cutting into my billable hou
rs here. Is this about your pet cop getting hit by a car? Because really, it’s your responsibility to keep him on a shorter leash.”

  As annoyed as Javi was with Cloister, the casual jab in Sean’s Cali-born drawl made him bite his tongue in irritation. He wondered idly if other people thought he sounded like that much of a privileged asshole when he snapped at Cloister.

  “Actually, Sean, your name has come up in connection with the case,” he said once he swallowed the angry retort that wanted to wriggle through his teeth.

  Sean laughed. “You’re joking.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Merlo,” Sean said. His voice dropped to a rough growl. “You look like you’d be fun for a couple of nights, and far be it from me to let a bad decision pass me by, but you’re not worth jail time. I had plenty of opportunities to commit a felony when I was with Plenty PD, and they would have paid better.”

  Javi grimaced. “I’m sure your client appreciates this insight into your practice.”

  “Please, my client appreciates a dick that goes that extra mile,” Sean said. The smirk managed to be audible in his voice. “So do the men I do take to bed. In case you ever get tired of Witte.”

  Javi squelched the brief flash of temptation before his brain could justify it. Even if he didn’t care about Cloister, Sean would be a bad mistake.

  “We need to speak to you,” he said. “Can you come down to the station?”

  “I’m in LA right now,” Sean said after a pause. The rasp of sex dropped from his voice as he realized Javi was serious. “I have court tomorrow, to testify in a stalking case. Unless you want to arrest me, you’ll have to wait until Wednesday.”

  “What time?” Javi asked coolly.

  “I’ll let you know. Give your deputy my best.”

  He hung up.

  Javi lowered the phone from his ear and rolled his head from one side to the other. His vertebrae grated with tension, but he took a deep breath and made his second call.

  “Inspector Yuen,” he said briskly, “I was wondering if you could help on a case I’m working on. We believe the victim spent some time in a hospital in Tijuana. I can send you all her details—”

  “This doesn’t sound like it’s connected to the cartels.”

  “Call it cross-agency cooperation.”

  Yuen snorted. “Send me the information. I’ll get someone on it. You owe me, Agent Merlo.”

  “Within reason,” Javi agreed. Then he hung up.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “DID YOU make this with a pot?” Mrs. Lopez asked as she took the cup from Cloister. Instead of waiting for an answer, she took a sip of the tea and wrinkled her slightly too-narrow-for-nature nose. “Forget I asked.”

  Cloister shrugged. There was a pot in the kitchen somewhere, a camping kettle that lived in the back of the cupboard with the old cartons of flower teas. It was dented, stained nicotine brown on the inside from years of tannin, and no one remembered who’d brought it in, so it was probably a relic of the old police department. He didn’t think the tea would taste any better in that.

  “SSA Merlo will be here any minute, Mrs. Lopez,” he promised as he lowered himself carefully into the metal chair. “If you do need someone to pick up your children, we could arrange a patrol car to take your housekeeper to their school?”

  Mrs. Lopez rolled her eyes. “They’re teenagers. They have after-school activities,” she said impatiently as she stood up. “It’s like four hours before they’ll even think about going home. Besides, they have phones, and I have an Uber account. I just don’t want to be here.”

  She turned away from him and started to pace. Her heels clicked pointedly on the old linoleum that lined the room. As she reached the door, she paused and glanced over at Cloister through her hair.

  “They’re my stepchildren,” she said. “My husband’s boys. They still live with me, but obviously they’re not mine. I wasn’t a child bride.”

  “I wasn’t judging,” Cloister said. “I grew up in the country. I walked home from school when I was eight.”

  Tragedy had already struck his family. His mother felt it was like an inoculation—someone had snatched his brother, so their family was safe. That was what Cloister told himself, anyway. But after she had his half brother, she drove him to school and home again. So maybe she just didn’t care what happened to Cloister.

  He tried to ignore the maudlin turn of his thoughts as he watched Mrs. Lopez make another circuit of the room. She finally heaved a sigh and sat down opposite him. Despite her flighty airs, her pale-gray eyes were sharp as she looked him over.

  “So,” she said. She took a drink of tea, and her lipstick left a bright smudge on the cup. She set it down on the table and arched her eyebrows. “Who’s Lara?”

  Cloister narrowed his eyes. She chuckled and pointed at his cast.

  “Get well soon,” she read out. “Lara. No kisses?”

  “She’s a friend,” Cloister said as he glanced down at the scrawled cast. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but the truth—her son was targeted by a kidnapper and her other son kidnapped, and Cloister had some idea what that was like—was hard to compress. “Her kids wanted her to write something.”

  He sat back and rested the cast against his thigh. Now that Frome had set him to work again, he supposed he should get some sort of cover for it. Tancredi’s happy possum might be cute to some, but it hardly looked professional.

  Mrs. Lopez started to say something and then stopped. She tilted her head to the side and pressed her knuckles against her upper lip to shush herself.

  “Are you the deputy who was hurt the other night? The hit-and-run?” she asked. Her voice started off thrilled with the proximity to drama and then abruptly cracked into dismay as she recoiled. “Oh my God, was that my car? And they said a girl was attacked. Oh my God, did they assault some poor girl in my car?”

  Her voice spiraled up toward shrill with secondhand panic. Cloister reached over the table and pushed her still-hot cup of tea toward her.

  “Mrs. Lopez, please try to stay calm,” Cloister said. “Agent Merlo will explain everything when he gets here.”

  She wrapped her hands around the cup on autopilot. The click of metal on ceramic made Cloister glance at her hands. Merry widow or not, she still wore her wedding ring.

  “I knew I should have sold that car,” she muttered as she lifted the mug to her lips. “It’s cursed.”

  Cloister would have asked, but Javi opened the door to the room just as he opened his mouth, so he put his curiosity aside for later.

  “Agent Merlo,” he said.

  “Deputy Witte.” The clipped way Javi said his name made Cloister give him a curious look. A flick of Javi’s fingers dismissed the unspoken question, or at least tabled it for later. Javi tucked his files into the crook of his arm and leaned over the table to offer his hand to the shaken woman. “Mrs. Lopez, I’m sorry to have kept you. We just have a few questions.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Lopez said quickly. She nervously wrung her hands around the mug. “I’m sorry I was a bi… being difficult. I didn’t realize this was about that poor girl.”

  A muscle flickered in Javi’s jaw, and he turned slightly to glare at Cloister. “I see Deputy Witte has filled you in already.”

  Cloister gestured at his forehead. The bruises had already faded down from purple and black. He always healed quickly, but the stitches were still there. “She guessed.”

  “I see.” Javi sat down and flicked the file open in front of him. “Mrs. Lopez, we suspect your car was used in a crime over the weekend. I just have a few quest—”

  “I was out of town,” Mrs. Lopez interrupted. “If I need an alibi, I can get a friend to call, or….”

  “That’s not necessary,” Javi said. “We don’t suspect you of being involved, ma’am. The thing we need to know is who’d have access to your car?”

  She was about to answer. Her mouth was open and “Just me and—” had made it out. Then she stopped a
bruptly. Her eyes went flinty, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line.

  “I think I’d like to talk to a lawyer.” She set the mug down neatly in front of her and crossed her arms. “Before we go any further.”

  There was a pause.

  “Mrs. Lopez,” Javi said. “We just want to clear this up. Right now you are not a suspect—”

  She lifted her chin. “Right now,” she said. “I. Want. My lawyer.”

  That was that.

  TWENTY MINUTES later Mrs. Lopez left the station in an Uber, her confused housekeeper on her heels. Cloister stood at the window in Javi’s office and watched her from above. He scratched under his cast as he finally stepped back from the glass. The last time he was in plaster was a couple of years ago, when a fall during a cliff rescue broke his foot. He’d forgotten how bad the itch was.

  “So who do you think she’s protecting?” Javi asked as he swiveled his office chair around to face Cloister. “The housekeeper? A lover?”

  Cloister shook his head. “We know the housekeeper used the car,” he said. “He’s not the one she’s worried about. Her stepsons are teenagers, and if Tancredi is right about Mrs. Lopez being out on a yacht on Friday night, that means her stepsons were probably home alone. Access doesn’t mean they did it, though. What connection could the Lopez boys have to Janet Morrow?”

  “Unless Mrs. Lopez is putting on a very good front,” Javi mused, “they’re a wealthy family. At least from the point of view of a homeless cleaner from New York, they probably are. Maybe they’re the people she thought owed her something.”

  “What thought?” Cloister asked. “They’re at school, so they’re what, sixteen or seventeen? How would Janet even know them?”

  “Online, maybe? Or it could be a connection to Mrs. Lopez that the boys knew about,” Javi said. A glance at his watch made him frown, and he got up to walk briskly over to the office door. He pulled it open and held it for Cloister. “Why don’t you find out, Deputy Witte.”