Geography of Murder (26 page)

The guy's eyebrows rose nearly an inch. Surprised I knew a cop or surprised I'd ask one for help. He left me in the hands of the booking officer and vanished through an electronically released door. I stared at the cracked linoleum floor under my feet. What now?

The cop behind the counter wrote something down on the paper in front of him. He didn't look at me. I was less significant than a cockroach might have been.

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The door my cop had gone through buzzed and opened again. He was back. He didn't say a word, just released the cuffs from my wrists and put them back on his belt.

"Detective Spider will be here shortly."

I can hardly wait.

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252

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

When I woke up this morning my first thought was
to shake Jason awake to have it out again. But one look
at his bruised and fragile looking body trying to burrow
back under the blankets without being fully conscious
made me realize I'd already done enough. Maybe even
too much. Could we really recover from this? I felt like
he had betrayed me, though in fact I don't think he did
anything with that guy, and while I hated the drug
thing, it wasn't the end of the world. I just knew I
couldn't stand it if he allowed another man to touch
him like I did. But if this went on would I lose him? I
sensed he was close to bolting. Maybe last night had
been a wakeup call for both of us, because I knew
beyond a doubt that I did not want him to go
anywhere. I still don't know what that meant and I
kept kicking myself for being thirty kinds of fool for
feeling this way about anyone, but the simple,
unblemished truth was I needed Jason. Maybe a lot
more than he needed me.

All morning I fielded calls. Some legitimate, some crackpot. There had been a full moon last night. Maybe that was why Jason had acted out. There was something intangible about a full moon that every cop knew spelled trouble. Logic might dictate it wasn't scientific fact, but we all knew terminal weirdness came out of the cracks during a full moon.

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I kept looking at the phone, thinking I should call him. But I didn't want to wake him if he was still asleep, and a phone call might dig up unpleasant memories best left in the dark. I had totally gone overboard last night. I had been angry, sure, angry that he had done that behind my back, angry that I had caught him looking at that bartender with such hunger in his eyes. He was only supposed to look at me that way, not some fat-dicked player in a tight pair of jeans.

But
had
I gone too far this time? I had seen his back when I climbed out of bed. The welts were nasty looking and covered half of his back, extending all the way across his ass.

I'd been too eager to make him feel the lash. To drive it home to him that he could not do those things. Not now, not ever. I wouldn't stand for it.

Well maybe I had succeeded beyond my intentions. Had my rage really gotten that far out of hand? And did that make me dangerous? I never thought of myself as an abusive man.

God knows in my job I see the tragic results of that all the time. Families torn apart by someone's rage. Jealousy could be an ugly thing and I was feeling the bite of it more than I ever had before.

Nancy arrived looking flushed and glowing. At least someone had a good night. She nodded at me curtly and asked for a progress report. I told her about finding the raven at Blunt's.

"So that's confirmed then," she said. "Anything on Lucy's front?"

"Not much yet. Still have a unit watching the house.

Apparently the woman and Lucy's daughter have gone out a 254

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few times. Mostly to the drug store or market. No sign of Chavez meeting them anywhere. All we can do is sit on it."

"I hate waiting more than anything else."

"At least be thankful we're not pulling the surveillance gig."

Hours sitting in a car trying not to fall asleep at a critical time.

I'd done my share of stakeouts. They were never pretty.

She nodded. "I hear you." Then she switched tactics.

"They ever figure out what was used on Dutton?"

"Blunt instrument. You know them, they won't commit. But there was a fire extinguisher missing. So that's looking good.

Be nice if they could recover it."

She made a noncommittal sound. If wishes were horses, beggars would fly. Some teacher in the Academy in a momentary flight of fancy said that once.

"Lunch?" she asked me, even though it was only eleven-fifteen.

"Sure, an hour?"

But before that my phone rang. It was Tender, back on duty watching Chavez's daughter's place. He wasted no time on preamble. A man after my own heart.

"Something's happening. The little girl keeps peering through the window. She's even opened the front door a couple of times. The woman inside keeps pulling her back. I think I saw the bag the girl brought with her sitting in the foyer."

"She's coming home." I felt the familiar pump of adrenaline that always hit me when something was going down. My body prepping me to be ready. To be safe.

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"Stay there until she shows up. Follow her. If she goes home I want to know right away. I'll come out then to talk to her. Try not to get made. This woman spooks way too easily."

"Gotcha, Detective."

Now it was more sit and wait. Worst case scenario, Chavez wasn't coming back but was sending for Michelle to join her.

An expensive trip, since I doubt the airline would let a child that young fly alone. No, she had to be coming home. Unless she really was fugitive then that opened a whole new can of worms.

"Lunch is on hold," I said to Nancy. "Let's sign out a car and go catch us a little birdie. I want to be ready when she reaches her apartment."

We once again fell to waiting. Cop work always struck me as being nine-tenths waiting for something to happen and one-tenth trying to save your ass when it did. But there was always something to fill the time. Reports to be written, phone calls to answer, and oh, yeah, reports to be written.

Finally Tender called back. "She's pulling in the driveway.

The little girl's in the car and the caretaker has the suitcase.

They're not wasting any time on niceties here. I wish my in-laws would be in and out in that short a time." A moment of silence then he came back. "So far all indications are she's on her way home."

"Let me know if that changes." I looked over at Nancy who was already on her feet. "Let's roll."

We arrived at the Chavez residence shortly after she did.

Tender pulled in behind our unmarked. We all waited in our 256

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cars until she had parked and gone inside, towing the little blond girl and two rolling suitcases.

Once the lobby door swung shut I climbed out onto the sidewalk. Nancy followed and Tender left his car.

"Want me to hang around?" Tender asked.

I shook my head. "I don't think it's necessary. You?" I directed that to Nancy.

She shook her head. Tender left and we approached the front door. Rather than buzz Chavez herself and alert her we were there, we looked up the apartment manager and had him let us in.

On the third floor we paused outside her door and spent a minute listening for sounds of activity on the other side.

Nothing. We knew she was in there, but there was no music, no TV, no sounds at all.

I rapped the door sharply.

Same reaction as the first time, although this time she had to have recognized us. She still insisted we show her ID. This time when we got inside we weren't invited to sit. Michelle ran over to her mother and hid her face in her skirt, refusing to look at either of us. Chavez was brusque.

"What do you want, officers?"

So I was brusque right back.

"I need you to be honest with us, Ms. Chavez. What is going on?"

"I told you. Nothing."

"Please don't, Ms. Chavez. Don't spin me that. We both know something is not right."

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"Nothing is going on," her voice rose in budding hysteria.

"I want you to leave me alone."

"We all know that's not true," Nancy spoke gently. So gently she could lull even me into somnolence. But this time there would be no rattlesnake take down when she had the mutt she was interrogating relaxed. If all my instincts were right, this woman was a victim, maybe more so than Blunt and Dutton.

"Do you know a Clarence Dutton?"

"No."

"George Blunt?"

It was subtle but she definitely flinched to Blunt's name.

Nancy saw it, too.

"When did you know him, Ms. Chavez? Was it as a child?"

This time there was mistaking her reaction. She went paper white and clutched at her pullover turtleneck sweater. I thought she was going to faint.

Nancy took her arm and guided her to the sofa, bypassing the recliner. She sat down with her. She didn't touch her again. Lucy Chavez had issues with being touched.

"How old were you?"

"I want you to leave," her voice was low and savage. "Get out."

We couldn't force her to talk. Not unless we came up with something a whole lot more compelling than we had. We might be able to get the ADA to issue a subpoena to force her to testify, but without cooperation it was wasted time.

We had to convince her it was in her best interest to talk to us. Good luck with that. Still, we tried.

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She wasn't listening. "Go, or I'll call your superior. I'll call the mayor if you force me to."

So we left, hoping if she had time to think things over she'd decide to help us.

We ended up having our lunch after all, though I would have preferred to be interviewing Chavez. We were just settling the bill when my cell rang. Caller ID was a number I didn't recognize.

The voice on the other end of the phone was brusque.

"Detective Spider? This is deputy sheriff Bittman from the Goleta CHP station. We have a Mr. Jason Zachary down here and he gave your contact information."

I stared down at my cell like it had grown teeth. The CHP?

What was Jason mixed up in now? I had just left him in bed a few hours ago. How could the guy get into trouble so fast? I knew Bittman was making a courtesy call, one cop to another. Probably once Jason had used my name he'd decided to fly under the radar and call me directly. It might even mean Jason hadn't been charged with anything yet.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"He was hitchhiking on the 101. Claimed he was heading for Santa Barbara for work." Bittman's voice dropped. "He'd been drinking, Detective."

I clutched the phone in my fist, a little surprised I didn't crush the small thing. "Has he been charged, officer?"

"Not at this time."

I glanced at my watch, then at Nancy who was watching me closely. "I can be there in twenty minutes."

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"As you like, Detective." He hung up and I met Nancy's all too knowing gaze.

"Going someplace?"

"An hour tops. Tell Garcia if he asks I'm rounding up some information. You don't have to tell him on what case."

"Alex—"

"Don't, Nance. I have to do this."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

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Apparently, I wasn't under arrest, I just wasn't
supposed to leave. I waited for Alex. Bittman told me
he was on his way and I was to stay put until he got
there. I paced the small space outside the booking
area, too jittery and on edge to stay still. Ants crawled
along my bruised nerve endings and I had a terrifying
memory of the tweaker in jail who had met an
unknown fate at the hands of those goons. I
remembered his screams and frantic need to rid
himself of bugs. Between the drugs, the beating and
the booze, I knew I was a mess on the same path as
that poor loser.

Regret strangled me. I was jumping out of my skin by the time the outer door opened and Alex entered with a blast of cool damp air. It was raining again. It didn't matter what dark waters had flowed under my bridges or what place he had put me in, my body clenched in desire at first sight.

We stared at each other across the negligible space and I could see the hunger in him that mirrored my own. He vibrated with some inner tension I don't think anyone but me was aware of. The cop behind the booking cage threw him a friendly greeting which he returned, his eyes never leaving mine. He crossed over to where I stood frozen in the middle of the room.

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was. I stared at his broad chest, counting the colored threads in his striped shirt. I refused to raise my head to look at him now that he was this close. He stepped back and raised his hand. Like a deer startled by a wild dog, I flinched.

"Let's go," he whispered.

Once more I obeyed.

His tension only grew as he led me out to his truck, unlocked it and let me climb in and belt up. Neither of us paid any attention to the cold drizzle coming down. He went around to the driver's side, slid in and shut the door.

Immediately his scent filled the small cab. Oh God, why did I think I could ever escape this man? If he had reached over at that moment and touched me I would have done anything he asked.