Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (21 page)

When she burst through my back door, her swollen eyes, baggy shorts and an even baggier Arizona Wildcats tee-shirt told me she was in bad shape, not just because of jetlag.

My smaller Yorkie, Phoebe, usually breaks her lungs and my eardrums at the sight of a stranger. It alarmed me that Phoebe didn’t run straight into Tracy’s arms to begin slathering her with wet kisses. She hung back with her head low. Finnegan took out his frustration by pissing on a leg of the dining room table.

Dogs sense things. They understood what I saw. Tracy was a mess.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, grabbing a can of seltzer water out of my refrigerator.

“Tracy, do you have a key to Michael’s home?”

“An electronic lock. I have the code.”

“Then it’s not illegal entry. Bring your water. Let’s go.”

“Now what?” she asked.

“I’ll take Score’s den and main living areas. You take his bedroom, bath.”

“Just what are we looking for, Cassidy?”

“Anything and everything.”

“It seems kind of creepy. Walking into a man’s house and going through all of his personal things.”

“You can wait outside if you want, Tracy.”

“Hell, no.”

“Then let’s begin,” Dr. Opitz said, “How are things going?”

“My business can be a bit overwhelming,” Sandra sighed, “There’s no slow-down for the pool business down here.”

“Yes, but I meant between you and your husband. How are you feeling about your relationship?”

“Excited. Happy. Looking forward to a getaway for just the two of us.”

Taking a deep breath, the therapist said, “Sandra, before you go on, I need to tell you that I ran in to Jaxon last week.”

Sandra huffed, “You just accidentally ran in to him?”

“Sometimes Tucson is a small town. I’m selling a small building on the east side. My broker couldn’t show it and I had no problem being there to open it for a possible buyer. Jaxon Giles showed up with his buyer. Before I arrived, I had no idea who the broker was who was meeting me, along with is buyer.” Sandra’s mouth drew tight in a Billy Idol sneer. “I assume you observed your patient-doctor confidentiality.”

“Of course.”

“Then what’s your point?” Sandra said, raising her hands above her while shaking her head. She slid into the comfort of the down-filled sofa, remaining stiff.

“He introduced the buyer to me. Her name is Jessica Silva. Do you know her?”

Sandra stammered, “Doesn’t everyone? She’s an anchor on the news.”

Taking another deep breath as if he were uncomfortable, the therapist replied, “I like our visits, Sandra, and I really want to help you. But you need to be honest. There’s no point in me charging you my ridiculous fees if you can’t be open with me.”

Sandra held her chin up high and pursed her lips. Her silence was her response.

“My goal is to listen to you and help you sort out your feelings. Here is my advice. For wanting what is permanently lost, you are taking away from yourself. You are divorced and you need to move on. Let me help you reclaim your life.”

Sandra planted her palms on the seat cushion. “Send me your bill. And you’re fired. I don’t need this crap.”

“Do you remember our first session?”

She cocked her head, listening.

“You told me you had already run through quite a number of psychologists. Do you recall that?”

Standing up, Sandra sneered at the doctor, “I’ve changed my mind. You’re still fired, but don’t send me a bloody bill because you won’t see one cent of it.”

Not done with her antipathy, as she walked to the door she yelled, “I had a burglary at my home. Don’t you think that would have been something to talk about before attacking my marriage?”

More than a few transactions had been paid in cash, with several more not requiring delivery.

Schlep pulled out seven invoices of interest, dating back eighteen months.

“Look at these, Carson,” he said.

“Initials?”

“No-name buyers but for those initials. What do you make of it?”

“Hundreds of invoices, all filled out with names, addresses, and contact information. And yet these few are unspecified. There’s not even any description of what they purchased. Let’s fast forward through these files and look only for those with initials.”

Almost two hours later they had pulled a total of twelve invoices dating back almost three years. Every other invoice had all the pertinent information written down.

Schlep put them on the table they’d been using in the showroom, spread out according to date.

Two for J.A.G.

Five made out to V.G.

Four to a V.P.

The twelfth and last invoice had a large single letter at the top. B.

They asked Mandy, who was finishing her tofu and rice crackers, to join them at the table. “Do you have any idea who these clients might be?”

As she studied them, she glided her fingers across each one.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea. Ms. Shields is such a stickler for accuracy that I don’t understand these.”

“Maybe we should go back through the invoices that might match up to names with these initials,” Carson suggested.

Schlep stood up, bracing his arms against his chair. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not saying this is some secret code, but it seems like these clients were intended to remain anonymous. It’s a waste of time which we don’t have.”

“I do,” Mandy squealed. “If I have a client then I’m totally busy. Maybe I’ll have some purchase orders to make out and maybe I need to do an in-home estimate, but sometimes I’m sitting here watching movies on my computer.”

Schlep grinned and nodded his head. “Great. You’ll be a big help. May we take these invoices with us?”

“Oh, no. Ms. Shields would be furious.”

“Do you have a copy machine?”

“Oh, yeah.”

In about twenty minutes, Mandy returned with copies of the twelve invoices.

“One more thing,” Schlep turned to Mandy while Carson took the paperwork, “Have you received any calls or visits from Lori Shield’s husband?”

“You haven’t heard? On my god. Oh my god!”

“What?” Schlep asked, raising his thin eyebrows.

“Mr. Shields met with the community of victims’ families that Cassidy brought together. He spearheaded a drive to raise funds. One pool will be used to offer a reward for any of the women. The other is to privately retain you to keep the investigation going. He told me the local authorities were dropping the ball, that there’s some sort of money crunch to deal with, but that’s all over. Cassidy should be getting a retainer check right now.” She exhibited her excitement with a big toothy grin, a bit of tofu still stuck between teeth and gums.

“Such a sweetie, but not really a pretty,” she said, smiling a vicious grin.

The woman, disoriented, was chained to cement pillars that stood like sentinels in front of the stairs that led up to Sandra’s private office, muffled a groan.

“Speak up. I’m speaking to you. I assume you remember who I am.”

She nodded, her eyes bulging were made more prominent by her pallid complexion.

Sandra lit up a Nat Sherman. Puffed, pulled in and exhaled.

The woman shut her eyes.

“I’m talking to you, Connie. Look at me! I’m mad at you. You’re sleeping around with my husband.”

Connie screamed.

“No one can hear you. Scream all you want. I actually enjoy the sound.”

The woman shook her head with fury and fear. “No. You were divorced. And that was a long time ago that we dated. So long ago…,” her voice drifted.

“Time is an earthly thing. Man created it to suit his perceived needs. So are divorces. They’re made from false pretenses. A man and a woman, once joined in holy matrimony, are there for each other throughout eternity. Get it? Eternity isn’t time-stamped. All will be corrected. I’m sorry that you are so stupid.”

Connie lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if in prayer, and then gazed around the room that held her captive. She tugged at the chains, knowing it to be a futile effort. She had to talk. Defend herself.

“I have a daughter. You’ve met her. She is all that I want. Nothing more.”

“Your daughter is a skank that was after my husband. Scared your little britches off to Houston where you belong. But you just had to come back to Tucson.”

“I have not been in contact with Jax—your husband. I’m here for a brief business trip. That’s all. I need to get back to my daughter.”

“Of course. The same daughter that was hitting on my husband and the same daughter that has run away from you—how many times?”

“It’s not like that anymore. She loves me. I love her. No one else. It’s only the two of us.”

“Actually, Connie, it’s only the two of
us
. You and me.”

Connie tried to wipe tears from her eyes but her chained hands rendered the effort useless.

“Okay. Let’s talk. Let’s reason with one another. Oh, wait. Your ability to reason was absent long before I gave you the goodies to get you here. I mean, you are the one who slept with my husband.

“I was worried your head might be too rattled to talk with the chloroform plus the couple of shots from the taser. Not exactly like when you and Jaxon went out for shots of tequila. By the way, I’m afraid you have a few burn marks on your body, but they’ll go away. They’ll vanish.

“I’m so pleased you can chat with me. I’m interested in what happens next.” Sandra pulled out a second cigarette from the elegant brown box, lighting it with her gold and pearl lighter.

“Me, too,” Connie whimpered, almost inaudibly. She no longer pulled at the chains. “It will be okay. You and me. It will be okay.”

Sandra pulled nearer to hear the woman. “I’ll be dandy. You? I don’t think so. Right now it’s all about my journey and I take joy in the fact that you are cognizant so that you can recognize your journey. That’s new for me. It’s quite refreshing.”

Connie ducked her head toward her chest. It was of no use to try and hide. Her arms were restrained so high she could only lower her head slightly. The woman’s face was now inches away from hers.

“It will be better if you look at me,” Sandra said, flicking her ashes in the woman’s face.

She looked up, her eyes squinting from the assault.

“I needed a little help in the beginning. The chloroform. Easy. The taser. Easy enough. Getting the bitches here when their bodies were like limp pounds of russet potatoes was a problem. Getting totally rid of any remains? A piece of cake.

“I have had all of Jaxon’s friends here. Come and gone. All those missing women the police are going nuts over finding. There is nothing to find.”

Connie took a deep breath. “He doesn’t know any of those women,” Connie wailed.

Sandra chortled. Took another drag. “I might as well have given you a truth serum. You just admitted you’ve seen him.”

“Email. Only email. You can search my laptop. It’s at the hotel,” Connie said.

“Not necessary. You don’t seem to understand. I’ve been practicing my craft. It’s possible Jaxon didn’t know those women, but they were all after him. That’s all that truly matters.

“I had to develop an approach. One at a time. Perfect my craft. And I had to gain some physical strength. I’ve done that. I’ve always known what the end would be which inspires me toward more perfection. I’m having some fun.”

Connie’s head dropped to one shoulder. “I need to go to my daughter,” she whispered. “You’ll never see me again.”

“Wake up, woman. Look at me!”

Chained and dehydrated, Connie rolled her eyes toward her captor.

“I’ve become quite fascinated with the process. And I knew a week before you hit Tucson that we would have a good session. Your total disappearance is certain. But I’ve found a curious little poison that I can’t wait to try on you.”

“What do you want from me?” Connie mumbled.

“I’m curious. That’s all.”

“This is for you.”

I reached for the envelope, uncertain, and pulled out a check.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Look at the issuer.”

“Bring Our Women Back?”

“It’s set up as a non-profit. We even have a website as of this morning.”

“Mr. Shields, this is way too much money. I can’t accept this.”

“You can, and you will. You’re being hired by the people that need you. We all understand that the local authorities have their goddamned budget issues and they aren’t giving us what we need.”

“I have the resources to continue on my own.”

“We all know who you are, Cassidy Clark. Best-selling author. Let’s see. Two non-fiction books on criminal forensics. One true-crime novel. Now you’re working on what looks like a future fiction series. We don’t care that you have the means to continue. What matters is you have earned this retainer. And you will keep earning all we have to give, until you bring our women home.”

“You know I can’t promise that,” I said.

“We have hope, but are aware of the reality. We just want to have them back with us. You know what I mean.”

I nodded. My palms grew moist and I had a sudden inability to swallow the bold Sumatran coffee.

“Why are you doing this? At this time? You didn’t even show up at our first meetings.”

“I guess we need to backtrack. You need to know the truth. My wife and I have been separated for four years. We are too lazy to get the divorce. It’s not a bad situation. We don’t even share holidays. It is what it is.