Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (13 page)

Zach ambled into the bedroom and crawled in between the sheets, sighing. It felt good to be in bed, alone. No commitments. He didn’t have to worry if he snored. Why, he could blow the house down with his snorts. It didn’t disturb him one wit.

~~

The next morning, Jorie drove herself to Wal-Mart. She picked up a couple items and returned home.
After lunch, she spread out newspapers on the bathroom counters and floor where she stood. Then she opened the box of hair color. Jorie was about to return to her natural roots. The dark brown ones, the ones she’d been bleaching for years.

The next time she looked into the mirror after rinsing the color from her hair, she saw a brunette staring back.
A damn cute brunette, too,
she thought.

Nineteen

Margarite was chatting with Ralph outside of his house when Helen walked up. She was growing suspicious that Margarite had eyes for Ralph.

“Helen, come join us,” Ralph said, motioning at her. “Margarite was just saying that Zach and Jorie went on a date.”

“Mercy, what would she see in Zach?”
Helen stood beside Ralph, close enough to remind Margarite that they were a couple.

“I don’t know, but Jorie looked plenty happy about it.”
Margarite acknowledged the closeness between the couple. She knew what Helen was doing.

“I think Zach needs a woman in his life,” Ralph opined. “This could be good for him.”

“Nope. Too soon.”  Helen was emphatic. “Jorie just lost her husband. This is a sign she’s needy and desperate. He doesn’t need that.”

“It’s not proper,” Margarite chimed. “Joe is barely dust and here she is running after another man.”

“I wouldn’t mind her running after me,” Ralph commented.

Helen slapped Ralph’s arm. “Behave yourself!”

“Well, just saying…”

“Just saying, what? Jorie is cute? Is that it? You think she’s cute?” Helen was glaring at Ralph. “You like them young?”

“Now, Helen, calm down. I didn’t mean anything.” Ralph displayed both hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “Yes, she is cute. But so are you, dear.”

“Well, that was sweet,”
Margarite’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I think I’ll get moving. See you guys later.”

“Bye, Margarite.” Ralph waved after her, as did Helen.

“So, do you like your women young?” Helen was relentless.

“Helen, damn it, enough!” Ralph was perturbed by her jealousy. “All women are young to me. Even you. I’m ninety-one, for heaven’s sake!”

Helen rolled her eyes over Ralph, scrutinizing him, searching for truth. “You cheat on me, I’ll know. JFK will tell me.”

“Oh, shit,” Ralph said, turning to walk inside the house. “I’ll call you later when
the sane Helen returns.”

~~

Nightingale was peeping out her window, waiting for her next client, when Margarite was walking by the house. A flood of impressions blasted back at her unexpectedly. Sculls. Lots of sculls, and garden tools. Such a weird impression.

She wondered what Bill was finding out about Latisha?
Was it possible the woman was involved somehow with Brad’s murder? It seemed a remote idea. But the impressions of that knife were so clear, so exact.

Nightingale didn’t know Latisha well, but the woman had always been pleasant and never gave any hint she was capable of murder. She wasn’t mean to animals and appeared to want to help people rather than harm.
It didn’t seem she was a likely suspect. However, someone had killed her former husband. She had to place her trust in the universe that the killer would be found.

~~

“Your score results just came in,” Detective Martinez said to Bill. “I’d like to congratulate you on becoming our newest detective.”

Bill tried to conceal his delight, not wanting to appear juvenile in his reaction, but it was difficult. He felt like jumping up and clicking his heels together, midair. Instead, he shook the detective’s hand in appreciation.

“I’m very happy about this, sir.”

“I know you are, as am I. You won’t have to wear a uniform, so make sure you have decent coats to wear and ties.”

“Ties?”

“Yes, the dress code requires ties
, but you can loosen them when you’re in the office.” Martinez motioned for Bill to be seated. “As you know, the east side of the county has been keeping us busy with the bikers coming to town and raising hell with other gangs. We found another body last night, too. So I want you to focus on the Cassadaga murders for now. Dig deeper into suspects than we’ve had a chance to do.”

“Yes, sir, I’d be happy to handle
the Cassadaga murders.”

“Good, get on it then.
Maureen will show you to your desk.”

“Yes, sir.” Bill stood, shook Martinez’s hand and left the office.

When he entered the large outer office, the secretary appeared to be waiting for him. “Detective France,” she said with a big smile as she came up to him. “Congratulations. I’m Maureen, the head clerk. Follow me and I’ll show you to your desk.”

Bill followed behind the skinny woman as she led the way to his new desk. He wondered if the tiny thing ever ate? She turned around and raised her
stick arm out to the side to indicate his desk.

“If you need anything, please let me know,” the brunette said, then walked back to her desk
near the  entrance.

Bill sat down, elated over this turn of events. His first reaction was to call Nightingale.

“Plan on dinner out tonight,” he said when she answered. “We’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“I was promoted to detective.”

“Oh, my god! That’s so wonderful! I didn’t know you were in the running for a promotion.”

“I kept it secret until I knew for sure, in case it didn’t come through.” Bill’s face was split wide with a grin as he spoke.

“Oh, Bill, I’m so happy for you. And proud.” Her voice sounded like music to his ears as she spoke.

“Well, I better get to work. See you at six.”

“Okay, bye.”

Bill began running checks on Latisha
Johnson, her previous residences and employment. Nothing appeared outstanding there, so he searched into her childhood. What he found was surprising. There was actually a news article in the archives about her father, Lucius Johnson. It seemed her dad had been into the shady side of gambling, running private, high stakes card games and being a bookie. Additionally, he was a known womanizer. While that wasn’t illegal, it added to the character of the man.

Everything eventually came to an abrupt halt
for Lucius when one of his ladies verbally threatened Latisha’s mother, right on the front steps of their home, according to the article. That threat escalated into domestic violence when Lucius returned home. A free-for-all broke out among the three parties while a child witnessed the entire scene, that child being Latisha, age twelve.

By the time the police arrived, Lucius’ lady friend was draped over the steps, shot dead by a handgun belonging to Lucius. The article was unclear regarding who shot the woman, with suspicions pointing to Latisha, although Lucius claimed he was responsible.

Bill rolled his bottom lip under his teeth as he considered this information. He ran Lucius through police records and discovered that he had bonded out on the charge. But before he could stand trial, someone shot Lucius to death. The perpetrator was never brought to justice.

Latisha had been exposed to violence and death at an early age
. Still, twelve was an age of understanding, Bill reasoned. She would have understood adultery, jealousy and murder.

So
who shot the other woman, the home wrecker, the father’s girlfriend? Lucius? Latisha? Maybe her mother had pulled the trigger…

At age twelve, could Latisha
have actually killed a human being? And if so, could she have thought she was protecting her mother, her family, by shooting someone she could have perceived as a home wrecker?

Or had she simply witnessed the murder her father committed? Either way, it w
ould have been tragic and traumatizing for such a young girl.

Bill left his desk for a cup of coffee, returning with the beverage. As he sipped
coffee, he speculated further.

W
ho killed Latisha’s father after the confrontation at the home? Was it conceivable that she could actually have committed a premeditated murder?

W
hat would be the motive if that were true? But the bigger question was, did this early occurrence in Latisha’s life relate even remotely to Perry’s murder?

“All good questions,” Bill mumbled between sips of coffee.

Twenty

“Chardonnay for the two of us,” Bill told the waitress.

“I can’t believe you’ve discovered so much about Latisha. I’m impressed!” Nightingale said, returning to their conversation.

“It was all there, anyone could have turned it up if they’d had the time.” But Bill was pleased with Nightingale’s appreciation. “All the activity on the eastside of the county has prevented a more in depth investigation since we’re short-handed. And no one was looking into Latisha.”

“Well, now they have you on the job and you’re going to shine!” Nightingale beamed at Bill as their wine was delivered. “I’m making a toast to your
promotion and uncovering the answers to this case and many more to come!”

They clinked glasses and sipped their wine. Bill was the first to speak.

“You know Latisha better than I,” he said. “Could she commit murder?”

“My brain
has doubts, but my impressions say yes.”

“Three
possible murders, starting at age twelve? And why Bradford Perry, twenty years after the first two?”

“Sweetheart, you’re the detective. You’ll just have to figure it out.”

“I also looked through all the reports taken regarding Joe Schmidt’s murder.”

“And?”

“Dead end.” Bill rubbed the side of his clean shaven face as he spoke. “There were no witnesses. Everyone who was interviewed said they didn’t see or hear anything. How can that be?”

“Cassadaga is a quiet town, people sleep late in the mornings. Some wear hearing aids, so they wouldn’t hear a bomb go off in the middle of Stevens Street. I’m not surprised.”

“Well, I can’t solve a case with no witnesses or information." Bill swallowed half his glass of wine. “It’s frustrating.”

“
Did anyone figure out what was used to hit Joe in the head?”

“
No. And then they dumped manure over him. That makes it personal.” Bill signaled the waitress for more wine, then eyed Nightingale in a peculiar manner.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You had a thought, what was it?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“
Bill
, what was it?”

“
Would you, I mean, is it possible for you to, well…”

“What? Ask me.”

“Would you use your abilities to help me with the case?” His face looked so hopeful and pitiful, all at the same time, like a little boy asking for a special favor he thought impossible to attain.

“I see, well…”

The wine arrived, so Nightingale had a chance to think before she spoke. She took a sip, savored it and then swallowed.

“Okay. But you know I don’t like to do th
is sort of thing.”

“I know, but I really need a boost on this case. You’ve already helped with the other one.”

“That was an accident. The information just came to me.”

“Anything coming
in on the other one?”

Nightingale chuckled. “No.
No spontaneous impressions, and I’ve had some wine, so I prefer not to psych in on things under those circumstances. Tomorrow, we can do it then.”

“Are the impression
s still coming to you unsolicited?”

“Not as much
, it seems to be tapering off, for which I’m glad.” Nightingale sipped her wine. “I was leery of going out of the house, then Margarite walked by as I was looking out the window and I was hit with some weird impressions, even inside the house.”

“What were they?”

“I saw sculls and garden tools.”

“That probably came as a result of the sculls found at the bookstore,” Bill reasoned.

“Probably. And Ralph used garden tools to unearth the sculls, although not by his choosing.” Nightingale set her glass on the table and picked up her menu. “I’m starved.”

“Me, too.”

“You know, Alex Daniels should be prime on your list of suspects. She had motive.” Nightingale wanted so much for Bill to be successful with his first two investigations.

The waitress approached, seeing the couple looking at their menus. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes, I’ll have the chicken scaloppini and oil and vinegar on the salad. No pasta,” Nightingale said.