Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) Read online

  “Look, I agree. With a twist of fate and some luck on my part, in the end he’s the one envious of me. I’m the younger brother with a presumed lesser quality education and I started pulling in some serious money. You know that Michael worked his way up and paid his dues. He is envious, but not resentful. I never took it personally and I don’t now.”

  “Envy. One of the seven deadly sins,” Jessica retorted.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I BARGED INTO the men’s restroom at the police station.

  “Good God, Cassie, what the hell are you doing in here? Get out,” Manning yelled.

  I heard a toilet flush but more flushed was the officer’s face that came out of the stall. One look at me and he bowed his head and backed out of the door.

  “It’s not like I’ve never seen one before. I was married, remember?” I said.

  “You sure as hell haven’t seen mine, and I’m shy. Get out.”

  “You’re not feeding me any new information. It’s like you’ve dropped me,” I bleated.

  Manning glared at me. Not the first time. “I’m paying you, aren’t I? And I do have something new for you, as of about ten minutes ago. Now, go to my office and wait for me like a good little girl.”

  I don’t know what pissed me off more. Him calling me a little girl or good. I went outside to the back of the station and had a smoke. Because I felt like it. When I found Manning, he was seated behind his desk, ending a phone call.

  “What do you have?” I said. “What about those graves?”

  “Hello, Cassie. Nice to see you, too. Here. In my office. Have a seat.”

  I took the chair nearest his desk and squirmed. Partly because I was filled with anticipation and partly because Manning had caught me. Sometimes social manners eluded me. Like busting into the men’s room would not be at the top of the long list of my improprieties.

  Manning cut to the chase, sparing me further humiliation.

  “Forensics can only determine the women in the graves are most likely of Mexican descent. We’re going with drug running or gangs. Women have a huge gang presence here, all on their own. These women are not connected to our cases.”

  “Shit. No joke.”

  Smirking at me, Manning continued, “I have something viable for you, Potty Mouth. Uniforms are picking up a suspect as we speak.”

  “And?”

  “Stick around. You can watch the interview.”

  “How did you find him. Why? What? Where?”

  “We do work around here, Cassidy. The lead came from county.”

  “County?”

  “Pima County Mental Health Court. They think they have a guy we should look at.”

  Instead of feeling thrilled, I felt flat. Manning didn’t have to say another word. I wasn’t buying it and I didn’t know why.

  “He’s been diagnosed with Erotomania Delusional Disorder.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said. Now I was amused. I think I did the turtle thing, shrugged my shoulders, dropped down my neck, along with a poorly concealed giggle.

  “Not what you think in that peculiar mind of yours. It’s when a person becomes fixated on another, fantasizing about a love relationship that isn’t there.”

  End of my amusement. Back to the reality that we were on the wrong track. Still, my instincts have been wrong before. “I’ve heard of that. But isn’t it mostly women, fixated on men with money and some celebrity status? Athletes. Move stars. Politicians.”

  “Your operative word is mostly. There are well-documented cases of men diagnosed with Erotomania. And they don’t always fixate on the rich and famous.”

  I sat back against the clammy hard-surface chair his office afforded me. “Maybe,” I said.

  “I want your take on him. And meanwhile, Cassie, there’s something else.”

  “I’m ready for it!”

  “When was the last time you saw a man’s penis?”

  Indignant, I sat up and straightened my shoulders.

  “Just like I thought. How about you try a little makeup? Maybe wear a dress for a change? Go out and have some fun. Get a life. Get laid.”

  “You want my take on the dude. I’m staying for the interview,” I said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  SANDRA VICKERY MARCHED toward her father’s grave. Early dawn, the gentle April sun had barely lifted from the east to rise above the landscape of the slight slopes of the Rincon Mountains, yet she didn’t feel the warmth on her face. Instead, annoyed by a slight wind and the fact that the offices for the dead had yet to open for the day, she realized she didn’t know where Daddy was buried. Through the sea of massive headstones, she had to rely on an old map to determine the location of her father’s remains. She remembered to look for one of the biggest and tallest upright bronze and statuesque headstones. Easy to find. The asshole paid for it himself several years before his death. A true monument to himself.

  Winds whipped around her, but in no particular direction. They swirled around enough to rustle the pines and Palo Verde trees. Maybe a few souls.

  “For the first time in my life, Daddy, your old teachings and lectures are going to help me. I know, in spite of everything, you only want me to be happy.

  “And you should be happy for me. I’m learning a trade. Or an art. Maybe a science. I’m doing it exactly like you built up your company. Lesson by lesson. Slow progress toward perfection.”

  The headstone, the giant amongst its dead neighbors, didn’t answer Sandra.

  “Do not mess with me, Dad. You gave me the tools. I am the student you always wanted me to be. Now lead me. You know what I want. You always got what you wanted. Help me now or rot in hell.”

  JAXON GILES MET Jessica at Le Buzz, a local coffee shop on the east side frequented by bikers, the jet-lagged and occasionally, the famous that found refuge in its subdued ambiance.

  “It’s early, Jax. You know I rarely drink coffee, so what’s up?” Jessica said. She ordered an iced tea.

  “Our security guy is resigning the case.”

  “The guy with the fake name of Marcus? Surveillance on Sandra?”

  “He has nothing. He’s a good surveillance guy but he hasn’t come up with anything. He’s bored and has better jobs on the line. The worst thing he saw her do, repeatedly, is drop in to department stores to spray herself with expensive perfume samples before going to any lunch, soiree, or fundraiser. Which she’s been doing a lot of lately.”

  “Nothing else?” Jessica grabbed her iced tea with one hand and touched Jaxon on his upper thigh with her other. “I know I came down on you about Michael, but we both agree she’s a threat to both of us.”

  “I have it under control.

  “Marcus warned me that on Sandra’s back acreage she put a new razor wire around an out-building. As far as I know, except for the wire, it’s been there since I moved out. I think she stores expensive pool equipment in there. When her rents go up at the stores around town she expands that out-building on her property to warehouse inventory. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  Jessica retracted her hand from Jaxon’s thigh with a light stroke, sighing deeply, “The rich cheapskate.”

  “We have to remain calm. She hasn’t been in my face. Nor yours. That’s why the guy resigned the case.”

  “She certainly is dichotomous. She’ll pungle up for the best vodka money can buy and then cheats the stores out of perfume samples. She presents herself in Chanel’s tailored clean lines and Mikimoto pearls and figures out how to not pay a nickel more in rent,” Jessica said.

  “By God, I think you have her figured out.”

  “Maybe she’s finally ready to let go of you,” Jessica said, hopefully.

  “Maybe. But for now, sans any security, we can’t let our defenses down. We still have the restraining orders but we need to be vigilant, eyes open, to ensure they aren’t violated. I’m retaining Cassidy Clark. Her team is our team.”

  “I don’t know the name,” Jessica said.

  “Because she d
oesn’t want you to,” Jaxon replied.

  “Wait. The author! You’ve hired an author?”

  “Like I said. She doesn’t want you to know her day job and obviously she’s doing a good job at it.”

  I STOOD IN THE darkness behind the two-way mirror as the suspect, Karl Marks, straggled into the bright interrogation room. When the deputies left, he was alone.

  I was most curious about his facial expressions. Any signs of the jitters. Looking around. Looking down. A lying O.J. with a wince at his throat and twitching temples. What was he thinking?

  The suspect, at least sixty pounds overweight, wore a too-tight plaid shirt, a too-short tie, and baggy cargo pants. He could have passed for a used car salesman, although I knew he hadn’t held a steady job in years. When he did work, it was as a purveyor of reptiles.

  Wondering if the man had ever been behind a two-way, I knew the most frequent behavior was for the detainee to try and shadow their eyes so that they could see us behind the mirror.

  Not this guy. He didn’t bother sitting down until he fussed with his comb over, then picked something out between two lower teeth. Smiling back at his weak reflection in the two-way, he settled into a chair where he could still see the good looking man in the mirror.

  “Can anyone say ego?” I said.

  Schlep was quick to reply. “Erotomania was originally identified by de Clérambault so it’s often referred to as de Clérambault Syndrome. At first glance, this man fits the profile. While more common in women, cases involving males are not rare.”

  Schlep sucked in some air before continuing his lesson in delusional disorders.

  “The subjects often seek out persons of higher social status. Celebrities are big targets, but so are doctors and priests. It may include persons regarded to be of high beauty, I would imagine.

  “As a profile, they are largely single with few friends, and they’re usually unemployed.”

  A sergeant interrupted my thoughts by joining us behind the window. Manning entered the interrogation room. Nodding in understanding, I shushed Schlep as a detective also entered the interrogation room. I wanted to hear and see everything.

  Karl Marks took the opportunity to shield his face with his hands.

  “I done nothing. You got the wrong man. You trying to pin a murder on me?”

  The “good cop” detective, in a calm low voice said, “No. We have to eliminate you as a suspect. We need to recreate a timeline. So you need to think. I want to know where you lived about eighteen months ago, and where you lived and worked until today. Simple.”

  Looking up, with eyebrows raised, the suspect responded, “Long time ago in my life. Don’t remember. I’m more of a free-range type.”

  Manning asked, “How about the last three months? Last month?”

  Marks said, “I was mostly drunk or stoned. No trouble, though. I ain’t no killer.”

  “Listen, Marks, we have a search warrant. Right now your home is being ripped up inside and out. Care to comment?” Manning stretched his legs and crossed his arms. Bad cop, cool guy thing.

  “I’m a lady charmer. And I read the newspaper. I take a few clippings that interest me. There might be a few on a wall. I’m a self-declared lothario and an interested citizen. None of that should put me behind bars.”

  “The ladies like you?” Good cop.

  “Fall into my fucking lap for a free dance.”

  Manning said, “You’ve been diagnosed with erotomania delusions. Care to respond?”

  “Above my vocabulary.”

  Good cop said, “I suppose you have one woman undeniably in love with you, Mr. Marks?”

  “Two. Three. Sometimes five. For me, it’s only about the one with whom I reciprocate my love at any given time. I treat her good at the time.”

  “Love the one you’re with. You like the pretty ones?” Chief Manning drilled.

  Karl Marks chortled, “They all love me. Not a crime there.”

  “We’re going to need a list of those female devotees of yours,” Manning demanded.

  “Lawyer me up.”

  Manning stood, tossing his chair under the table toward Marks. “You’re going to need a Philadelphia lawyer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ANOTHER ATTORNEY, an acquaintance of Jaxon Giles, phoned Jaxon and politely asked if he would meet him at the nearby Beyond Bread restaurant.

  Having skipped breakfast, and wondering if the lawyer might be interested in new office space, Jaxon agreed.

  The attorney was seated at a coveted patio table at the busy restaurant. As Jaxon approached, he stood and extended his hand.

  “I don’t mean to bring you here under false pretenses,” the attorney said before sitting back down. He consumed his first big bite of the Maddy’s Madness, a chicken, bacon, Swiss cheese and artichoke sandwich on fresh bread.

  That meant no real estate deal, Jaxon thought, but he was famished and dived into his own hot sandwich, Colette’s Cordon Bleu.

  Small chit chat. Why are we here, Jaxon wondered?

  “I asked you to join me, off the record, because we go back so many years and I respect you. I’m giving you a head’s up, Jaxon. Your wife, ummm, ex-wife has engaged my firm’s representation. She asked for restraining orders against both you and Jessica Silva.”

  “That’s preposterous! You and I both know you need to have facts behind these orders. I have restraining orders against her. She has nothing.”

  Raising bushy eyebrows while managing to squint, the lawyer nodded and said, “And I agree. Totally. For your information, I’m not representing her. But she’s a client with my firm. The lady isn’t about to stop there. That’s my take on it. Remember, we never had this conversation.”

  Jaxon took a few bites of the sandwich, enjoying the unusually hot Tucson sun so early in the year. They sat in dappled light, protected by a few palm trees. The restaurant had turned on their misters to cool off the crowded patio.

  His pleasure for the weather withered quickly as the man’s words set in. “You’re warning me about something,” Jaxon finally said.

  “You’re a smart man. In my opinion, as a good friend you don’t know well, I advise you to act like the woman has a restraining order against you. You see her? You walk away. Same with your girlfriend.”

  CHIEF MANNING couldn’t prevent giving Karl Marks his freedom. The search of his home had turned up nothing of substance. Nothing they could hold him on. They found more than a few newspaper clippings taped to a wall in his bedroom. Two of them were of Congresswoman Strong and one of the aspiring twenty-three year old model who disappeared ten months ago. There also were a couple dozen articles that seemed to have nothing to do with the case. They were all beautiful women, enshrined on a wall in a creepy house surrounded by packrat droppings.

  They found plenty of evidence of drugs, but no drugs. If they busted him on paraphernalia, he’d be out on the streets in a few days, max, and mad. Schlep and I agreed with Manning. We’d get more out of Marks if he remained free in his own crazy world. He agreed to continue weekly mental health meetings at the Pima County facility.

  Schlep immersed himself in trying to find out everything about Marks. With Schlep at that helm, it meant that we would have a background check on him ten-fold of what the police department could dig up.

  Neither of us thought he was good for all of it, but we had to look at this objectively. With the discovery of some of the missing persons’ news clippings on Marks’ wall, maybe the cases weren’t as interwoven as we thought.

  MANNING CALLED one thing right. He had no reason to know I had a closet full of beautiful dresses. While it was true that I hadn’t been in a girlie-girl dress in a long time, I knew exactly where to find the skimpy-oh-so-shiny red one.

  I had worn it to a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. Excited that my date would pick me up in a stretch limousine, my mood cratered the second I climbed into the car and realized Date Boy was soused. He’d been out barhopping for hours. He’d been intoxicate
d for days, I surmised.

  Maybe I’d have better luck with the dress this time.

  Makeup was easy. I had tubes of stage makeup so thick you could sink into it like quicksand.

  Next, I had to choose the right wig. Blonde and long or a blonde flirty short one. I had several black ones, ranging from curly to Cher-like straight. Long, cropped and spiky, or the dark brown one, styled into a French twist that would fade into any crowd. Being a red head, I had a couple of the bright red ones. Long with sexy fat curls, and one meant for rockers.

  My sister once told me that everyone ‘knows’ what they say about redheads. I didn’t know but deduced it meant they were skanks.

  I selected the long skank red one.

  After securing a gaudy brooch to my dress, I made sure that the camera it housed was working.

  Taking one final look in the mirror, I was satisfied. Even Manning wouldn’t make me.

  I drove straight to The Dancing Saguaros Lounge, a not-so-fine establishment Marks was known to frequent.

  Chapter Eighteen

  JESSICA WOULD ENJOY a rare evening off. She asked Jaxon if he’d like to sneak away for a light dinner at her house. Jaxon had told Jessica about the warning from the attorney. She only thought about doing something almost normal, like eating a delicious sampling from the Tucson Tamale Company out by her small pool, where calm would find them. She never promised it would be a homemade meal but she would toss up a mean salad as a side.

  Jaxon spotted the trouble when he saw two dead Joshua Trees in Jessica’s front yard. They were healthy a week ago.

  “Why don’t you finally say yes and move in with me, Jess? I’ve never liked you living behind the false security of a community gate.”

  “I know. I know. Everyone and their scum uncles have the code. But you know why I won’t move in with you. I have crazy long hours, Jaxon. You have crazier long hours. Between our schedules, neither one of us would get any sleep.”