Chapter 11
Bud didn’t arrive at Cedar Bend Lodge until just after one o’clock. That was a good thing. It gave Claire plenty of time to grab hold of some shaky emotions. She didn’t understand why she had spiraled so quickly about Zachary—it was rare now to hit her so hard and so brutally. But she would be all right. What she needed was to get back to work. Work was always a panacea for dark days. Black was gone, already down at the exclusive bungalows seeing his patients. By the time Bud finally showed up in his truck, Claire was already downstairs in the back corridor, watching for him. Unfortunately, the paparazzi had caught wind of the private elevator. Fortunately for Claire, Black had ordered barriers set up to bracket the back drive and manned them with security guards. That helped them some, but not enough, as they soon found out.
The photographers had their tripod cameras set up just outside the ballroom doors, every one zeroed in on Claire’s private entrance, ready with their big-zoom, we-got-you-sucker lenses. Snow muffled the sounds of the day and made everything quiet, so Claire could hear the snapping and clicking of shutters as she walked down the sidewalk. Averting her face to ruin their shots, she kept her hood pulled up, head down, and wore a pair of big, round black sunglasses so they wouldn’t have squat to sell to the tabloids. Even those despicable rags didn’t buy bad shots. They paid the big bucks for juicy ones that sold copies and ruined lives. Nobody followed them around the hotel to the exit drive, though, probably because Bud had slapped his flasher on top.
“So, you’re sayin’ the victim turned out to be Jonesy Jax’s daughter? You got a positive ID on that yet, Claire? That is going to cause all hell to break loose around here. You know that, don’t you?”
“Jonesy showed me a recent picture of Heather Jax. He adopted her and she took his name. Used to be Heather Cantrell, her mom’s maiden name. I could readily identify her off that photo. It’s her, all right. And that’s not all: He’s got the same tattoo that she has, and it’s his business logo.” Claire turned in the seat and started outlining everything else she had on the case so far, but Bud interrupted her almost at once.
“You got to meet him this morning? Did he remember you arrestin’ him that time?”
“I don’t think so, and I don’t give a rip. He started out as his usual nasty self, but after he got his head on straight and realized his daughter had been killed, I felt sorry for him. He took it very hard. He was still getting to know her, but he loved her. I have no doubt about that.”
“And you’re absolutely certain she’s his kid and our victim?”
“He did a paternity test. It came back positive. The picture he showed me this morning was recent, and it was a spot-on resemblance, Bud. It’s either Heather Jax, or she’s got a very unlucky doppelgänger here at the lake. It was a bad scene when I told him. Count yourself lucky you weren’t there. Black was, thank goodness. He’s good at times like that. Jax grabbed him and wept on his chest like a baby. Black says he’s still distraught. He finally had to sedate him.”
“Sounds like a bad scene.”
“Yeah, to say the least. Unfortunately, you and I have to interview him again. Worse than that? He’s got to do the official ID at the morgue. To tell you the truth, Bud, I’m not sure he can handle it. That’s how hard he’s taking this. Black says he’ll pull it together eventually, but I’m not so sure. I guess we’ve gotta wait and see.”
“Everything about this case sucks. It’s ruining the hell out of my Christmas fun.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s obvious that Jonesy loved her. But her showing up out of nowhere and claiming to be his daughter, and then getting killed by some maniac in Jonesy’s own house, something about all that doesn’t add up. There’s more to it, I’m telling you.”
Bud slowed down, stopped at the big rock entrance sign that led into Cedar Bend Lodge, then hit his blinker. “Yeah, I think so, too. Lots of things going down around here all of a sudden. Guess you brought some bad luck back to the lake with you.”
Claire winced at that remark, but it was true. “Yeah, I usually do.”
Bud darted a quick and regretful look at her. “Hey, wait, Claire. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Really. This case has nothing to do with you bein’ back here. It’s just been pretty quiet since you left the department and got married, that’s all I meant.”
Claire wished that were true, but bad things did seem to follow her around. As if some black macabre shadow stalked her day and night, hanging back out of sight but always there to lunge at her when she least expected it. Sometimes she wondered if her friends thought that, too. Even Black hadn’t escaped her curse; he had lived a fairly charmed life until they hooked up. Truth was, he’d started worrying about her since the day they’d met and hadn’t stopped. They’d faced off with death way too many times, both of them. Black was the sunny spot in her life, he and her friends at the lake. And Rico, too, of course. That kid. Talk about brightening up their lives.
“Hey, Bud, you sure you didn’t hear from the FBI last night? Was your phone off or anything? Could you have missed a call?”
“Nope, my phone’s never off. Last night Shag and I hung out at my place and watched Superman mess it up with Batman. We’re pissed how they went up against each other. It wasn’t Superman’s fault aliens came to Earth and made him take them out in the middle of the city. But I was asleep in bed by midnight, phone beside me. No FBI contact.”
“I just can’t figure why that guy came to see me. He stood there and lied to me. Flipped open his badge folder and demanded to see our murder file. He was a strange man, Bud. Told me our victim was in witness protection, and he knew her name. Insisted that I show him the file and wanted to view the body. Worst thing? He was probably the biggest jerk I’ve ever met. He really got under Black’s skin, and nobody but nobody gets under Black’s skin.”
“Mr. Unflappable got riled up? I would’ve liked to have seen that.”
“Black’s been edgy the last few days, anyway. You know why, so let’s not mention it aloud ever again.”
“I’d be mad, too, if I were him, married to you when those pictures came out. Luckily, I can just laugh at you both.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Just kidding.” Bud maneuvered around a car that had stopped in their lane. “No way is that guy gonna horn in on this case. Even if he’s legit. You didn’t tell him anything pertinent, did you?”
“No, I didn’t trust him or his motives. The badge looked real—the rest of him didn’t. I’ve got Laurie Dale looking into him. I can pretty much guarantee that this guy isn’t on the up and up. He told me his partner was interviewing you while he was with me. He just made that up. Why, is the question. He knew I could find out the truth when I talked to you.”
“What do you think he was after?”
“That’s a good question. Black rode down to the lobby with me, you know, to fight off the media if they started hounding me.” She glanced over at him. “You should’ve seen it, Bud. That creep tried every trick in the book to make Black mad, you know, just little jabs about me and those pictures in Hawaii. No FBI agent would behave that unprofessionally. If he was impersonating one, why blow it like that? That’s just stupid.”
“And Black really didn’t deck the guy?”
“He wanted to, but you know him. He prefers to sit back and analyze what the guy was really up to. But he didn’t like it much. He was grinding his teeth at one point.”
Bud laughed. “He’s lucky Black’s got self-control.”
“Black did snap a picture of him, though, and sent it to my phone.” Claire pulled it up and showed him when he stopped at the next traffic light. “Ever seen him before?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not that I recall.”
“I’m sending it through face recognition today. He told me his name was Oliver Wood, and he spent the conversation picking at Black and me. It was crazy. Then, after a little while, he took off in a hurry. I mean, he practically ran in the other direction. I think he saw somebody he didn’t want to run into, somebody who’s registered at Cedar Bend. If we can find out who that is, we need to talk to them and see what the connection is. Some of our security guards have seen him around, but nobody noticed anything suspicious.”
“So Laurie’s here at the lake?”
“She and Scott are coming up for Black’s Christmas party. You’re coming, too, right?”
“For sure. I just hope Brianna gets here in time.”
“Me too.” Claire stared at the back of a Ford Fusion, which was driving way too slowly in front of them. “Tell you one thing I dread: attending this autopsy.”
“Buck’s probably finished by now.”
“I can’t stop thinking about that Oliver Wood guy. He’s got these really unusual eyes, Bud. I mean, super intense. Sort of like he could look at me and pull out my innermost secrets. It was unnerving.”
“Doubt we can find anybody with laser eyes outside of Marvel comic books. But people are gonna remember that about him. He sure as hell made an impression on you. Nobody’s ever looked down into my soul, thank God. Except maybe Charlie, when he goes into one of his rages.”
Claire had to laugh. “Yes, sir, the sheriff can jerk your soul right out of your body, all right. How’s he feeling, by the way?”
“Everybody’s afraid to call and ask. You know how he is when he’s confined to bed and has to miss work.”
“Well, I’m not calling him.”
“Me, either.”
The medical examiner’s parking lot was deserted, packed down with dirty ice and piles of snow, but the plows had scraped a wide path right up to the front door. Snow banks rose to the top of Bud’s tire wells as they drove in. The air was bitter but the temperature hadn’t made it down past zero yet. The sun had come out but wasn’t having much luck with the warming thing. They were definitely going to have a white Christmas, which pleased Claire. For one thing, Rico had never seen snow until coming to the lake. Born in California, his family had eventually moved to a sun-drenched Sicilian island, and neither locale was exactly known for frigid weather. He’d already built half a dozen snowmen over at Harve’s house. Just thinking about Rico made Claire smile.
The front sidewalk had been cleared, so they climbed out and carefully made their way to the front door. The ice had been salted but was still slippery. When they walked inside, they were met by the distinctive odor of death, chemicals, and floral-scented room fresheners, which weren’t working. Claire hated morgues. Hated attending autopsies most of all. That was one thing she definitely did not miss about working homicides. Watching Buckeye insert the sharp tip of his scalpel into muscle tissue and carve a giant Y-cut was not a whole lotta fun, huh uh. She hoped he was done with the body and had the victim covered with a sheet.
The morgue was silent, unusually quiet as they walked down the deserted hall toward Buckeye’s office.
“Hey, guys.” Shaggy looked up from his microscope as they entered his office. He leaned way back in his swivel chair and presented them with a huge grin. Never, ever in a bad mood was Shaggy. Well, maybe once in a blue moon, but no more than that. He wore jeans, snow boots, a black tropical shirt with palm trees and suns, with a black hoodie. The jeans and hoodie were unusual—maybe he was finally giving in to the Missouri wind chill factor.
“Did we miss the autopsy?” Claire asked, hope in her voice. “Please, please say yes.”
“You’re in luck. Buckeye was in a hurry to get it done. He wants that trip down to the Caribbean in the worst way.”
“Did you find anything we can use?”
“No fingerprints or DNA on the body or the trophy. But we did find something that wasn’t supposed to be there.” They waited silently while Shaggy lengthened the suspense. Whatever it was, Claire did not think it was going to be appetizing. “Guess what was in her stomach?”
A few things ran through Claire’s mind, all of which turned her stomach. “Oh God, I don’t know. What?”
“Please don’t let it be a roach or something. Or even worse, some kind of hairy spider.” Bud was creeped out by insects, especially eight-legged ones. In fact, he verged precipitously close to arachnophobia. He’d doubled his fear a few years back on a particularly gruesome murder cases that dealt with lots of creepy crawlies. Claire felt a swath of goosebumps race up her arms just thinking about that one. That’s when she’d gotten into the habit of shaking out her shoes and garments before putting on her clothes.
“No bugs. Better’n that. Or worse, depending on how you wanna look at it. Wanna see it?”
“That’s why we’re here, Shag.”
Shaggy picked up a clear plastic baggie off the desk. He held it up. “Know what this is?”
They crowded in behind him. Claire bent down and looked closely. “What? That looks nasty.”
“It’s the victim’s stomach contents.”
Both of them stepped back, grossed out. Pathology humor was just sick.
“Shit, Shaggy, put that green stuff down,” Bud told him. Bud was a big, strong guy, but someone’s stomach contents in a baggie got to him. Made him gag, even. Claire, too, but not as bad.
“So, what’s it got in it?” Claire asked him, but she didn’t want to look at it any longer, either. She felt like hacking.
“Well, this stuff in this little baggie you see here, my friends? It’s gonna tell us where she ate her last meal.”
Okay. That did sound like a clue that could be helpful. “Where? And hey, don’t you have a jar or something to put that in? That baggie is just disgusting.”
“I just got finished with it. It’ll go in a jar in a minute.”
“Well, where’d she eat?” Bud asked.
“Bud, you remember that game store we went to last year? She ate right there at their snack bar. Bet on it. They’re the only ones in town who have pineapple and papaya pizza on lemon crust. I know, because that’s my favorite, and it’s the only place I can get it. And that is precisely what is in this little baggie I hold in my hand. And some peanuts and traces of beer, too.”
“Well, ugh. That sounds almost as bad as it looks.” Bud looked away.
“What game store?” Claire asked.
“It’s called Games Galore. Over in Osage Beach. But that’s not all I found. There’s something else that’s really bad. Even I thought it was sickening.”
“Oh, please,” Claire said. “Just tell us already, Shaggy. Enough with this drama.”
“Okay, but you sure are pissy today.” He picked up a different bag. This one held some sort of little round silver disk. “Know what this is?”
Bud took the bag from him and examined it. “Looks like a dog tag to me. Where’d you get it?”
“Inside her stomach, with that liquid pineapple pizza.”
“Oh God, Shaggy, just stop, or I really might throw up.” Claire shook her head. Her stomach was reacting more than usual to all the yucky talk, and she was sure as hell not in the mood for discussing Shaggy’s gross specimens. God, it had been one terrible day, ever since she first opened her eyes and rolled out of Black’s arms. Now she wished she hadn’t gotten up at all. Being in bed with Black sounded pretty good at the moment, with her eyes shut to everything happening outside their bedroom. “Just tell us where you really found it and quit jerking us around.”
“I’m not jerking you around.”
“Shaggy. I am not in the mood for games. Not today.”
He laughed some more. “You just made a pun and didn’t even know it.”
“Tell us.”
“Okay, okay. Apparently, the perp made this really deep slit through her abdomen right around here.” Shag pointed to a spot on his own torso. “Then he sort of whittled a deep hole down through her tissue and muscle. It’s hard to see. We almost missed it at the scene. I think he must’ve pushed that little disk down inside her stomach with his forefinger or his knife or some kind of long object.”
“Oh my God.” Bud sounded revolted.
Claire stared at Shaggy. Everything about this case so far was gross. Whoever did this was so warped in the head it scared her.
“I think she might’ve still been alive when he did it. But maybe not.” Shaggy looked serious now. “Maybe he did this right after he hit her with the trophy and she wasn’t gone yet. No prints left on anything. He wiped everything clean and wore gloves, I’d say. Nothing on the evidence found in the room, either. But wanna hear the clincher? Ready?”
They looked sourly at him.
“Okay, this little disk? It is a dog tag. See the little hole? And it’s engraved with a special message.”
Claire grabbed the bag out of his hand and turned it over. And there it was, as plain as day. She read it out loud. “It says, ‘Love, Dad.’”
“Love, Dad? What the hell?” Bud said.
Claire blew out air, very glad now that she’d only had that one donut for breakfast. “Jonesy Jax is her dad. So apparently he’s involved somehow, or the killer wants us to believe he is. Maybe the killer knows him or hates him or wants to get even about something.”
“Or Jonesy might have done it,” Bud countered.
“I can’t believe that. I was there this morning. I saw the shock on his face when I told him his daughter was dead.”
All three of them stood there a moment, silent and staring at the silver dog tag.
“Well, this means something significant. It’s another clue he left for us,” Bud said. “He’s playing games, all right. Maybe we can figure out where it was engraved, get a lead on the killer that way.”
Claire shook her head. “You can buy dog tags anywhere in town. You realize how many people have jewelry engraved every single day? It’s not exactly uncommon, nor is the message. We’ve got to figure out what the killer is trying to tell us here. It’s got to refer to Jonesy Jax. Unless Heather has a stepdad somewhere, maybe a guy who was around when she was growing up, her mother’s husband or boyfriend, maybe. Before she found out Jax was her real father. Maybe he didn’t like her reconciling with Jonesy.”
Bud shrugged. “Could be a jealousy thing, I guess. If she took Jonesy’s name already.”
“She did.” Claire turned to Shaggy. “Is Buck still back there?”
“Yeah.”
They left Shaggy with his grotesque specimens and found Buckeye right next door, standing at a stainless steel autopsy table. Their victim was laid out on her back, her head on a molded plastic block. She was completely nude, and Buck was examining the sutures of the Y cut. Buck sewed up corpses with the precise stitches of a Calvin Klein seamstress. A regular Betsy Ross, he was—but only on cold, dead flesh.
He glanced up from his work. “Hey, Claire, come over here. I want you to see this wound. Did Shaggy tell you about the dog tag?”
“Yes, and it’s pretty damn gruesome, I’ve got to admit.”
“Cruel, is what it is. Sorry I went ahead with the cut, but I’m out of here after we get all the reports done—if our flight doesn’t get snowed in.”
Bud was staring down at the body. “I wasn’t expecting this one to get this kinky. I thought it was gonna be a run-of-the-mill murder by a blunt instrument. Theatrical, true, but this sounds to me like we’ve got us a real nutcase. One who likes to play games.
“Let me show you where he forced that thing all the way down into her stomach.”
Bud and Claire stood silently, grimacing in tandem as Buck pointed a gloved finger at a small, round cavity in the girl’s upper abdomen. Looked like something a drill would make, and what an awful thought that was. He pulled the edges open with his fingers. Such a gaping hole in her stomach was not a sight they’d easily forget, no matter how hard they tried. Claire’s gaze didn’t linger long on that ugly wound. She got the idea. If the girl was alive when he jammed that dog tag through her body, it must have been excruciating. She got a clear visual of the act, and then shoved it out of her mind. But why would anyone do something that unnecessary? It had to be a daddy thing, but it didn’t make a lot of sense. She’d hoped Shaggy was wrong, that the girl had been bludgeoned first and died instantly, but she was pretty sure it hadn’t happened that way. If Shaggy was right, this young woman had suffered—the killer had made sure she had.
Instead, Claire studied the dead woman’s face. She was definitely the young girl in Jonesy’s photograph, there was no doubt in her mind. But they didn’t have to tell Jonesy about the dog tag. No way would Claire do that to him. Heather Jax looked halfway peaceful now, since Buckeye had closed the eyelids of that empty, staring gaze. She had barely been old enough to vote, and she’d died for a killer’s warped pleasure. Life was not fair. Life was a crapshoot, and always had been. Or just plain crap, in this instance.
Her baby’s life had been short, too. Zachie never made it to preschool, never swung a bat, never drove a car. He had only lived to celebrate two birthdays. Claire turned away from the table, shoved down hard on rising emotions. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Don’t picture him in your mind. But she did. Standing up in his crib and sucking on his pacifier and pulling his red wagon around the house. Don’t remember him hugging you so tightly around the neck. Oh, God help her, she had to get a grip. She was working a murder. She tried to remember the coping mechanisms that Black had taught her. Most of the time they worked okay, but not today. She forced herself to listen to what Bud was saying.
“Find anything else that’ll help us?”
Buckeye said, “She’s got that reaper tattoo, but I found another one that’s a bit unusual. Maybe you could get an ID off it.”
“I know what the reaper stands for,” Claire told them. “Jonesy’s got one, too. It’s his band’s logo.”
“I think I remember that now, come to think of it,” Bud said.
“Well, I found another one.” Buckeye lifted the girl’s right hand. He pulled apart the thumb and forefinger and revealed the web of skin. A tattoo was etched there. Two tiny letters: JJ. Meaning Jonesy Jax, no doubt. It was an interesting place to have them inked. Nobody would see it unless she spread her fingers apart.
“A tribute to her dad?” Bud said. “Before he owned up to it?”
Claire pulled over Buckeye’s magnifying glass and examined the tat closely. “Got to be. Maybe she did it when she found out he was her real father but before she decided to contact him. Maybe she didn’t want some possessive or jealous stepfather to see it. Or boyfriend.”
Buckeye stretched tired muscles and snapped off his gloves. “I’m ready to get out of here. This was a bad one.”
Claire could relate. A nice warm beach a thousand miles away from this morgue and its foul odors sounded damn good to her. “Maybe you could catch a late flight, Buck. Charlie would okay that, I bet.”
“He’s way too ill right now to care about my time off, one way or another. First time I remember him getting down with the flu this bad. I hope to heck we can get out of here, though. I’ve had enough of this snow and ice to last me a lifetime.” He shook his head. “So she really was that rock star’s kid? And he’s now gonna live here, on our lake, and make trouble for everybody? You met him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I even got the dubious pleasure of meeting his girlfriend—a sassy little vixen by the name of Candi Kisses.” The two men laughed together. Claire frowned. “I guess we shouldn’t make fun of him. He was planning his first Christmas with his newfound daughter out in that mansion in Cliff Point, but this murder ended that storybook happily-ever-after. I’m telling you, he loved this girl, I don’t care how long he knew her. He pretty much fell apart right in front of us.”
Buck clicked off the bright light over the table. “We can have the autopsy reports on your desk by late this afternoon.”
“Okay, good luck getting down to the islands.”
Buckeye nodded and turned to wash his hands. Bud and Claire walked out of that cold and dreary place, glad they could get away from that mutilated body and breathe in some cold, fresh air. Morgues—and everything about them—sucked.