Chapter 12
Standing just outside the morgue’s front door, Claire and Bud looked up at the heavy snow clouds that colored the sky dark enough to match their moods. Hell, the sun must’ve boarded a plane and zoomed off to the Bahamas like Buckeye wanted to do. Most lake residents would like to climb aboard with him. A brisk breeze flushed Claire’s cheeks pink, and she gratefully breathed in a great big lungful. It felt bracing and very cold. It revved her up some, revived her after having to look at a corpse with a hole in its belly and think about the evil things that had been done to such an innocent human being. Hawaii had been wonderful, balmy and breezy and quiet, and every single day she and Black were there she had enjoyed its beauty and serenity. Still, she had missed the lake. Winter had always been fine by her, unless a blizzard raged off the plains and shut the lake down to a ghost town.
After a moment, they climbed back inside Bud’s truck and sat silently for a moment while Bud fired the ignition and switched on the heater. Mentally, Claire was going over everything they knew and ticking off even more stuff they didn’t. All she kept seeing in her mind’s eye was that round puncture wound, a deep hole carved way down into Heather Jax’s stomach. Then she visualized again how the killer must have stuffed that stupid dog tag down into her body. Such images were the stuff of nightmares.
“Well, okay, Bud, that distasteful visit took care of lunch for me. Definitely not hungry, not anymore. Maybe never again.” She gazed at his profile. “I’m gonna call Harve and see if he can dig up some cases where the killers leave dog tags inside the victim’s body. God, I hate even saying that out loud. It sounds so damn sick. What kind of person would do something like that, huh? And why, for God’s sake? Give me a break already. I hate this case.”
No doubt equally grossed out, Bud put the truck in gear. Claire pulled out her phone. Harve answered on the first ring. She quickly related their dilemma, and he told her he’d get right on it. He also assured her that he and Rico had a ball the night before decorating his tree, and that Rico had made it to school on time, even a few minutes early. Claire smiled and thanked him. He was so crazy about that boy. She clicked off as Bud waited for a snowplow to pass, then took a right and followed in its cleared wake.
“Maybe he’ll come up with something. If it’s out there, he can find it: no question about it. He always does. So what do you think, Bud? Is this case getting a little too bizarre, or what?”
“Definitely. A Christmas present from hell.”
“One thing, though: Let’s get hold of that dog tag and game token as soon as Shag’s done with them. Maybe it’ll turn out to be the clue we need. We can show them to people in jewelry stores, or even Walmart. Especially since we don’t have anything else to go on. Nobody does something that horrific without good cause. I mean, this guy bored down through that girl’s body, for God’s sake. Who would even think of doing something like that?”
“Psychopaths. Nobody else that I can think of. Shag’ll get done with the evidence later today, they said. I’ve been thinking about the game angle. The Detection piece was not there for nothin’. Games are a big deal right now, you know, popular culture, trivia and all that kind of stuff. They have tournaments everywhere, and all kinds of contests, and actually give out prizes and trophies for winning. In fact, there’s a tournament going on right here at the lake. I saw it advertised the other day. It’s being held at that specialty store in Osage Beach I was telling you about earlier, the one that sells nothin’ but games. I’ve been there a couple of times with Shaggy. I’m telling you again: I know that trophy token came straight out of Detection. And it was meant as a clue for us. He is wanting us to play a game with him, so let’s do it.”
“Yes, he’s challenging us, all right.”
“Maybe he’s obsessed with competition. Has certain games he likes to play and gets real seriously into them. Shaggy’s that way about one called Cranium. We used to get together and play it all the time. He gets really wound up, you know, mad if he doesn’t win. But he usually does win.”
“Sounds like Shaggy. Okay, so how about we go over there and check out what’s up at that tournament? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find our killer sitting there holding a little trophy token in his hand.” Claire felt her jaw grow hard. “I’m having a lot of trouble with it being inside her stomach. Why not just leave it in her hand or on the body? Bashing her head in wasn’t good enough? He had to do that to her, too? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. It’s such a specific thing to do. That made it look personal. I’ve never heard of anything like that, have you, Bud?”
“No. Looks like a personal beef to me. Or maybe just a fetish he’s got. He’s nuts, Claire. No telling how his mind works. Still think it’s a clue, and he’s toying with us.”
“Could be nothing but a thrill kill. Or some kind of perverted sexual thing. Or, more likely, some kind of witchcraft or devil worship. But they usually just cut out the heart or whatever organ they’re into. They don’t bore holes down into the body.”
“The game is the key, I feel it. Wait until you see those highly obsessed guys playing down at Games Galore. Man, they get eliminated early and you’d think they’re headed home to kill themselves. It’s way weird to watch.”
“Doesn’t say much for their real lives, does it now? Our friend Jonesy might know why the killer picked her out and left that thing inside her. Could be his kid was into something dirty, something he didn’t know about—or maybe he did. Maybe he encouraged some kind of drug involvement and was part of it himself. He met her last year, so she’s been hanging around him for a while. And being around Jonesy Jax is scary. He could have corrupted her with sex and drugs, or both, although I’m tellin’ you that he seemed genuine when he said he wanted to keep her safe and off his road tours.”
“Safe to Jonesy probably isn’t safe to everyone else. I assume he’s got some big guard with him at all times, right?”
“Yeah, I met him this morning.” Claire thought a moment. “Maybe Jonesy screwed somebody over, which I’ve heard he’s done before, maybe a drug dealer or a dirty music producer or a vengeful female groupie. This could be revenge, the only way they could hit him back outside his fame and money, because this was so completely personal. There’s no telling what he’s done or said to people when he’s high on cocaine or booze. He’s a disgusting animal up on stage. That would tie in the ‘Love, Dad’ thing, maybe. Black says Jonesy’s better now, has changed a lot, but that doesn’t mean he’s not crazy.” Claire remembered how Jonesy fell on the floor and curled up. “I really can’t stand that guy, but I did sorry for him. His grief was a terrible thing to watch. It really was. And it was real—I know it was.”
Bud hung a right on Osage Beach Parkway North and headed for the game shop. “Fans of Jonesy Jax are super dark for the most part. Call themselves Jaxers. Could possibly be one of them, and he’s got millions of ’em all over the world. I still can’t see this as some random act by a stranger.”
“Jaxers?”
“That’s what people call them.”
“The game theory seems more likely because of that token. It was left there for a reason, and the Detection game deals with murder. What if somebody simply decided they wanted to act out the game for real? That game’s got certain places to choose for the murder scene, right? Maybe he played and then reenacted the murder in real life. Just to see if he could pull it off.” She looked over at Bud. “I can’t remember: does Detection have a lake house on the game board? Or a log cabin?”
“I remember it had businesses and shops and stuff like that as places for the crime scenes, so a library could’ve been one of them. A police station was definitely one. I do remember that, but I don’t remember the others. Makes more sense than anything else we’ve considered, in a crazy, loony-bin, sadistic way.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we’ve got here: a crazy, sadistic lunatic. Anything about puncturing the stomach in the instruction book? Is it a dark game like Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Nah, it’s just a harmless family night kind of game. Clean fun, I guess, if murder can be described that way. Hadn’t really thought about it being about homicides before, not our kinds of homicides. I played it with my parents when I was little, and I didn’t come out warped.”
“Well, it’s still a little early to count on that.”
Bud shot her a grin. “Shut up, Claire. You should talk.”
Claire was glad they could still joke around. “Okay, I need to buy that game while we’re in the store. Rico loves board games, and so does Black. Me? I can take them or leave them. Maybe there’s something in the instructions that’ll give us a good lead. Maybe we can figure out what he might do next. How long’s it been since you played Detection?”
“A little while. I get enough murder and mayhem at work. Don’t want to solve cases in my free time, too. Besides, I prefer to do other things with Bri when we’re together.”
“Yeah, I’m sure, but TMI.” Claire smiled. The same applied to her and Black.
“This store we’re going to?” Bud was telling her. “Let me warn you. This über-fanatical lady runs the place. She’s pretty much an expert—aka know-it-all—on any game known to man. She hosts tournaments and stuff down there all the time. Today, I think they might be playin’ chess. You know, she just lets anybody who comes in the store challenge anybody else who happens to be there. That makes it a sort of hit-or-miss tournament. Some of these guys are experts, believe it or not. The others just think they are. Sometimes the tournament’s advertised, sometimes it’s not. Shaggy says most of the time it’s either Trivial Pursuit or Monopoly, you know, both of those are easier games to master. She might even be able to tell us if there’s a Detection fan base around here and who might be crazy enough to kill somebody using it. Shag won a trivia extravaganza a few years back. Got a big trophy. Ask to see it next time you’re over at his place. It’ll make his day.”
“That’s because Shaggy knows everything remotely trivial,” Claire said. It was the truth; Shaggy remembered everything. Just like her new PI partner, Will Novak. Novak had crazy-good recall and noticed everything around him, but that was a good trait to have in a partner. He had a lot of good traits. She wished he’d get back home, and they’d pick up an interesting case that did not include a morgue visit. But Black wished Will was here more: he was already tired of her demanding stint in homicide, temporary though it may be.
“I bought my mom Scattergories last Christmas. She really loves to play. Maybe we’ll get lucky, Claire. Maybe we’ll nab our killer at the tournament, and then I can go pick up Brianna in St. Louis tomorrow afternoon when her plane touches down.”
“So she’s making it back for Christmas after all. Well, good deal, Bud. I knew she’d find a way. She’s so crazy about you. Don’t worry about getting her here. Black can send his helicopter to pick her up at Lambert airport. We need to solve this thing before Christmas Eve, though I suspect Jonesy Jax is not going to get to host that Christmas rave after all.”
“We need to go see him as soon as he’s calm enough to talk to us.”
“Let’s check that out later this afternoon. Right now, let’s go play some games.”
It took about fifteen more minutes to reach Games Galore, mainly because the heavy Christmas traffic on the main thoroughfares made for slow going. The streets were clogged with vehicles, the falling snow not helping anything, but the snowplows were busy so traffic was moving, if only at a snail’s pace. Despite the weather, the store’s cleared parking spaces were full. So was the road out front, where a ton of parked cars lined both sides of the street. The name of the place was heralded above the front door in a flashing yellow neon sign.
The building looked to Claire like an old converted warehouse. Inside, it was one gigantic space with a few offices carved out in the back. There was a checkout register at the front that was manned by a girl who looked like a seventh grader. She had shiny silver braces on her teeth and wore her long brown hair in pigtails. Bud pulled open the door and stood back for Claire—down deep he was a true Georgia gentleman and always exhibited good manners. Women loved that about him. Claire loved that about him, although she was perfectly capable of opening any door she came across all by herself.
First thing that hit them were the delicious aromas emanating from the snack bar, the scents of hamburgers and pizza and popcorn and soft pretzels all blending together in a heavenly come-to-me. It made Claire hungry, until she remembered Shaggy’s plastic baggie with all that green, liquefied pineapple papaya pizza inside. Nope, no snacks for Claire today. Big heaters hanging from the ceiling were straining to do their best. They gave off a low rumble reminiscent of distant thunder, but the interior was as warm as late August despite the cavernous space and high rafters. Rows of shelves radiated out toward the back, with every conceivable kind of game displayed from top to bottom. Rolling ladders were provided for items on the upper shelves, which had signs that advised one to help oneself, but if one fell, one paid for the medical treatment. Advance warning to bold rock-climber types. Claire pulled off her hat and gloves, unzipped her jacket, and welcomed the warm air on her face as the door closed slowly behind them with a soft and final pneumatic sigh.
Over to their right, the tournament was in full swing. A dozen card tables had been set up, all of which were manned by two people facing each other with a chess board and time clock between them. Folding chairs had been set up for spectators, and there were plenty of people watching, all enthralled with reverent silence. Looked to Claire as if she and Bud had definitely lucked out. It was indeed a shop full of aficionados who could answer any and all of their game-related questions, and perhaps even reveal to them the name of any raving, abdomen-puncturing maniacs moving about in their midst.
“Bud, you think that little dog tag could’ve been made here?”
“Who knows? We get a suspect in this place, then all we have to do is find a Detection game without that trophy in it.”
“Yeah, right. I want to buy Detection and see how it’s played. Why don’t you come with me and brownnose that fanatical game lady? You have such a way with women.”
“Hey, maybe we can get Shaggy to play with us down at the morgue. Stay in there awhile, where it’s nice and warm.”
Claire scoffed. “I’m not playing anything inside any morgue. My only desire when I’m in there is to get the hell out. Besides, what do you think Charlie would do if he heard about us goofing off in there?”
“Kill us? Ask questions later?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
They browsed around the aisles a while, and Claire marveled at what an incredibly large inventory the store held. Hundreds of games, and a big used game section, as well. Some of the boxed products on those shelves looked like antiques that had seen better days. Everything on the shelves and tables was stocked in precise alphabetical order, no exceptions. They located the D section easily enough and found both versions of Detection, old and new. Claire decided to buy one of each. Maybe she’d give them to Bud and Shaggy for Christmas after she had examined the boards and read the instruction booklet. Then they could play each other at the morgue to their hearts’ content.
Lots of gamers appeared to be Christmas shopping. People moved about the rows and made the big space seem crowded. Claire held her games in one arm and followed Bud back to the office/return counter. A couple of old guys were standing there, two senior citizens, by the looks of it. Late sixties, maybe older. They were returning something they’d purchased that had a missing piece. They were not happy. In fact, their expressions indicated it was the true end of their world. She and Bud stood back and waited while the men enjoyed a spate of lengthy complaints. Claire wasn’t waiting patiently for the elderly twosome’s tirade to stop, but she didn’t make a scene or threaten arrest.
Occasionally, at the front of the store, a spattering of applause would rise up to the rafters and be overcome by the loud heaters, she supposed when somebody got a checkmate, or a check, or something equally empowering. Claire had no idea what any of that meant, actually. She had never played chess well, or any other way, until Black had cajoled her into trying it once, because he was pretty good at it and wanted to show off. Or at least, he said he was pretty good. Claire’s opinion? It was the most boring, tedious waste of one’s time ever invented, but useful if one wished to fall asleep fast without sleeping pills. They’d sat across from each other for what seemed like six eternities, neither of them able to concentrate, because Black kept giving her these ultra-hot, sultry, I-am-so-gonna-jump-your-bones-after-I-beat-your-pants-off stares out of those crystal blue eyes of his while she contemplated how the hell the game was even played. His romantic moves worked better than his chess moves, as it turned out, and they happily ended up in bed sooner rather than later. Game on—and what a game it had been.
Everybody in Games Galore waxed as serious as sin. Observing and playing and no funny business, they’d damn you as an amateur if you even broke a smile. Claire and Bud didn’t fit with the program, because nobody else in the building had seen that tiny little dog tag jammed down into a lovely young girl’s body.
Finally, the two old guys finished with their damn petty haggling and complaining. The more outspoken of the duo took time to count every single penny of his return cash refund. Nobody’s fool, that guy. Juno, the name of the lady game mistress, according to Bud, and hopefully their oracle of info, stood patiently waiting for the twin crotchety curmudgeons to take the hell off. She was an attractive lady, most likely in her fifties. Stocky, but in well-proportioned womanly curves. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a giant red chess piece on the front. It was a castle, if Claire remembered correctly. No doubt her salute to the tournament going on up front. Claire remembered seeing a sexy scene in an old movie where Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen sat across from each other. The sexual tension absolutely dripped off them. It was pretty damn hot. Maybe Black had seen that one, too, and was reenacting it that night when they pretended to play chess on Kauai. Fine by her. Otherwise, that stupid game would’ve eventually forced Claire into sweet unconsciousness.
“Hello there, Ms. Juno. How you doin’?” Bud jumped headlong into the act of charming the curvaceous woman, no time a wastin’. His schmooze had sparked alive and was landing on her like a worker bee on a rosebud. He was amazing in that regard, his handsome face and honeyed words truly impressive, and it seemed to work on anyone with the XX chromosome: young, old, tall, short, whatever. Always had, always would—well, except maybe this time.
“Hello yourself,” the lady said, her tone curt, her face stony and unfriendly. Probably still mad at the two old guys.
“Remember me?” Bud tried again, grin wide and affable. “I was in here last year at Christmastime. Bought a game for my mom. Scattergories. You recommended it.”
“Yeah, to you and five hundred other people.”
Yikes, Claire thought. Bud had better watch his step or he’d set off a land mine. The lady was not taking kindly to him.
“But you gave me a fifty-percent-off coupon. Surely you remember something that generous?”
That caused a tiny, baby little curve at one corner of Juno’s heretofore stern mouth. Bud’s legendary allure lived to see another day. Juno kept glancing over at Claire, or maybe it was the two games Claire was holding. Claire placed them on the counter, then held up her badge and got the ball rolling at a more suitable speed.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Claire Morgan. This is Detective Bud Davis. We’re from the Canton County Sheriff’s Department.”
“So I gathered. I can see your badges plain as day. I’m Juno Bradshaw. I own this store. What can I do for you?” Juno had long salt-and-pepper gray hair pulled back in a tight, fat bun at her nape. Not a strand had pulled loose. Looked concreted to her head with hairspray, in fact. She had the skin of a much younger woman, as if she’d learned about sunblock at the age of two or lived at the North Pole with Santa. Nice teeth. Nice smile. Nice manners, now that she was over her miff. Claire wondered if the Roman goddess of games had been called Juno. She stood back and let Bud do his investigatory magic. This guy was gold. She leaned on the counter and watched in awe. Yes, she had missed Bud a lot. She read the back of the game box, pleased to let Bud handle things until he needed her to play tag team.