The Tipsy Gull, page 24
part #1 of Danny Barbosa Series
Back at headquarters, Danny placed one of the burritos on Scott’s vacant desk— he’d already devoured the other one. Scott’s eyes lit up when he returned and spotted the item. “You got that for me?”
“Peace offering.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I was going to see if you want to have lunch, my treat?” Scott asked. “I can save that for later.”
Danny patted his stomach. “Yeah, I’m down for lunch.”
They sat in the dimly lit restaurant. A mural of a mission covered one wall. The other three were painted red. Piñatas hung from the ceiling, sombreros from the wall, and the salt and pepper shakers were designed to look like Maracas. Mariachi music played in the background. The bus boy placed fresh chips and salsa on their table, and the strong smell of cilantro and onions floated up. They both grabbed for the chips.
Danny bit into another salsa covered chip when a waiter set two Modelo’s and shots of tequila on the table next to him. A craving hit him, and he contemplated ordering a beer. No, I’ve been doing well. Better not.
A young waitress approached their table and asked if they wanted to start with an appetizer or cocktail. Danny politely declined and ordered the lunch special with a chili Verde burrito and shredded beef enchilada. Scott went with the chimichanga.
Danny took a bite of his enchilada. “I think the waitress likes you.”
Scott glanced her way and she smiled back. “Yeah and she’s what, about nineteen? That’s why I don’t have a girlfriend. Women my age aren’t interested because I look barely twenty. And the women that are interested, well, they’re barely legal.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that in my book,” Danny said jokingly.
Scott shook his head and changed the subject. “Look, I know you’re pissed off about your transfer, but they said it was temporary right?”
Danny scooped a chip into the salsa. “That’s what Lieutenant Hawthorne said.”
“So then go with the program, stay out of trouble, and soon enough you’ll get transferred back” Scott wiped some beans off his shirt. “But if you keep making waves, it’s going to piss them off, and you may never get back.”
Danny took a sip of his water. “You’re right. But once the serial killer threatened my family, I guess I made it personal.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “She did what?”
Danny explained about the zoo pictures, and how he believed she impersonated Cameron to befriend Jessa.
“I wish you’d told me that before. That changes everything.” Scott shook his head. “Tell me what you found out at the University.”
Danny briefed him on the morning’s activities.
“We may not technically be ‘homicide detectives’ but we’ve made good progress on that case,” Scott said. “I think we should keep it going.”
Danny looked up from his plate. “Are you sure? We could get in trouble?”
“We’re partners for now.” Scott smiled. “So, yeah, let’s nail her.”
CHAPTER 30
Claire sat at on a stool at Los Gatos Mexican Grill and watched in the mirror as Rudy made a pitcher of Margaritas for a couple at the other end of the bar. Ooh, that looks good.
Rudy ambled over to her with a Corona in hand, hollering for the busboy to bring chips and salsa. He smiled and placed the bottle in front of her. “This one’s on me.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Rudy.”
“Hey, no problem.” He glanced at two new customers. “Let me grab their order and I’ll be back.”
The busboy brought her chips and salsa, and she chatted with him in Spanish for a few minutes.
“Hey, I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Rudy said upon returning. He snagged one of her chips and dipped it in the salsa. “He’s right, you do look nice today.”
On the inside, her heart danced. On the outside, she murmured thanks and reached for another chip, knocking her beer over. “Shit, I’m so clumsy!”
“Don’t worry, it happens all the time.” Rudy grabbed the foaming bottle and set it under the counter. “I’ll grab you another.”
Rudy soaked up the spilt beer with a dish rag, before replacing the beer.
Tell him we want a margarita, instead.
Claire blinked and rubbed her head. These voices had only recently started. It troubled her. Was she going insane? Maybe she needed to kill again. Would that make her normal again?
“Hello…Claire,” Rudy waved his hand in front of her.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about an exam I have coming up. What’d you say?” Claire reached for a chip.
“You want to have a shot?” Rudy asked.
Claire nodded and when he walked away, the realization dawned on her. The only hope for normalcy was to play a role. This time it wasn’t Carmelita, Naomi, Holly, or Sammy. She would use her acting skills to play the part of a fun, sexy woman.
Rudy placed two shots of tequila on the bar top.
“You’re so sweet, thank you.” She peered into his brown eyes while reaching for hers. “To new friends.”
They clicked glasses and she downed the tequila. Her taste buds screamed in protest and her throat burned. Squinching her face she grabbed the Corona and took a long swallow.
“So, you’re ready for another one, right?” The grin on his face told her he was teasing.
She shook her head and pinched her eyes. “I better stick to Coronas.”
Claire played her part to perfection and they conversed easily. When he excused himself to fill one of the waitresses’ orders, Claire watched them through the mirror. She didn’t recognize this server.
The raven-haired waitress put her hand on his forearm and laughed at something Rudy said. He winked at the girl and set about preparing her order.
Claire’s eye’s narrowed. Her temple throbbed, and she breathed through clenched teeth. When Rudy gave the buxom girl change, their hands touched. Her head tilted to the side, and she twirled a finger around her hair while they exchanged words.
Claire’s dancing heart fell over and lay numb. She imagined their conversation.
You’re the hottest waitress we have.
I know I am. Will you fuck me tonight, Rudy?
I’ll fuck you tonight and every night, baby.
Claire stood up and her fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into her skin. The waitress flashed Claire a knowing smile, then sashayed toward the restaurant, balancing drinks on a tray.
Claire had never killed a woman before, but there was always a first. She imagined the waitress naked and motionless, eyes begging for mercy that would never come while The Chameleon licked the side of the knife before raising it up.
Rudy approached. “You’re not leaving, I hope…hey, you okay? You look kind of flush.”
His voice brought her back to the present. “I’ve been a little under the weather lately.” She wiped her brow with an extra napkin and forced a smile that threatened to rip her apart. “Hey, who’s the new waitress? I think she likes you.”
Rudy laughed. “God, I hope not. That’s Veronica, my cousin. She’s starting at City this semester, so I pulled some strings to get her a job.”
And just like that, everything was okay with the world. Rudy wasn’t gorgeous like Detective Barbosa, but he was okay looking. His face was usually sweaty with a few pimples. Yeah, he had a pot belly and his hair was always messed up, but when he talked with her, he made her feel like she was the only one that mattered. He was perfect for plain Claire.
“That was nice of you.” Claire brought her bottle to her lips, arched her neck, and let the wet, amber flow down her throat. Her tongue flicked across her lips, as she set the bottle down. “Mmm, that’s good.”
She dipped a chip in salsa and held it up to Rudy’s mouth. When he took a bite, salsa dripped down his chin. With a giggle, Claire wiped it with her finger, then put that in her mouth, never losing eye contact with him.
Rudy swallowed and looked down, wiping the bar in front of her for the umpteenth time. He wiped his oily face with the back of his hand, then glanced about. Eyes on her now, he said. “Uh, would you like to have –” As he spoke, he knocked her Corona over. “Oh shit, sorry.”
They laughed while he cleaned up the mess, and Claire knew she had him hooked.
***
Danny checked his email at the beginning of his shift, a donut in hand. He licked brown frosting and white icing off his third football-shaped donut.
He opened an email from the cadet, Ricky. There were no vehicles matching the license plate of the Slayer. Danny had also checked personalized plates on newer model red vehicles in the greater San Diego area, but nothing came back similar to what Jimmy had reported. Many students drove vehicles registered to their parents in other cities so there was no way to cross reference all of them.
Scott advised Danny to read the email from Sergeant Smith. As Danny read it, he shook his head and glanced at the calendar on the wall. The sergeant was sending them to training. News Media Relations and On-Camera Training—a two-day course scheduled at the San Diego Regional Training Center for next Monday and Tuesday. The brochure mentioned they would view actual clips of good and bad examples of media relations. He thought about his outburst outside Broadway Lofts. Would they show that? If so, he’d be the laughing stock of the class.
***
It was a family neighborhood in Clairemont, a community of 90,000 located in San Diego. While one judge had denied a wiretap, another had signed off on the court order for the GPS track. The cell tower triangulation had narrowed the 2000 E. block of Terrace Ave as the last known use of Cameron’s phone—one hour ago.
Most of the calls came from this street or Mesa College, and there were too many students on campus to pinpoint anything specific from that location.
Four homicide detectives sat in the back of the white van at the end of the block, its Vote Democrat window flag fluttered in the light breeze. Wearing visors with the same logo, and lanyards with false ID’s, they listened to the final details by the lead detective, Ben Stone.
Armed with large hand bags filled with voting material, the detectives hopped out. Ben Stone, Lisa Davis, and ‘Tiny’ Hakai went door to door leaving the election flyers. Sharon McKenzie posted in the van. When each detective was at the front of their assigned house, they radioed in to her, and pretended to sort through their bags.
Back in the van, McKenzie dialed Cameron’s number. The plan was to ask about a pizza order. Ben hung a flyer from the doorknob when he heard a phone ringing from the house. The hair on his neck stood up. He was supposed to leave immediately, but Ben wanted to be positive, so he bent down to tie his shoe. After a second ring, he could hear a female voice.
“Hello…No, I didn’t order a pizza. I think you have the wrong number.”
Ben stood and walked away, calling it in as he headed to the van where he briefed the other detectives.
“Damn, it’s really her,” McKenzie said.
“We don’t know that, yet. This feels too easy.” Ben took a deep breath. “I’ll call the Lieutenant and see what he wants to do.”
On a barren lot, two blocks away, Lieutenant Hawthorne discussed the plan with his detectives. The judge wouldn’t authorize a warrant without more evidence. After all, it was just Danny’s hunch that the Chameleon was pretending to be Cameron. Once transferred out of Homicide, Danny had passed the suspicion on to Ben so it could be followed-up.
“Tiny will make contact at the door. We don’t know how many people live there so we need to catch the person with the phone in their possession.”
Hakai scratched his acne scarred cheek and strolled to the front door while singing off-key. “Its five o’clock somewhere.” He rang the bell.
A young woman with short blonde hair, who looked to be in her early twenties, answered the door. “Can I help you?”
“Howdy, ma’am. My name’s Leroy Kalani. I’m here to encourage you to vote for–”
A loud ringing sounded from her waistband. Hakai already had his hand in the bag, like he was going to give her something. He whipped his Sig out and aimed it at her head. “Police! Don’t fucking move.”
Ben, Lisa and Hawthorne sprinted forward from their spot in front of the garage. They ordered the woman down to the ground and shut the front door. The house was cleared of any other persons. The woman was patted down and led to a chair at the kitchen table. Lisa advised the girl of her Miranda rights, and then Ben interviewed her.
“What’s your name?” Ben asked.
The woman trembled and paled. “Abby Lincoln. My ID’s in my purse. I didn’t do anything.”
“We’ll make that decision,” Hawthorne said.
Ben held up the phone they’d confiscated. “Is this yours, Abby?”
She peeped at Hakai, then nodded her head. “Yes, that’s mine.”
“Do you know Jessa Barbosa?” Ben asked
“No.”
“Do you know a boy named Cameron?” Ben asked.
No answer.
“Abby–” Hawthorne started.
Abby rocked in her seat and gave a quick shake of her head. “Can I get some water? You guys are freaking me out and my mouth is dry.”
While she drank, Ben scrolled through the contacts. Sure enough, JB was listed and he recognized Jessa’s number that Danny had provided him.
“Do you know what it’s like on death row?” He held the phone up. “Jessa’s number is in here.”
“That’s not my phone. I found it.”
Hawthorne stepped forward and glared at her. “Yeah, that’s what I would say too. Anyway, you already admitted it was yours. Take her downtown, guys.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “No-o, you don’t understand. I-I have anxiety and I’m ep-p ileptic.”
Abby started hyperventilating and Davis scrambled to the kitchen in search of a paper bag.
Ben tried to console her. “Calm down, just relax and breathe easy.”
Abby’s eyes rolled in the back of her head, only the whites were visible. Her body went into a jerking movement, and Hakai and Ben grabbed her before she fell over.
“Get those cuffs off her. Lay her flat. Davis call it in.” Hawthorne rattled out the orders, while running his fingers over his crew cut. He sighed and used his cell to brief Captain Ayala.
Lisa keyed her mic. “Dispatch, this is Detective Davis. I have a female, early twenties, having a seizure. Roll me an ambulance. You have our location already.”
“10-4, Detective.” A moment later dispatch continued, “United’s en route.”
While the EMT’s were inside working on Abby, a couple of dozen neighbors scattered around the house. The first media truck pulled up. The cameraman asked the onlookers to gather in one spot. He positioned his anchor, between the police car and ambulance with the crowd in the rear.
Giving a thumbs up, he said. “On three. Two. One.”
“I’m Stephanie Chang with CBS Channel 8 news, broadcasting to you live outside a residential neighborhood in Claremont. A reliable source has confirmed that four San Diego PD homicide detectives have gathered in this quiet neighborhood to interview a woman in connection with the serial murders by the San Diego Slayer. An ambulance has also been called out to the scene and as you can see behind me, people are flocking to the scene.
“At this time, we have no further information on what her ties are to the slayer. Is she a witness or a suspect? Stay tuned to channel 8 for live updates. I’m Stephanie Chang, CBS news.”
As always, the rumors spread in epidemic fashion.
CHAPTER 31
Claire lay on her sofa. The TV was on game show reruns, but she mostly stared at the wall, interrupted by sporadic crying spells. The sky was dark with thunder clouds. Am I losing my mind?
Not losing, lost.
She shook her head and muttered, “Go away.”
I can help you, Claire.
“I don’t need your help. I’ve done just fine so far.” She rubbed her temples. The headaches were getting worse. The voices in her head were getting louder.
Have you now?
“I ditched Cameron’s phone at the college to be found, right? I followed the girl and planted the murder weapon in her home, didn’t I? Yes, I’m doing just fine without you.”
Did you wipe your prints from the knife first?
“Of course.” Claire swallowed and tried to recall that day. She couldn’t be sure, but yeah, of course she would have. It’s not like she was forgetting things.
Sassy jumped on the sofa and meowed, then rubbed her head against Claire’s hand. She absently scratched the feline behind the ears. With another meow, Sassy jumped down, then went to her food bowl.
“I fed you, baby.”
What’s today? She jerked up and checked her phone. It was Tuesday. She’d missed an exam in her Theatre Design class.
I’m right, Claire. You’ve lost it.
This time she didn’t bother answering herself. Sassy continued to meow. Claire yelled, “Shut up already, Sass. Mommy has a headache.”
She shuffled to the kitchen. Both food and water sections of the bowl were empty. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” She filled the bowl with fresh water and food. A slow realization crept upon her. When had she fed the other pets?
Hand shaking, she unlocked the spare bedroom and entered. The smell of death attacked her senses. Two of her dart frogs were dead. Claire sunk to the floor and buried her head in her hands. She took shallow breaths and pressed on the temples, squeezing her eyes shut. After a moment, she checked the bins. The larvae in one were all dead. Her heart raced as she peered into the one containing the beetles. Half were alive, they must have fed on leaves, and bark she’d last provided, as well as their fallen comrades.
“Get it together now. You need them,” she said out loud.
Claire set about cleaning out the tanks and bins. She found some larvae alive under a piece of wood, so she fed the last remaining frog. It was sluggish at first, and then moved faster as it flicked its tongue out to catch the wriggling prey. She wrapped up the dead and placed them in plastic bags to dispose of later away from the apartment. She sprayed the habitat of both frog and beetle with water and turned the humidifier on. These mundane tasks helped ground her and her headache diminished.
