The Botanist, page 3
Cody smiled but didn’t comment. He knew better than to get into an argument with Frank, even a friendly one.
“Captain’s coming here,” light-haired Court announced, plunking down at his desk across from Frank. He was the smallest of the four of them. “We’ll be ghetto today and just huddle around the desks.”
“Long as we’re not cuddling around the desks,” Frank answered cheerfully.
Cody tuned them out. He was trying to check his voicemail, and kept having to repeat the messages because he was listening to the other detectives.
A call from Melissa (she was cancelling for Friday); a recorded message from a telecommunications company; and his mother, asking him to drop by for dinner.
“Your father and I would love to see you. Oh, and bring chips.”
Cody groaned. He loved his mother’s company, but all he and his father did lately was argue. He’d been a cop for six years; why couldn’t his dad give it up, already?
Tom’s chair creaked loudly when he collapsed into it at the desk across from Cody’s. He didn’t seem to notice. He glanced over at Cody on his phone, and Cody quickly amended his sour expression, but he wasn’t quick enough.
“Trouble with the ladies?” Tom grinned.
Frank swiveled his chair around so fast he almost fell over. “Cody? Ladies? You holdin’ out on us?”
“You actually got a girlfriend, Cody?” Court asked, feigning shock.
Cody adopted a look of mock-hurt. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, who is she?” Frank scooted his chair closer to Cody’s. “Is she pretty? Upstanding? Could my wife take her?”
“Want us to pull her over?” Court asked.
“You three are like the teenage brothers I never had. You know that?”
They ignored his comment but leaned forward, eager for information. Cody sighed. “I’ve been on exactly two dates with her, and she just cancelled on me for tomorrow night. I don’t think that constitutes a serious relationship, do you?”
“What’s her name?” That was Tom.
“Until it does become more serious, I’m not going to tell you.”
Frank looked hurt. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll do a background check on her.”
Frank’s face froze, then slid slowly into a grin. “Yeah, I probably would. But”—he adopted his most obsequious expression—“just a hint? I wouldn’t shake your soda can quite as much next time.”
Cody sighed but was saved from having to answer because the captain walked in. Several inches taller than Cody and solidly built, Captain William Brecken always seemed . . . serious. Even when he was sharing one of the detectives’ jokes. He had deep, pale blue eyes and his dark hair was thinning, but had yet to lose any of its color.
“Morning, all. How is everyone?”
Various mutters of “fine, sir,” and “good” followed. Frank jerked a thumb in Cody’s direction. “He’s got a girlfriend.”
The captain frowned, his eyes shifting to Cody, who promptly studied the pencil sharpener on his desk.
“That’s . . . great,” the captain muttered. Without another word, he produced a two-foot stack of file folders. All four detectives groaned as he handed each of them roughly one quarter of the stack.
“I don’t get it,” Court said. “We have a town of, like, twenty people. How can there be this much crime?”
“Two thousand people,” the captain corrected, “and it’s not all crime.” He paused to thrust a meaty finger into Court’s face. “Don’t go around telling people it’s all crime, ’cause it’s not.” Court gave him an exaggeratedly innocent look.
“You know,” Frank chimed in, “Court told me he especially likes being assigned to walk old ladies across the street. Most fulfilling job he’s ever had, according to him.”
Court picked up his stapler and chucked it at Frank. The captain pretended not to notice. Cody smirked as he opened the top folder the captain had placed on his desk and began scanning it.
“One more thing before you go to work,” the captain said, silencing them all. “We have a maggot case.”
Frank and Court dove under their desks. Tom wasn’t that lithe anymore, but he jumped to his feet, announcing a sudden urge to relieve himself. Cody wasn’t paying attention; he was still studying his folder.
“Will you relax?” The captain put up his hand to stop Tom from leaving. “It’s Cody’s turn.”
Cody looked up from his folder, terrified. “Me?”
“You.”
“But . . . they haven’t—” He motioned to the others.
“Hey, that’s true. He hasn’t had one in a while.” Frank came out from under his desk, confident once more. “I had the crazy stoner in the swamp thing, remember?”
“I had to look into the weird smell down by the refinery,” Court said.
Cody looked at Tom, his last hope. Tom shrugged. “I’m still looking into the haunted library thing.”
“About that,” the captain said. “Any progress there?”
Tom shrugged. “Just a lot of mothballs and thick glasses, Captain. We’re expecting them to attack any day now.”
“The mothballs or the glasses?” Frank asked. Court seemed to think that was hilarious and laughed so hard he knocked his soda over.
Tom shrugged. “Either one would prove the librarian isn’t crazy. She swears the place is haunted, and not in a good way. Books keep going missing and some of them—not all, mind you—have turned up in odd places. She says she feels an ice-cold presence, like she’s being watched. Personally, I think she’s either losing her marbles or someone’s pranking her.”
“Did we ever do a drug test on her?” the captain asked.
“Yup,” Tom said. “She’s clean as spit.”
“If you don’t find anything in the next week, put the case to bed, Tom,” the captain said. “We have better things to be doing with our time.”
Frank had opened the top folder on his desk and was scanning it skeptically. “You sure about that, Cap?”
Cody let his head fall back against the wall. They were right. It was his turn. All of them had done one more recently.
They called these cases maggot cases because they were creepy, gross, and hard to pin down. Cody didn’t know if it was just the curse of the small town, or something else, but every couple of months like clockwork they would get a case that made absolutely no sense. The last one he’d worked, about a year ago, involved a homeless guy that insisted women in his area were being abducted by aliens. His proof of this was that they were leaving used feminine napkins in their wake. He insisted that they were ascending so violently into the “mother ship” they were leaving . . . things behind. As it turned out, a garbage can had fallen over, depositing much of its goods onto the ground, including the used napkins. The hobo was a chronic drunk, and probably a little crazy to boot. He’d seen the napkins and his mind had just filled in the blanks.
These ridiculous, disgusting cases made all four of the detectives shudder, but that didn’t mean they could ignore them. If a report was filed, it had to be followed up.
Cody looked fearfully up at the captain. “So, what is it?”
The captain held up a clear plastic bag that made Cody cringe. It was enough to silence the other three detectives as well, which didn’t happen often.
“Comes with a mutilated doll,” the captain grinned.
“Great,” Cody muttered.
“Two hikers found it up Hydra Mountain. There’s a trail called Hy-Hydand-dera—?”
“Hydrandra Trail,” Court finished for him. “Yeah, I been up there. You take it up to the fork and if you go left, it takes you to the waterfall.”
“Is there really a waterfall up there?” Frank asked.
It didn’t sound plausible to Cody, either. He’d never been up that particular mountain, but they were in the southwest corner of Utah. Not much outside the city limits but dust and sagebrush. A waterfall just didn’t seem likely.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s more like slobber on a burner, this late in summer, but it’s there.”
Frank nodded knowingly as the captain went on.
“Well, according to the report, they went right, not left. Two young lovebirds, just exploring. Then they found the doll.”
“So some hiker’s kid dropped it,” Cody said. “What’s so special about a doll?”
The captain tossed the bag at Cody, who caught it above his head.
“Why don’t you press the hand and find out.”
Feeling the urge to scratch his scalp, Cody carefully removed the dirt-covered doll from the bag. Most of the hair had been pulled out, one eye was permanently shut, and the faded pink dress it wore—it may have originally been red—was ripped and unraveling.
Reaching over and taking a tissue from the box on Frank’s desk, Cody squeezed the doll’s right palm. Then he hunched his shoulders, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing did.
The captain had put on his reading glasses and was studying the report in front of him. “Other hand,” he murmured, not looking up.
Cody pressed the other hand. This time, a jovial, high-pitched, little girl’s voice came out of the doll.
“I’m a whore,” it announced cheerfully.
Cody almost dropped the doll.
Frank gasped and slid his chair several feet away from Cody.
Cody glanced at him, annoyed. “Well I didn’t say it, Frank.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said from across the room, “an old man’s hearing starts to go. Did that thing just say, ‘I’m a whore’?”
The captain looked up at them. “Press it again, Cody.” His look told Cody it wasn’t just to repeat the first phrase. Against his better judgment, Cody pressed the palm again.
“I like it when Daddy touches me,” the doll announced in a way-too-happy voice.
Cody did drop the doll this time, chills running down his back.
“What”—Court also scooted away from Cody—“the hell.”
The captain gave them a grimace of a smile. “Now you know why the hikers turned it in. Look”—he removed his reading glasses—“before you all go getting worked up about it, I want you to try and keep this in perspective. It may be nothing at all.”
“No offense, Cap, but how could that be nothing?” Frank asked.
Cody was about to agree, but the captain held his hands up. “Think about it. This thing is battery powered, which means there must be some sort of computer or recording device in there. You know how smart kids are today, especially with electronics. This may simply be the case of horny, teenage boys screwing around with this thing and thinking it’s hilarious. It was abandoned near what I understand is a popular high school hotspot.”
“And if it’s not as innocent as that?” Tom asked.
The captain sighed. “Worst case scenario: there could be a domain nearby.”
Cody groaned. So Tom got crazy-librarian-telling-ghost-stories and he got a pedophile case. Fantastic.
“Cody, I want you to go up there and have a look around. If you can’t find anything, consider it a dead end and file it away. I don’t want you wasting a lot of time on this.”
Cody nodded at the captain. That was fine with him. He wanted to spend as little time on this as possible.
“That’s all, then,” the captain said. “Let’s create some order out there.”
CHAPTER 4
Cody knew he wouldn’t have time to check out the twisted doll case that day, especially with his mom expecting him for dinner. He usually liked to get the nastier aspects of his job over with quickly, but he wasn’t at all sad about putting his hiking trip off until the next day.
After leaving the precinct, he dropped by the grocery store to pick up some sour cream ’n chive potato chips—his parents’ favorites—then went home to shower and change. Glancing at his appearance in the mirror before leaving, he ran his fingers over the now-familiar scar.
It ran from above his right eyebrow, down over his eye, and part-way down his cheek. The fugitive who had given it to him had made sure it was deep enough that only plastic surgery would fix it, and his insurance didn’t exactly cover that. Now it stared back at him daily, a reminder of why he did the work he did, and the price that sometimes had to be paid.
The drive to his parents’ house was a pleasant one. The traffic wasn’t bad for rush hour, and Cody enjoyed a casual spin past the places he’d grown up. Mt. Dessicate was a tranquil little town that in recent years had blossomed into a small city in the desert. It was a mining town, and new caches of mineral had been opened about ten years before. That had brought more people, which in turn brought more modern businesses. Mt. Dessicate may have been just a bump in the road compared to some of the bigger cities up north, but it was still much more urban than it had been when Cody was a kid. Gone were the days of knowing everyone in town by their first names—the population was too large for that anymore—but Cody still knew the majority of them; if not personally then by acquaintance.
Pretty much everything in Cody’s life was within a twenty minute ride of his home, most things much closer than that. The streets of Mt. Dessicate were clean and wide. Children played basketball and rode their bikes in the residential areas. Commercial streets were much busier, of course, but not unsafe.
Cody had been north to the larger cities plenty of times, but he wasn’t someone who longed for big city life. There had always been plenty of diversions for him in Mt. Dessicate, even as a teenager, and besides, all his friends and family were here. He didn’t mind working in a big city—he might wind up in one someday, for some part of his career—he just hadn’t found incentive enough to leave yet.
At six-fifteen, he knocked on the front door of the house he’d grown up in. No one answered, but it was unlocked, so he let himself in. The knock was really just a courtesy anyway.
The parlor and living room were empty, but when Cody followed the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen, he found his mother rinsing spinach in a colander. Diced tomatoes and cucumbers leaked juice onto a cutting board beside her.
“Mom?”
“Oh, Cody. You made it.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and met him half way across the kitchen.
“You really shouldn’t leave the front door unlocked, Mom. Any screwball could have walked in here, and you wouldn’t have known you were in danger until he was in the kitchen with you.”
“Oh.” She waved her hand dismissively, going up on her tip toes so he could kiss her cheek, which he did. “I knew it was you, dear. And don’t say screw.”
Cody smiled and held up the chips for her inspection.
“Sour cream and chives? Your father’ll love those.”
“We’ll see,” Cody muttered, plunking himself down in one of the wooden chairs that ringed the kitchen table.
His mother shot him a disapproving look.
“Where is Dad anyway?”
“He’s outside at the barbeque. I know he’d love it if you said hi.”
Cody didn’t think his mother knew any such thing, but he didn’t say so. Seeing his expression, she brandished a salad fork at him.
“Your father’s in a good mood, Cody. Don’t ruin it.”
“Good mood? What about?”
“Well . . . I . . . it’s his news to tell, but it’s part of the reason we invited you over tonight. I’m sure he’ll tell you over dinner. Go out and see if he needs any help, and try not to ruin the happy-family-togetherness thing.”
Smirking, Cody got to his feet and went out onto the back deck, sliding the heavy glass door closed behind him.
“Hey, Dad.”
Norman Oliver had been handsome when he was younger and now, with salt and pepper hair and a well-groomed beard, he looked like a distinguished gentleman. Today the image was marred by the floppy chef’s hat settled precariously over his ears and the grease-stained, hot-dog-print apron that covered his polo shirt and cargo pants.
“Cody! Great to see you.”
“Thanks. You too.”
An awkward silence descended and Cody’s father went back to his grill.
“Can I help?” Cody asked.
His father turned. “Why don’t you bring me that seasoning there?”
Cody turned to where his father pointed and picked up the bottle of Smokey-BBQ Seasoning. He took it over to stand opposite his father on the other side of the grill. The hamburger patties had already been seasoned, but his father opened the bottle and sprinkled a little more on for Cody’s benefit.
“So,” Cody said, “Mom said you had some news?”
“I do. I’d like to wait ’til we’re all around the table, if that’s all right.”
Cody nodded. “Speaking of, how much longer ’til the meat’s ready? I’m starved.”
His father grinned proudly. “Any minute, now.”
Fifteen minutes later found them all around the table. After saying grace, they dug into the food. Cody definitely missed home-cooked meals. Detective work was often synonymous with bad take-out.
Around mouthfuls of flame-kissed hamburger meat, he asked his mother about her scrapbooking business. She launched into a thirty minute tirade about trouble getting acid-free slip covers from her vendor, because they were trying to charge her twice what the larger company in Salt Lake was getting.
“I mean, I know it’s a bigger company and they order more than I do, but they promised me the same pricing agreement. If the price of the covers themselves hasn’t gone up, then they have no reason to charge me more, right?”
Cody nodded along, making certain to take his mom’s side in every detail, or risk not sampling dessert, which he’d glimpsed when she asked him to get the soda from the fridge. It was some sort of fruit pie. He didn’t even care what kind; he just wanted some.
By the time she’d finished, Cody and his father had cleaned their plates, though due to her chatter, his mother hadn’t come close.
