The Laura Cardinal Novels (110 page)

“I want to find out who killed Jenny as much as you do.”

As Laura walked out to the Yukon, she was aware of him watching her. She sincerely hoped she didn't trip over a stump and go sprawling. As the investigator on the Jenny Carmichael case, she needed to maintain the upper hand.

The funny thing was, she felt as if she'd already lost it.

Laura met with Victor at the Wendy's near DPS the next day to compare notes. Laura told Victor about Dawn Sayles's assertion that Jenny Carmichael had never left Camp Aratauk, and Victor filled her in on Jaime's last few hours before he showed up at Laura's place.

“We know he went to the Circle K some time that night. Probably after he talked to the Pinal County detective about Purvis's death. Detective Franklin was home with his wife, and she was watching a show that came on at eight thirty.”

“How do you know he went to a Circle K?” Laura asked.

“It's a tradition, according to the guy he worked with. He won five-hundred dollars on a Lotto ticket a couple of years ago. So every Friday night, he goes to a different Circle K and plays the scratchers. He buys the same games: Crazy 8's and Diamond Bucks. Buys fifty at a time.”

“Different Circle K's?”

“That's what his wife says. Guess that's part of his ‘system.’”

Just their luck. “Did he tell her which one he went to this time?”

“He doesn't remember anything about that night. There are a couple of 'em near his house. I want to look at all the Circle K's between his place and the sheriff's office.”

“Or on South 12th,” Laura said. “We had dinner at Prieta Linda.”

“It's like finding a needle in a haystack,” Victor said morosely.

“If we split up, we can do it twice as fast.”

“Wait a minute. You're just working Jenny Carmichael.”

Laura shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“What are you looking at?” Victor said, following Laura's gaze across the street.

“I guess you can start with that one.”

Just as they were finishing up, Ana Molina called. “Jaime wants to see you.”

Laura broke all speed records getting to St. Mary's. Afraid that if she didn't show up quickly, the invitation would be rescinded.

Ana met her by the elevators on the fourth floor. She wore a lavender flowered dress today, nylons, and pumps.

“He gets tired,” Ana said. “He likes to overdo it, so please don't stay too long.”

She led Laura around the corner and up the hallway to the Burn Unit. On the left side were plate glass windows looking down onto a little outdoor area surrounded by the tall building. No saints in this courtyard, just gravel, chairs, and walkways.

They were admitted into the Burn Unit and given protective booties and gowns as a precaution, since burn victims are susceptible to infection. Laura wore a similar gown and booties whenever she witnessed an autopsy. She hoped this would be as close to an autopsy as she'd get with Jaime.

As she suited up, Laura thought about Ana Molina dressing up every day, only to be covered up by a gown.

She was allowed to go in alone. The room looked like any other hospital room, the bed cranked up, a lonely light above, casting thin light on the man under the sheet.

The big man Laura remembered was gone. Jaime seemed shrunken. He was swathed in bandages, although she could see part of his face, and one hand was untouched by fire. He was able to move his head slightly in her direction; she saw the strain it caused.

He had a notepad on his stomach. He carefully wrote a note. He used his left hand. Laura tilted her head to read it; his handwriting was unnatural and hard to read, but she got it.

Where's my Brylcreem
?

She laughed. His eyes shone with approval.

Laura said, “I'm so sorry about Chris.”

He nodded, but wrote nothing on the pad.

“You're looking good.” Feeling she had to say something positive. Realizing again how she hated hospitals, hated being in them—she had an almost fight-or-flight response. Willing herself to be strong, upbeat, laugh at Jaime's sense of humor, when what she really wanted to do was throw herself at his feet and beg him for forgiveness. “Can I get you anything?” she said, thinking she was sounding
too
jaunty. “Is there anything you need?”

He wrote on the pad, “A yacht.”

She laughed again, hoping her laugh didn't sound forced. Tempted to ask him if he remembered which Circle K he'd bought his lottery tickets from, but his wife and the sheriff's detective working the case already had. Jaime didn't even remember dinner at Prieta Linda.

He was writing something else. His handwriting getting worse. Laura craned her neck to see. The letters faint, but with effort, she was able to read the words:

Nail his ass
.

Nail his ass. Laura promised herself she would, no matter how long it took.

A list of Circle K addresses on the seat beside her, she started on Grande near Jaime's house and headed in the direction of Prieta Linda on South 12th. Victor started at the sheriff's office and headed in the direction of Jaime's.

It was time-consuming work. First, Laura asked the Circle K clerks if they had been there on that Friday night the week before. For those who answered in the affirmative, Laura described Jaime and his vehicle, which they might have seen through the front windows. Then she asked to see the purchases from that night, looking for a purchase of fifty scratcher tickets: twenty-five Crazy 8's and twenty-five Diamond Bucks. She also asked to see the video tape from that Friday. Most of the time, the tapes had already been recorded over, and at that point, she was at a dead end.

It was only luck that at the sixth Circle K on her search, the clerk remembered a big man buying fifty scratchers.

Laura prayed that her luck would hold, and it did. The store manager had recently replaced the video tape of the outside of the store, and thrown it into a bin in the back. When the bin filled up, they would toss the whole thing out.

Laura found the tape stamped with the date she was looking for. The woman who ran the store took her into the back office and pointed her to the VCR. Laura ran the tape, getting more excited by the minute. This tape did not show the inside of the store, only the front, but she could see all the cars that came up to the front of the store, the cars at the gas pumps, and a large section of the parking lot. Not only that, but she could see everyone who walked up to the front door.

At nine thirty-three p.m., Jaime walked into the frame and opened the front door. At nine forty-two, he walked back out. Laura did not see his car, which must be parked at the edge of the lot, but that didn't matter. She now knew where he was right before he drove out to her place. She did some addition in her head and figured it would put him on the ranch between ten thirty and eleven—if he didn't stop anywhere else.

That meant that the Circle K was his last stop before he drove out to the Bosque Escondido Ranch.

Laura had what she wanted. She didn't know how it would help. She needed to find out more about the bomb, how and where it was planted, in or on Jaime's vehicle.

She called Victor and told him to meet her so they could go over the tape together. Then she re-ran the tape.

On the fourth pass, she saw something else.

Between the time Jaime walked into the Circle K and walked out again, a car drove into the parking lot and parked near the far right-hand edge of the lot. The lot was bordered by a row of tamarisk trees. She saw the driver get out, but the bulk of the car obscured him or her from view, and the video was gray and jumpy.

Laura waited for the driver to walk up onto the concrete apron fronting the store, but no one came from that direction.

“Strange,” she muttered. She stopped, rewound the tape, and started it again.

The car pulled into the parking lot. Laura noticed that the driver didn't douse the lights, but got out immediately. There was perhaps an inch or so where the driver was in the frame, but it was too dark for Laura to see the person because the sodium arc lights cast the area under the trees into deep shadow.

A few moments later, Jaime walked out the door.

Beyond him, Laura saw movement under the trees. Someone walking fast? The light catching something small—just a shimmer, then it was gone. She thought the person walking fast was the driver of the car parked by the tamarisks.

Laura ran the tape back again.

What was the object in the driver's hands? Something that shined when the light hit it.

Again. Laura couldn't tell what it was, the shimmering thing. She did notice this time that when Jaime Molina left the convenience store, he turned right, and headed along the walkway. He disappeared before she could tell for sure where he was going, but Laura guessed he had gone around the right side of the building.

Laura ran the tape back to the beginning of the sequence: the car pulling in, the driver getting out. Leaving the lights on, and Laura guessed, the engine running. A pause—the driver leaning into the back seat? It looked like he was holding something. For a split second, she saw a tiny glint of light, quickly obscured by the shadow.

The driver came back, moving quickly, but—Laura thought—carefully.

Laura was more convinced than ever that whoever had followed Jaime to the ranch had picked him up here.

Before entering the convenience store, Laura had looked around outside. There was an area alongside the right side of the building where people could park if the place was hopping—as it was that Friday—and there was still room for cars to drive through onto the street behind the building.

Laura waited for Victor. They would need a warrant for the tape, even though the act of throwing it into a bin meant for rejected tapes made the tape technically garbage. It never paid to take shortcuts at times like this. They would take the tape and see what could be done at the lab to enhance the images. In the meantime, Laura realized something else.

The car on the tape was sporty and low-slung. She couldn't tell the color, but she was pretty sure it was a Pontiac Solstice.

Even enhanced, the blown-up image from the video was hard to see, but Laura and Victor did learn two things:

One, the driver was female. And two, she was carrying a jar of liquid.

“Looks like a canning jar,” Victor said, staring at the photo. He looked at Laura. “You know how you make a calcium carbide bomb?”

“No.”

“It's the stuff you get from carbide lamps, like the old miners had. Easy to get—you can find it at hardware stores. When you add it to water, it produces acetylene carbonate. Very dangerous shit. All you do is put the lid on tight and you've got a bomb. Stuff is unstable and highly flammable.”

“Sounds to me like she could have blown herself up.”

“She could have. I'm guessing she either left the lid off and put some cardboard between the water and the calcium carbide, or else she put the stuff in capsules—that would buy some time. Or else she had the capsules and was going to put it in right before she planted it on or in his car.”

Laura squinted at the enhanced image. The way they could tell the figure was a woman was because of the legs. Long and paler than the surrounding blackness. A woman wearing short shorts.

Laura knew who it was, and it shocked her. She knew who, but she couldn't make the jump as to “why.” She was missing something.

Victor said, “Looks to me like she followed him to the Circle K. When he went in, she tried to plant the bomb in his car.”

“But she didn't. I can only guess it was because he came out sooner than she expected.”

“Me, I would have left it anyway.”

“Maybe she didn't get as far as Jaime's car.” Another thought occurred to Laura. “Maybe she saw Christine in the passenger seat. Maybe that was what stopped her. If the thing didn't go off for some reason, Christine would have gotten a good look at her.”

Neither of them said what both were thinking: that the woman had glimpsed Christine in the dark car—the ponytail, the sling—and assumed it was Laura.

“I don't think she followed Jaime from the restaurant,” Laura said. “Otherwise, she would have seen me leave. Maybe she picked him up at his house.”

Victor sighed. “We'll never know.”

“We know a lot more than you think,” she said. “We know who.”

They took it to Jerry Grimes, then the three of them took it to Lieutenant Wiese. If they were right, Micaela Brashear was extremely dangerous. She had killed at least two people and probably more.

The lieutenant closed the door to his office, and they sat there tossing around theories, formulating a plan of action. The office was utilitarian, lit by fluorescent panels in the ceiling, and held a cheap veneered cherry desk you could get at an office supply store.

As they laid it out for him, the lieutenant seemed skeptical. “I'm having a hard time seeing a female doing something like this,” he said. “Women don't like bombs—they're much more likely to do something subtle. Like poison.”

Laura kept a neutral expression, although his comment galled her. Victor said, “It's a woman in the picture.”

“Yes, but we don't really know what she's doing.”

Maybe she's dropping off a cup of sugar,
Laura thought.

“What's her motive?” Wiese asked.

Laura glanced at Victor, silently telling him to take the lead. It chafed her to have to do it that way, but there wasn't any time to waste.

Victor said, “We think she's an imposter.”

The silence was shattering.

“An imposter?” Wiese said at last. “What do you mean?”

“We think she's been scamming the Brashears into believing she's their daughter. As we got closer to finding Heywood, obviously the more precarious her situation was.”

“She knew Heywood?”

“We think she did. We're working on the theory that she's actually a twenty-six-year-old carnival worker named Angela Santero. She was Heywood's girlfriend back in the mid-nineties.”

“That would make her fifteen, sixteen years old back then.”

“That's right.”