Desert Rage: A Lena Jones Mystery (29 page)

And entering politics, where her egg-selling past could be a career-destroying scandal.

Unaware of my thoughts, she continued. “It was only coincidence that I happened to be at Fancy Feet that day, Ms. Jones. I usually get my shoes at Nordstrom, but I was in a hurry and the store was just down the street, so…” She swallowed and paused for a moment, the first intimation this confession was difficult for her. “Anyway, when I walked in, I recognized Alexandra immediately. She’d hardly changed. True beauty is like that, you see, bred in the bone, not at the cosmetic counter. Then, when I took one look at Ali’s face…Well, you’ve seen the resemblance. The birthmark on her foot, the one exactly like mine, merely confirmed what I already knew, but…” She swallowed again. “Anyway, I got out of the store before Alexandra saw me.”

It had the ring of truth, but I was still suspicious. “Tell me more about Alexandra. At what point you two actually met, and what you talked about.”

A dismissive wave. “The usual. Marriage. Children. I came away from that initial meeting convinced she’d be a wonderful mother for any child.”

From everything I had heard so far in my investigation, her assessment of the woman had been correct. “What was your take on Dr. Cameron?”

“I didn’t warm to him, and he didn’t warm to me, either. From his manner, I doubt if he ever saw me as anything other than a means to an end, but that didn’t matter, since my expectations of him were no more elevated. He was just semen in a petri dish. As far as I was concerned, all I cared about was his ability to provide a comfortable, safe home for…” She paused, as if struck by the irony of her statement.

Shaken, Thorsson looked beyond me, several miles beyond me, I guessed, to a cemetery where three graves lay covered with dying flowers. I, too, allowed a brief memory—that of my own father standing in a faraway forest, telling my mother to take me and run, while he provided the distraction that would save us.

And kill him.

In the end, Dr. Cameron tried to save his family, too.

And he had failed. Just as my own father failed.

Recovering herself, Thorsson said, “During the fertility process, when Alexandra and I were both undergoing the injections, we met several more times at different coffee shops around Scottsdale, once in her home. She wanted me to see how well they lived. By the time the, ah, biological process was completed, I’d learned a lot about her. Her childhood, the career she was willing to walk away from, her marriage.” Another brief, distant look, then her eyes focused on me again. “Did you know she was a very lonely woman?”

“I’ve heard something about that, yes.”

She shook her head. “How could a woman be that beautiful, and still so lonely?”

“Life is strange. So are people.”

“Anyway, ours was only a temporary friendship, one which ended as soon as she became pregnant. Yet then, as well as now, I was convinced that Alexandra Cameron was one of the finest women I ever met. She was elegant and kind and…” Her voice trailed off.

And you fell in love with her, didn’t you, Congresswoman? Another secret you’re keeping from your radical right constituents.

As if afraid she had already revealed too much, Juliana’s manner became brisk. “Well. I’m certain you found all that fascinating, but I didn’t invite you over here to dwell on the past. It’s the future I’m concerned with.”

Here it came. The real reason she’d summoned me.

“I want you to arrange a meeting between me and Ali’s uncle.”

“The purpose of that being?” As if I hadn’t already begun to suspect.

Like all good politicians, Congresswoman Thorsson began to build her story point by point. “When I was watching the uncle at the service this morning, I noticed he never once touched that girl. No hugs. No kisses. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk to her.”

“I wouldn’t call him demonstrative, no.”

Her mouth twisted in contempt. “That’s putting it mildly. Well, the girl simply can’t stay with him. He’ll just pack her off to some dismal boarding school so he can return to his real love—some damned Kenyan village.”

“Inoculating children against disease isn’t the worst crime anyone ever committed.”

“Of course not. But charity begins at home, don’t you think?”

“I live alone, Congresswoman, so I wouldn’t know. So do you, by the way.”

“Not for long.”

“Oh?”

She frowned. “Don’t play dumb, Miss Jones. You know exactly where I’m headed. I’m going ask Dr. Teague to relinquish guardianship of Ali to me.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Ali

My uncle hates me. I mean, really, really hates me. At the funeral today he wouldn’t even look at me. Wouldn’t sit next to me.

Everybody hates me.

Especially the girls here in juvie. Yesterday, as soon as I got back from the funeral, three of them jumped me in the shower, and although I yelled, nobody came to help because they all hate me. I’m too rich. I’m too snobby. I’m too much everything that’s bad.

I killed my family.

That’s what they all think, anyway.

Since I had, like, three girls on me there was nothing else I could do except fight back. I got a hank of somebody’s hair, and bit somebody’s finger nearly off. But three against one isn’t fair, is it, so they got me down and kicked me around until I almost cried.

Almost.

Instead, I pretended they’d knocked me out, and I just laid there in that nasty water and bled for a while until they walked away and finally one of the matrons, or whatever they call themselves, came in and found me.

Then I was taken to Medical, where they fixed me up some. Just some. When I wake up tomorrow, I know I’m going to have, like, a black eye. And a bunch of cuts.

They gave me ten demerits for fighting.

When I get out of here, I’m going to kill myself.

Chapter Twenty-six

Lena

Question: what is a mother?

Answer: in Congresswoman Juliana Thorsson’s case, the answer had once been easy: a mother was the biological entity that produced an egg and allowed it to be fertilized.

Period.

What was the answer now?

Philosophy didn’t come easy to me, so I did what I always did when my brain hurt.

I headed out for another interview.

Tuesday at six is a good time to show up at Good Samaritan Hospital. The victims of Friday night car wrecks, overdoses, and shootings had either died or been patched together, so I was able to park in the visitors’ lot without too much trouble and make my way to the other side of the hospital to Employee Parking Lot B. The second car on the east end was the maroon Buick Verano, license number VFINERN. After a few minutes a cute brunette faintly resembling a bowling ball approached.

“Are you Lena? If not, get away from my car.”

An astute man, her husband. She was cranky.

“Yep, I’m Lena. And you’re Valerie Redhorse, right?”

Scowling, she said, “Ditto the yep. Let’s make this fast, okay? I’ve had a bad day.”

“Busy?”

“Yeah, not that I’m going to divulge the gory details. HIPAA rules. Anyway, I’ve already told the police everything I know about Dr. Cameron, which isn’t much. Here’s what I told the cops. He was an excellent doc. A great one, even. When he worked on a patient, bombs could have gone off around him and he wouldn’t notice, the man was that focused. No drug habit to speak of and I never saw him drunk. Don’t think he stepped out on his wife, either. With his focus, he had the opposite of a roving eye. But personally? He wasn’t friendly and he wasn’t chatty. Bit of a bastard, really, but most doctors are. Especially ER docs on a rough Saturday night, which we call ‘Gunshot Saturdays,’ God bless the NRA.”

“No drug habit
to speak of
, you said?” Her phrasing sounded odd.

A fierce grin. “Show me an ER doc who doesn’t need a little pick-me-up after being on duty four nights straight and I’ll show you a dumb-ass kid straight out of med school.” Seeing my expression, she cracked a weak smile. “Not to worry. NoDoz is the drug of choice around here. It’s right up there with black coffee and pizza.”

My alarm disappeared. “Did you ever hear anyone threaten Dr. Cameron?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“No angry gang members?”

“Nope.”

“No crazed, grieving kin after one of their loved ones died?”

“Nope. You gotta understand, we don’t let relatives—or unshot or unstabbed gang members—into the working section of the ER They’d just clutter up the place, and what would be the point anyway? They’d either go into hysterics or faint, and then we’d have to attend to them, not the patient. That’s why we have a separate waiting room off to the side. Comfy place with lots of Kleenex. We keep that door closed so they won’t see the blood.”

“If you keep the door closed, then you wouldn’t have heard them if they made threats.”

“Got a point there, don’t you?” She actually laughed. Nurses. Hard as nails when they’re not grieving over some battered child. “Now, if you’re finished, I wanna get home. Dinner’s waiting, and Andrew’s a great cook.”

“One more question.”

She jangled her car keys. “Make it snappy.”

“Do you know a Dr. Bosworth?”

“Dr. Edwin Bosworth? Tall, dark, and handsome Bosworth?”

“Sounds like the one.”

“I work with him all the time. Another good doc, though not as good as Dr. Cameron. Nobody was as good as Cameron. What do you want to know about Bosworth?”

“Ever hear any rumors about him and Mrs. Cameron?”

Her earlier laughter was nothing in comparison to the belly laugh I heard now. When she finally calmed down, she said, through giggles, “Tell me another one. Bad day or not, I’m always up for a good joke.”

“I don’t understand.”

A final giggle as she unlocked her Buick and slid into the seat. “Nope, no rumors about Mrs. Cameron and Dr. Bosworth. Mainly ’cause he’s gay as a day in May.”

Having gained nothing other than the elimination of one possible subject from my conversation with Jimmy’s cousin, I headed back to Scottsdale, the setting sun at my back. No matter the heat, this was the Valley’s most beautiful time of day. As I drove east along McDowell, the reflection of a rosy-orange sun bounced off the rear windows of the cars ahead of me, and once I’d made it to the red sandstone Papago Buttes, the glow was so intense the Buttes appeared to be on fire. Mounting the top of the hill, I saw Scottsdale spread out before me, washed in such a vibrant golden halo that it looked like the Promised Land.

But beauty can do only so much for you. It can’t tone your muscles, and what with one thing and another, I needed a serious workout. I stopped by the motel for my gym bag, then drove over to L.A. Fitness. When I arrived, the machines were so crowded with nine-to-fivers wearing designer Spandex, I decided to take my chances at Fight Pro.

Because of Fight Pro’s ongoing construction, parking opportunities were slim and it took several passes around what was left of the parking area before I found a spot at the far northwest corner, near a fenced-off empty lot. At least, during my cruise-around, I’d seen no sign of Big Black Hummer, which didn’t come as a surprise. Monster Woman tended to haunt the gym during the day, and in the evenings usually stayed home, probably to spend her time watching reruns of
Pumping Iron
and penning love letters to psychopaths on Death Row.

Best laid plans of mice and men, and all that. I had been pounding the treadmill for fifteen minutes when Monster Woman stalked through the door. Because the treadmills were located near the back of the gym, she didn’t see me. That left two choices open: continue working out or leave immediately. I chose the first, knowing she seldom used the treadmills. Besides, I wasn’t about to let Monster Woman’s craziness run my life.

But since I’m not crazy myself, as soon as I finished with the treadmill, I made a wide arc around the free-weights area where she had planted herself, and set my sights on the Nautilus machines. Making the best of the situation, I spent ten minutes on the abdominal, ten on the leg press, fifteen on the rowing torso, and finished with the back pull. Then I returned to the treadmills and ended my workout with a fifteen-minute sprint.

Tired, sore, and happy, I showered quickly—secure in the fact that I’d seen Monster Woman leave the gym twenty minutes earlier—dressed, and headed back to my Jeep.

Night had fallen during my workout, swallowing the golden glory of the Arizona sunset in its inky craw. Now a flickering, weak light from a sole tungsten lamp lengthened the cars’ shadows as I crossed the lot. I stayed alert, because even though Scottsdale has a low crime rate, you never know.

I was just about to climb into my Jeep when a truck hit me from behind.

When the fog cleared, I was lying on hot asphalt, staring up at Monster Woman. She was holding a rock. The back of my head felt wet and I smelled blood.

“Get my Hummer towed, will you, bitch?”

She must have seen me all along, and been out here waiting for me. In most cases when faced with physical threat, I try to talk the would-be assailant down, but I’d already been hit and the look on Monster Woman’s face proved she wasn’t in a listening mood. She was too intent on inflicting further damage.

And here it came.

After swinging a massive leg backwards, she kicked me in the face.

Now, you don’t actually see stars after taking a hard blow to the head. What you see are little pinpoints of light against a dark red background. It looked nothing like the night sky, which hung above me, oblivious to what was going down in the parking lot of Scottsdale Fight Pro.

Fortunately, Monster Woman was wearing workout shoes, not steel-toed boots, so the light show was brief. Since I’d seen the blow coming, I’d prepared for it by turning my head. Also by raising my arms. While the lights fancy-danced around my field of vision, I managed to grab onto her leg. Although burdened by my weight, she was still able to swing her leg back again, taking my whole body with her.

The woman’s strength was amazing, but in a fight, more than strength and weight was involved. Skill and agility came into play, too, as well as the brand of dirty fighting taught in Krav Maga. So instead of struggling as she swung me back and forth, I just went with the flow and hugged her leg tighter.

And bit.

God bless strong genes and good dentists. Thanks to my own Dr. Sheffield’s skill, I was able to gnaw all the way through her leathery skin to the tough gristle inside. Disregarding her howls, I kept gnawing until she bent down to pull me away.

Which is what I was waiting for. I let go of her leg and with one hand, grabbed her long blond hair, and drew her closer. With my other hand, I poked her in the eye with a stiffened forefinger. The pain she’d felt before was nothing compared to what she felt now, and she staggered back, shrieking. I jumped to my feet.

Ignoring my wet forefinger—vitreous humor? God, I hoped not—I flattened my hand, turned it to the side, and gave her a chop to the neck.

She went down.

But it wasn’t over yet. She reached up and snatched at me blindly, hoping to hook my leg and bring me down with her. If she got me between those massive thighs…

I wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I drew my right fist back, leaned over, and smashed her in the nose. Only when her eyes rolled into her head and blood spurted all over me did I remember my heavy new turquoise ring.

The Navajo version of brass knuckles.

***

Ten minutes later I was filling out a police report as an ambulance carried Terry Jardine, aka Monster Woman, away. Before I got the chance to call the police myself, the commotion had alerted two sweaty accountants as they exited the gym, and they had performed that kind service for me.

After I refused treatment, against everyone’s recommendation, the uniformed officers interviewed me.

“You say she attacked you first?” the tall one asked. He was thin as a snake but had a genial personality. His name tag identified him as Bruce Leavitt. I didn’t know him, but I had once worked with his partner, a hard-ass little snip named Gwyneth Pronzini, whose ferocity made my old frenemy Detective Sylvie Perrins look like Tinker Bell.

“Yes, she hit me from behind with that rock…” I gestured toward the offending mineral lying near my Jeep, “…as I was about to climb in my vehicle. If you check your records, you’ll find she’s out on bail after being charged with firebombing my office.”

Pronzini turned to Leavitt. “That’ll be Desert Investigations. Over on Main Street. Arson guys have it.” To me, “What’d you do to Ms. Jardine to make her act like that?”

“Had her car towed. She kept parking in our space.”

“Definitely a major crime against humanity.” Like most female cops, including Sylvie, Pronzini had to act twice as tough to be taken half as seriously as the male of the species.

I was about to say something cynical in return, but then something wet trickled down my back. When I raised my hand up to the wound, it came back red. Uh-oh.

“I’m bleeding again.” I tried not to sound pathetic.

“Didn’t we warn you not to refuse treatment?’ Pronzini said, outraged. “You lied to the EMTs, didn’t you, when you said you didn’t lose consciousness?”

I shook my head before I remembered how much it hurt. “But I didn’t. Not totally, anyway. Just saw a few stars.”

Leavitt stared at my hand, then my head. “She really needs to go to the hospital.”

“Sure looks like it.” Pronzini turned her glare on me. “Lena, you smear any blood on our squad car, I’ll kill you myself. We just had it washed.”

With that, they drove me over to Scottsdale-Osborn Hospital, which luckily, was only eight blocks away from the gym so I didn’t have to listen to Pronzini’s caterwauls too long. Once there, she shut up. Copious amounts of blood are great attention-getters from ER folk, so I was immediately separated from the bloodless but groaning herd and ushered into a curtained examination area. As per protocol, Pronzini and Leavitt trailed along. Once a nurse helped me onto a gurney, the two cops turned to go.

But not before Pronzini got in a final zinger. “Oh, and you’d better get that blood around your mouth HIV-tested, too. Just in case.”

***

An hour later, minus a little hair but the brand new owner of sixteen staples in my scalp, the ER released me with orders not to drive or operate heavy machinery for the next twenty-four hours. All hopped up on adrenalin, I ignored the doctor’s warning and hoofed it back to the gym, where I picked up my Jeep and drove to my motel. The adrenaline wore off as I was climbing the stairs. It was only with difficulty that I summoned enough strength to get through the door to my room.

After latching the door behind me, I flopped across the bed in my bloody clothes, and fell into a deep, and thankfully, dreamless sleep.