Bouncer Page 7

  “How much more does he have to go?”

  “He’s serving twenty-five to life, though I believe there might be a good chance for him to get out on parole within the next couple of years. However, the Peebles campaign against that every time his parole hearings come up and have thwarted any chance he’s had, though Luke’s been a model prisoner. The family refers to him as the devil leading the innocent astray and all.”

  “The Peebles are still in town?”

  “No, they moved out of the area shortly after her murder. Tyson Peebles worked for Anthony Montanari and the Agrit-Empire and felt he just couldn’t stay in the area after the murder, so they took their son, Johnny, with them and left. I think Tyson owns some sort of cattle ranch east of Sacramento, but every time he hears about the hearing, the entire family trots down to Modesto and makes sure that Luke doesn’t have a chance this side of hell of getting out.”

  “He wields that sort of power?”

  “But of course,” said Lea. “His uncle was State Controller for years, and his grandfather was a district judge. Tyson Peebles is a good ole boy, and all good ole boys look after one another.” She nearly spat the words at him.

  “You really have it in for the good old boy network, don’t you?”

  “I’ve seen it work its magic, and no woman, no matter how good she is, will ever break in. That’s why you were hired when Roger went down, not me. And that’s also why you could prove beneficial for my situation. You’re already one of the good ole boys in spite of your ethnic peculiarities, and you’re going to grant me access into the inner circles of the Monroe City Police Department.”

  “Ethnic peculiarities—now, that’s an interesting term. So, why is it so crucial you infiltrate the inner circles?” asked Nick, half-amused.

  Lea studied Nick Thayne’s handsome visage. He was even better looking in person; the dailies didn’t remotely do him justice. His lips, sensual and full, rested below eyes only slightly slanted and imbued with rich warm brown earth tones guaranteed to drive most women wild. His hair, cut in layers, allowed the thick black mane to surround his lean face dramatically. At 6’2”, his well-toned body seemed uncomfortable in the overly stiff chair.

  Lea was reminded of the exotic heritages of Keanu Reeves and Lou Diamond Phillips, though he was far better looking than either. His deep voice brilliantly managed to be soothing and sensual at the same time. He was the kind of man a woman could dreamily listen to for hours, that perfect blend of college professor and talk show host that gained your trust and weakened your defenses. She hated men like him because they were already half-way around the track before she’d even finished lacing up her running shoes.

  “My dad never got to solve this case. He believed to the day he died that Luke Cambridge was innocent. I’ve vowed to continue the case and make sure I prove his innocence, even if it’s been twenty-five years and I was only a girl of six when it happened. And now, the mayor’s been murdered.” She appeared almost gleeful.

  “Ex-mayor,” corrected Nick.

  “Whatever; once a mayor, always a mayor. Thad’s been murdered and his finger’s been severed just like Ashley Peebles’ was twenty-five years ago. A remarkable coincidence.”

  Nick pulled out the close-up of the picture of the missing finger from underneath the photos of the two convicted murderers. Lea reached into the top drawer of the antique desk and removed a small electronic gadget about 1 ½ times the size of a standard paperback. She whipped out a cord similar to a cell phone charger and plugged it in. Her thin fingers flew across a small keyboard.

  “Indeed,” said Nick. “Someone wanted us to find her ring. Someone who knew how she died and believed justice hadn’t been served.”

  “Or is a serial killer taunting the people. But, that’s a long space between kills.”

  “You have a photograph of the ring?” asked Nick.

  “Yes, but unfortunately it’s not a close-up. The silver ring was one that her great-grandmother had apparently passed down to the oldest girl child in the Peebles’ family for several generations. It was a silver ring made of layers of braided rope, apparently quite unique.” Lea pulled the photo from her desk drawer and pushed it across the desk. In it, a pretty Ashley Peebles, dressed in an elaborate Cleopatra Halloween outfit, smiled for the camera. Her jeweled arms crossed her chest and the ring in question glittered in the light provided by the camera’s flash. Nick fished in his pocket and removed the Polaroid. The two rings were identical.

  “Bingo,” they uttered in unison.

  Chapter 6

  Fox had calmed down a bit about the ring and settled across the wide maple desk from him, removing her glasses to tiredly rub her eyes. She appeared far more attractive without the old lady spectacles, and her eyes were actually quite pretty. It was already 10:15 p.m. Because of her stubbornness, Nick read the files meticulously, occasionally stopping to write down a few notes. Every time he scribbled down something, Lea asked what he was doing and typed the details into her little box. He found her persistent questions annoying.

  “Look, Ms. Fox, wouldn’t it be a lot easier for both of us if I just took the files home?”

  “Nope.”

  “We’re partners remember.”

  “Partners? Hell, we’re just working together. There’s a difference; a partner is someone who adjusts to your working style.”

  “It’s clear you’re not making any adjustments, lady.”

  “Didn’t realize I had to, since this isn’t a long term deal,” she shot back.

  Nick closed the folder with a sigh. God, what a difficult woman! “We need to call Tyson Peebles and verify the ring found on Thad Fisher’s finger is the one belonging to his daughter.”

  Lea gestured to the phone. “Then make the call.”

  Tyson Peebles spoke in a curiously dead voice, as if all the life had been sucked out of him. A dog whined piteously in the background against the drone of a Friday-night sitcom. He seemed startled when Nick indicated that the mayor had been murdered and a ring resembling Ashley’s had been found on his finger. As Nick described the ring, Tyson Peebles emitted an excited breath.

  “It sounds just like my little girl’s! I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the police station, bright and early. I want to see that ring.”

  Nick hung up the phone with a look of victory. “Sounds like we’re making some good progress. I’ll meet him in the morning.”

  “We’ll meet him in the morning,” corrected Lea. “It’s has been a long time since I’ve chatted with Chief Rollins. I wonder if he remembers me. I’m sure you need to scurry on home, as you probably have a date or something.

  Nick gathered up his things and unwound himself from the uncomfortable chair.

  “I’ll see you at the station at 8 a.m. sharp, partner. “ He strode out of the room, only missing the low doorframe by a mere two inches, thinking this could be a partnership made in hell. Unbeknownst to him, a paper wad smacked the office door as it closed behind him.

  Saturday, 8 am, Monroe Police Department

  Tyson Peebles, promptly at 7:55 am Saturday morning, waited impatiently outside the wide glass doors of the Monroe City Police Department as Nick drove up in his ‘68 Mustang. Lea frowned. The car sure suited the man.

  “Wow,” said Tyson. “That’s some car!”

  Time had treated Tyson Peebles poorly. Sparse hair, bleached pure white from stress and age, hung stingily around an unhealthy face, and his nose possessed that swollen, bulbous effect, which suggested he hit the bottle a bit too often. A flabby belly protruded over his doe-brown pants, and his pale blue shirt looked as if it had difficulty staying tucked in. In contrast to his disheveled appearance, he wore an enormous wooden cross around his neck like some sort of medieval priest hoping to ward off evil.

  “Thanks. It’s the original 390-cubic inch GT V-8 fastback with 335 horses. It can zip.”

  “The paint looks perfect.”

  “Had to have it redone, but they did a nice job. Matched t
he original color completely.”

  Tyson stuck out a pudgy hand to Nick Thayne, and they shook like old-time friends. Like most men, Mr. Peebles totally ignored Lea Fox. Since she was used to it, Lea said nothing and grimly followed the two men into the Monroe City Police Department. Just what was it about men and cars anyway?

  Richard Rollins jerked when he saw her, but quickly plastered his meet-the-public smile upon his chubby face. He shook Nick’s hand warmly and turned to the much-aged Tyson, holding Tyson Peebles’ hand warmly by placing one paw another over the top of the aggrieved man’s while murmuring condolences for the twenty-five-year-old murder. He didn’t even bother to shake Lea’s hand.

  After Rollins released Tyson, Lea leaned forward and took Tyson’s hand. He seemed surprised she was part of the team.

  “I’m Investigator Fox and will be assisting Detective Thayne on this case.”

  “What are you doing here?” Richard growled under his breath as Tyson followed Nick into the station.

  “Didn’t Mr. Thayne tell you?” Lea responded sweetly. “We’re partners now working on the Peebles-Fisher case.”

  “The Peebles-Fisher case,” he shot back before realizing Tyson Peebles stood not six feet from him. He stated more softly. “I didn’t realize there was a connection. Please, everyone, come into my office and fill me in.”

  Nick gave Richard a measuring glance. Since Richard was originally the one who’d related the similarities between the severed ring fingers, he wondered just what the chief was trying to pull. The trio followed him into his good-sized office overlooking the wide grass lawn of the MCPD. The persistent hum of a lawnmower invaded the office interior and Richard closed the window. Beyond the green rectangle, one could glimpse the courthouse, and just behind that, the records center, all within walking distance. Monroe was a compact town, but well designed.

  Richard sank behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “So?” he asked, making it a question.

  “We have reason to believe,” said Nick without preamble, “that the ring discovered on Thad Fisher’s pinkie finger may very well have belonged to Ashley Peebles. Her ring’s been missing over twenty-five years.”

  Richard quickly punched three numbers into the phone. “Dwayne, I want you to go retrieve the ring taken from Thad Fisher’s finger, the silver one, you know, that was found on his pinkie. It’s being stored in the evidence room.”

  Officer Dwayne Matthews returned within three minutes, dropping the silver ring upon his chief’s desk. Those minutes proved awkward, and Chief Rollins tried to fill it with pleasant conversation, asking Tyson how business was going and if he missed working for the Agrit-Empire. Tyson kept fiddling with his cross while Nick made a pretext of re-examining the files. Lea felt no need to be polite and studied Tyson Peebles openly.

  The man obviously had a drinking problem, and his fingers, as they fiddled with the wooden cross, trembled. He had twice nicked himself shaving and his shirt was poorly pressed. Lea wondered if the negligent Mrs. Peebles perhaps spent more time on her house than her husband’s attire. When the ring dropped before Richard Rollins, the chief didn’t even have a chance to open the baggie before Tyson grabbed it off the table. Lea removed her mini-computer, her fingers poised over the keys.

  “It’s my little girl’s! It’s Ashley’s ring. I never thought I would see it again!”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course! It was designed by a Navajo silversmith and is nearly a hundred years old. My grandmother received it as a little girl and passed it down to my daughter on her 12th birthday.” If Tyson Peebles’ hands had been shaking before, they were absolutely quaking now.

  “May I see the ring?” asked Nick politely and retrieved the now damp baggie from Tyson, who ran his hands nervously up and down the brown creases of his trousers.

  “It’s truly a unique ring, which indicates beyond a shadow of doubt that the murders of Ashley Peebles and Thad Fisher are related,” stated Lea calmly. Chief Rollins frowned angrily at her.

  “So, you mean,” said Tyson, stammering, “that it wasn’t that Cambridge boy or Deke Rhodes after all?”

  “We can’t totally rule that out,” said Chief Rollins consolingly. He’d considered the outcome of the Peebles case to be one of his great successes. “It’s certain they were involved in the murder. Perhaps there’s a third party we were unaware of, or Ashley simply lost or had given the ring away. There could be any number of reasons this ring was found on Thad Fisher’s finger.”

  “Such as?” asked Lea, eager to hear what her father’s former subordinate had to say.

  Richard turned it deftly around. “Well, I’m sure that you and Nick will find out what those reasons could be. But, until we’ve made all the connections, I don’t think we have any more questions for you, Tyson. We just wanted you to identify the ring. You head home now, and we’ll take it from here. As soon as possible, we’ll return the ring to your family.” Richard Rollins rose and extended a warm but dismissive handshake to the white-faced Peebles.

  He suddenly appeared very eager to get Tyson Peebles out of his office, and Lea couldn’t blame him. Chief Rollins thought he’d wrapped this old case up as neatly as a birthday present, complete with a daintily tied ribbon. Now his whole package was unraveling, and Lea almost chuckled out loud. She caught Nick’s chastising glance and promptly set her small teeth together. Damn the man! There were so few chances for levity in her profession, and damn it if she didn’t want to enjoy those moments, especially when dealing with a pompous ass like Chief Rollins.

  Richard walked Tyson Peebles out, draping his arm across the man’s shoulder and talking softly to him. Lea leaned over and, grabbing the file from Nick’s lap, began squinting at the cramped type made to fit in too small a space.

  “This coroner’s report is really quite interesting,” she said, ignoring Nick’s hostile glance. “It states the mayor had beef stroganoff for dinner.” Her fingers jabbed at her mini-laptop.

  Nick folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “So, what happened to you? Drop out of finishing school?”

  She stopped typing. “Never had the opportunity to attend such high class educational institutions during my formative years like you did, Silver Spoon. If you expect me to be Ms. Sweet Cakes, you’ve got the wrong gal. A man can get away saying whatever he wants, but a woman has always got to sweeten it up for it to be swallowed. Well, that’s not me, mister, and if you’d been raised by my father and brother, you wouldn’t have been all ‘sugar and spice and everything nice,’ either. So, you’d just better grin and bear it. And, a note to the wise, your Richard Rollins isn’t too thrilled we’ve re-opened the Peebles’ case. He thought he had that one all wrapped up, so expect him to put major roadblocks in our way.”

  “I can handle Chief Rollins,” said Nick evenly, “but I don’t want you to get him all defensive and riled up. He obviously doesn’t like you, so why don’t you leave the talking to me?”

  “That’s why we are going to make a great team, Harry. You can be all handsome and charming and sweet—buttering them up while I dissect the motive.”

  “My name is Nick, not Harry,” he gritted.

  “Harold Whitfield Thayne. I’m certain that’s the name given to you in the Times. Nick is a nickname, I guess? Or—let me speculate—you read a bunch of crime novels and decided Nick was a hip name for a detective.”

  “Nick was my grandfather’s name and preferable to Harry. Don’t you forget, Lea.”

  “Whatever you want, big boy. You know, I think being called by one’s last name is often preferable in working situations, don’t you? It’s a British tradition, after all, and some of the best detectives have been British. You know, Holmes and Watson, Poirot and Hastings, Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, Inspector Morse and his Lewis. Tell you what. I’ll be Fox, and you be Thayne. A great solution, since I think it keeps us separate but equal. A more modern type of segregation certain to prove highly effective and definitely more palatable. When
you verbalize my last name you might even forget I’m a mere woman.”

  Distaste narrowed Nick’s handsome face. “Where’d you hatch from?”

  “My brother often asked my father that. It was one of the few pleasures of my Emily Dickinsonian-type life,” she retorted, returning her attention to the coroner’s report.

  He sat and fumed. Damn those tabloids and their conscious violation of one’s privacy. But what could he expect? They’d been after a story, and his break-up with his infamous father as well as his suspension and subsequent resignation from the SFPD had made news. The silver-spoon boy who’d turned his back on all that money and influence. Some had called him ungrateful; he’d called it downright brave. Nick now realized it would take his entire prowess to one-up Lea Fox. She was a formable foe who not only didn’t give a shit about what he thought but also held a prejudiced opinion of him like so many others. Somehow, though, he suspected her opinion had nothing to do with race and everything to do with money, maleness, and power.

  Nick dropped the baggie back upon the desk and returned his thoughts to the case. How on earth could a seventeen-year-old girl’s ring have found its way onto the ex-mayor’s finger? And where was the mayor’s mistress, Connie Judson? In fact, the last anyone had seen of her was when little Katie had spotted the decked out Connie emerging from the black limo at Chester Street. Nick was afraid the busty redhead had either flown the coop or would be found in a shallow grave not far from the mayor.

  Chief Rollins huffed back into his office and slammed the door.

  “Next time, I expect to have a little more information before someone like Tyson Peebles wanders into my office. Hell of a way to start off the morning! And just what is she doing here?”