Black Current Page 17

  “Then draw a line through Rod Steinbach, too. He has no motive for murdering either Skye or Cheryl.” I looked at Gabi. “Agreed?”

  “One line is OK.”

  “This leads us to our client. The man we are trying to clear.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he is our client,” Gabi said. “We are trying to figure out the truth.”

  “Yes we are. Now, our client says he has an alibi, but he won’t help us confirm it.” I got to my feet and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “And I’m afraid John Tactacquin has motive, the way some people see it. That’s two strikes against him right there.”

  “Yeah. Skye got Taryn pregnant, right? And then he told her he didn’t want the kid, and she had to get an abortion,” Claudia said. “When her dad found out, he went over to Skye’s house and yelled at his parents.”

  “That’s pretty much what happened.” I studied the worn pattern in the old linoleum floor. “But I don’t think Tactacquin’s guilty.”

  “Besides why would Taryn’s dad kill the gift shop lady?” Gabi looked puzzled. “Why would anybody kill her? I don’t get that.”

  “Maybe Cheryl Kerr knew something about Skye’s murder,” I explained. “And the killer found out that she knew.”

  “I see what you are saying. I guess we better not draw a line through our client,” Gabi said. “I’m sorry, ’cause Taryn and Donna are really nice.”

  I took my mug from the cupboard, the mug Brodie had given me not long before he’d died, and poured myself a cup of brew. “On to Porter and Vanessa. Claudia, you’ve got the floor.”

  “See, it’s all about the Piñata Party Club.” Claudia tossed back the last of her soda. “I figure there’s only about thirty or forty kids in the club. It’s really tight. If a kid starts talking, they get kicked out. And believe me, nobody wants to get kicked out. It’s wild, totally wild.” She managed to crush her empty soda can, but it took both of her small hands.

  “Anyways. They do this thing where they bring in a special guest. And the guest gets like, trashed. Maybe they take the guest to the sloth room, you know? And then that kid has to do drugs all night till he’s totally wasted. I saw this girl last time, they took her into the lust room. I didn’t see what happened … but I saw her when she came out.”

  “That’s it,” I snapped. “You’re done, you’re not going back.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.” Claudia glared at me. “I can take care of myself.”

  “You think.” I glared right back. “I mean it, Claudia. Your membership in the Piñata Party Club is hereby revoked.”

  “What’re you gonna do, Jaymie, put a ankle bracelet on me?”

  “Now there’s an idea.”

  Claudia growled. “Do you wanna hear my story or not?”

  “You know I do.”

  “All right then. Back in January, they invited this kid named BJ to be the special guest. BJ Bonfiglio. BJ’s kinda chunky. Not fat, just a little heavy, you know? He’s nice.”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him around. He’s two years ahead of me in school. I didn’t really know him till I contacted him. I wanted to find out directly, you know? What really happened that night.”

  I smiled to myself. This kid actually was a detective. How about that.

  “Anyways, all I was hearing at the party club was, something happened to BJ back in January. Something nasty. And Skye Rasmussen made the other kids stop. He got in a big fight with Vanessa and Porter, then he grabbed BJ and left. He made them let BJ go.”

  “So that’s when Skye quit the club? Good for him.”

  “Yeah. But I had to, you know, confirm it. Plus I wanted to know more. So BJ and me, we met at Alameda Park. We talked for a long time.”

  “Good work.”

  ”Then … we met two more times. Three times in all.” Claudia looked at me sideways.

  “So you got quite a bit of info from Mr. Bonfiglio,” I said in a neutral tone.

  “Yeah, we talked about all kinds of stuff. But about that night. See, Skye and BJ already knew each other, before the party.”

  My ears twitched. “They already knew each other?”

  “Uh-huh. Last fall they took a twentieth-century-history class together, where the teacher assigned these projects about the sixties. About the protest movement, the hippies, and all that. The teacher said who you had to work with. BJ and Skye, they were a team. BJ says it was kinda weird at first, cause Skye was Mr. Cool, and BJ—well, he gets laughed at a lot. But in the end, BJ said the project was fun.”

  “Interesting. So—what did BJ say happened that night?”

  “Vanessa took BJ to the Chamber of Gluttony. It’s full of junk food and liquor. They made him eat and drink, they forced him. And then somebody stuck something down his throat, made him puke. Then they made him eat more. BJ said he started to get scared he was gonna choke to death. He actually thought he was gonna die.”

  “Those—those bad spoiled kids,” Gabi sputtered. “I wanna get my hands on them!”

  “It’s really messed up. But Skye heard what was going on, right? He came into the room, and sort of dragged and carried BJ outta there. Vanessa and Port tried to stop Skye, but he told them to go get fucked. Anyways, BJ passed out in Skye’s car, and Skye took him to emergency. He maybe even saved BJ’s life.”

  “And BJ never told anyone about this?”

  “Not about the club. He just told his parents he was at some party, you know? Because Vanessa and Porter threatened him.” Claudia looked over at me. “That’s the thing, Jaymie. Vanessa told BJ they’d really hurt him if he ever told.”

  “So it’s them!” Gabi jumped to her feet. “Those two kids are the killers. The girl and the boy, they both killed Skye because he was gonna tell. And the gift shop lady saw what they did to Skye, so they decided to kill her too!”

  “It’s possible, I suppose.” I tipped the dregs from my cup down the sink and rinsed it at the tap. “That’s a lot of killing, though, just to keep a secret like that.”

  The office phone rang in the other room, and Gabi started to raise herself out of the kitchen chair.

  “Let it go, Gabi,” I said. “The answering machine will pick it up, and I’ll deal with it in a minute. I want to get to the end of this.”

  “We are at the end,” Claudia replied. “Aren’t we?”

  “Pretty much. I just need to give you your marching orders. I’m going to talk with BJ myself. Do you want to arrange that, Claudia, or shall I?”

  “I’ll bring him here, to the office. Or we could go visit him at his place. I’d better call him. If you call instead of me, he might get upset.”

  Gabi and I exchanged glances. Claudia sounded a tad protective of her informant.

  “Sure, that’s fine. You contact BJ. I don’t know about meeting him at his home, though. We don’t want to involve his parents.”

  “Not a problem. BJ lives on his own. He doesn’t have any parents.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t have parents?”

  “I just mean, they’re never there. And I mean like, never. Right now I think they’re in New Zealand. They’re anthropologists or something like that.”

  Claudia seemed to know quite a lot about BJ Bonfiglio. But I wasn’t going to get into that now. “Talk to BJ and let me know when and where. In the meantime, I need you to work your wizardry online.”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  I grabbed a scrap of paper, jotted down the so-called caregiver’s name, and handed it to her. “This is a separate matter. I want to know everything you can discover about this guy.”

  “Thad Chaffee. I’m on it.”

  “And, Claudia? Don’t leave a trail. This is one person I don’t want visiting the office.”

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  “One more thing.” I sifted through the pile of papers on the table, found what I was after, and tacked it up on the wall.

  “Huh?” Gabi squinted. “A picture of a squ
ished flower—what does that mean?”

  “I spotted that flower on the wet deck, the morning Cheryl’s body was found. If you look close, you can see the marks from the sole of a shoe.”

  “So we’re looking for a shoe?” Claudia asked. “Good luck.”

  “Maybe we’re looking for a flower bush,” Gabi said. “That flower don’t look like one I ever saw.”

  “Just keep it in mind, both of you.” I got to my feet and reached for my messenger bag.

  “Where are you going, Miss Jaymie?” Gabi had given in to her urges at last, and was busy organizing the papers I’d scattered across the worktable.

  “I’m going to see a man about an empty bucket. It’s time I paid Neil Thompson a call.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thompson’s office door was open a crack. I gave it a nudge.

  The man had drawn his desk chair up to the window and was staring out to the breakwater.

  “Dr. Thompson?”

  “I’m not a doctor, actually,” he said without looking around. “Never quite finished my PhD. Never finished much of anything.”

  I walked in and invited myself to sit in the guest chair. “Having a piece of paper with your name on it isn’t everything.”

  “I suppose not.” He laughed shortly. “In the end, nothing matters.” He swiveled his chair and faced me. “Two people have died here, under my so-called leadership. I suppose that doesn’t matter much either, in the overall scheme of things. People die, don’t they? That’s what they do.”

  I wasn’t joining the pity party. “Oh, it matters all right. And it matters that we catch the killer.”

  “The police have already done that.” Thompson stared at me, unsmiling. The circles under his eyes were heavy and dark. “They’ve got Tactacquin. Didn’t you know?”

  “I can’t prove it yet. But I think they’ve got the wrong man.”

  “Whatever you say.” He reached over and picked up a smooth oval stone from his desktop. “Why are you here?”

  I got to my feet, walked over and shut the door. “Look, Dr. Thompson. I don’t think you’re a killer. But I’m pretty sure you know something you’re keeping to yourself.”

  “I could be a killer.” He leaned forward. “Anybody could, even you. If you don’t know that, you don’t know anything.”

  He placed the stone in the center of the blotter. “Have you come here to ask me something specific?”

  “Yes. The bucket at the top of the tank. You were the one, weren’t you, who set it upright? You straightened up the crime scene, as a matter of fact.”

  His pale blue red-rimmed eyes bored into me. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you wanted to remove all signs of a struggle. You forgot to mop up the water, though.”

  “I didn’t forget. I didn’t have time to climb down and look for a mop.” He rubbed his brow with both hands.

  “All right. I straightened up. I didn’t want Rod and Alice to see it the way it was. It looked like there’d been a struggle. Better for everyone, I thought, if Skye’s death was an accident. Of course, that was before Cheryl died. Two fatal accidents—who would believe that?”

  “You were sparing the Steinbachs’ feelings? I find that hard to believe. Sure you and Skye didn’t get in a fight? Maybe Cheryl saw you, and you had to shut her up.”

  “No!” His eyes blazed. “Now you’re saying I killed them! I had nothing to do with their deaths, nothing at all.”

  Maybe Neil Thompson was telling the truth. But even if he was, things weren’t adding up. I decided to try another tack. “You’re close to Rod Steinbach, I understand.”

  “Close? I knew them in college, that’s all. I’ve had nothing to do with the Steinbachs for decades, that’s a fact.”

  “They—you went to school with both Rod and Alice?”

  “We were at UCSB at the same time. That’s all I meant.”

  “When was that?”

  He hesitated again. And I wondered: what was I saying that was making him defensive?

  “Late sixties,” he muttered.

  “Volatile time.”

  “I barely noticed. I was a student, into my work.”

  “But you left at some point? Didn’t complete your PhD?”

  He shrugged. “Lots of people were dropping out. I was one of them. I didn’t like the political … atmosphere.”

  “Yet some students loved it.”

  “Sure. Some of them ate it up.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So now you know I tampered with evidence. Are you going to tell the police?”

  “Not yet. I have a puzzle to put together first.”

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t keep—pushing. Just let it lie.”

  “A man’s in jail, Dr. Thompson, for crimes he didn’t commit. I’m not about to let anything lie.”

  * * *

  Claudia hadn’t taken long to uncover a few interesting facts about Thad Chaffee. He was born and raised in Vegas, the son of a woman who had a record for prostitution and possession. Father apparently unknown. He’d drifted into Santa Barbara half a dozen years ago and been arrested here twice, both times on drug-related charges. Hard to understand how Chaffee had gotten a job as a jail psych tech—but that was another story.

  There was another curious thing about Thad: he had a rather surprising hobby. He was a skateboarder and had been featured in several online magazines. He seemed old for the gig, but I supposed skaters never die.

  There was only one serious skate park in town, Skater’s Point, located on the waterfront near the wharf. I’d moseyed by and asked after Thad. Apparently he usually showed up around four and skated till dark. I wondered what he did with his “client” while he was away.

  It was nearly five in the afternoon when I rolled up to the waterfront, dismounted, and leaned my bike against a towering old Mexican fan palm. I hung back, not wanting to call attention to myself.

  Thad wasn’t hard to spot. He was skating fast and hard, shirtless, without headgear and pads. And he was wickedly good. As he propelled himself out of a concrete curve, his tall skinny body tucked neatly into a flip.

  Thad didn’t look like he was having fun, though. He was hot, lathered in sweat. He skated like he hated it, like he was thrashing himself. Each leap was faster, each jump higher, till his board was banging so loud it seemed a miracle it didn’t break.

  I knew he wouldn’t just stop. And then it happened: Thad corkscrewed in the air, missed the landing, and came down hard.

  “Fu-uck!” he screamed. But then he got up laughing that high piercing laugh. He limped over to the far side, kicking his board in front of him. He’d scraped skin off his arm, and blood dripped to the concrete.

  I waited a few minutes for the warrior to chill. He took a couple of long draughts from his water bottle. Then he got to his feet and looked around. That’s when I made sure his gaze connected with mine.

  Thad lifted the corner of his lip at me like a junkyard dog. A promising beginning to negotiations.

  I ambled up to the enclosure and leaned on the steel fence. “Hey, Thad.”

  He glared at me. He wanted to tell me to piss off, but I could see he thought there might be money in it. “You think it over, lady?”

  “Yeah, I thought it over. I’m going to pay you two hundred for what I want to know.”

  “Not enough. I said five.”

  “Oh, but that’s not all I’m offering. See, I also promise not to rat on you. Social Services would be interested to hear about that kid you’ve got locked up.” I planned on making a report anyway, as soon as I finished with Thad. There would be a brisk official knock on the doors of the château, before the end of the month.

  But Thad didn’t turn a hair. I’d have to sweeten the pot. “And your client’s father might be interested to know how you spend your afternoons, don’t you think? While he’s paying you to watch his son.”

  He gave me a mean sour look. “Let’s see the cash.”

  “Sure.” I
took the two hundred-dollar bills out of my pocket, held them up, then repocketed them. “Ready to chat?”

  “Let’s go for a walk on the beach. I don’t want to talk here.”

  Oh, dear. Thad had a plan.

  “Actually, Thad, I do want to talk here.” I liked having bars between myself and this rabid weasel. “Now, you know what I’m after. I want to know what happened in the jail the night my brother died. I want to know everything you saw and heard.” I shut up and waited.

  “I knew Brodie. He was crazy, man.”

  I kept my cool. “So?”

  Thad shrugged. I could smell him, and his sweat was rank.

  “They had him in isolation. Single cell, solid side walls instead of bars. I remember he was talking and talking, weird shit about panda bears on the beach or something. It was late, and people were yelling at him to shut up. But he just kept going, you know? Didn’t bother me, I went to sleep in the nurse’s office.” Thad glared at me. “Don’t try to run away without paying. You’ll be sorry if you do.”

  “You’ll get your money. What happened next?”

  “Next thing I know I get woke up by this racket. Louder’n hell. Your brother’s yelling, and some guys, more than one, are dragging him outta the cell.”

  My blood ran cold. “These guys, who were they? Did you get a look?”

  “Didn’t come my way.” Chaffee’s gaze slid sideways.

  I noticed the tell but let it pass. “Then what?” My heart was pounding, as if it were all happening right now, in the present, as if I needed to run over to the jail to help Brodie. “Did you hear them bring him back to his cell?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Guess I went back to sleep. Next thing I know it’s morning, real early, and more cops are swarming all over the place. That’s when they found him dead, in his cell. Hung himself.”

  “Nobody told me he was removed from his cell during the night. It’s not in any of the reports.”

  I liked it better when Thad didn’t laugh. His laughter was eerie, giggly and high. “Believe what you want—who cares?”

  I restrained myself. Because I wasn’t done with the guy, not yet. “So what was the word? And don’t tell me you didn’t hear anything later.”