Blood Orange Read online

  She filled the stained coffee carafe with cold water, making a mental note to pick up some coffeepot cleaner down at Smart & Final, and rummaged around in the cupboard for a filter. As she waited for the coffee to trickle through, she made more mental notes.

  The enameled sink was chipped and stained, and the tap dripped. A smell of mold lingered in the room, most likely due to a slow leak in the cabinet under the sink. A scarred maple table took up a third of the floor space, and a mountainous jumble of files, brochures, bills, and miscellaneous papers encircled a fuzzy blotter. It was obvious Miss Jaymie preferred to work back here, though how she ever managed to find anything was a mystery.

  Her boss needed help, Gabi thought with satisfaction.

  She reached into the bakery bag and withdrew a chocolate-filled pastry, admired it, and set it on a paper towel so as not to dirty a dish. Mrs. Cavanaugh, her Wednesday lady, had dozens of packets of cute cocktail napkins, left over from a garden party, tucked away and forgotten in a kitchen drawer. Gabi would borrow some next week.

  She carried her coffee and pastry back to her desk in the larger room. Yes, her desk, she’d already decided. She sat down in the big chair and swiveled all the way around. Just like she expected, it felt like her rightful place in the world.

  The phone rang. “Santa Barbara Investigations,” Gabi proclaimed.

  * * *

  I locked my cruiser to the wrought-iron banister, then paused to listen. Strains of mariachi music pulsed through the gap at the base of my office door.

  “¡Buenos días!” Gabi Gutierrez leaned out sideways from behind the computer screen. The woman was so short she couldn’t see over the top of it.

  “You start early,” I groused. The two-person party at Zave’s had continued well into the early hours, and I was short-tempered and short on sleep.

  “Yes, and it’s good I was here. I already talked to your number one client! She wants to see you this morning at ten.”

  What the blankety-blank was she talking about? “My number one client?”

  “Mrs. Richter. I say numero uno, because except for me and my family, I don’t think you got any clients except her. I know this cause I already organized the files.”

  “‘Organized’?”

  “Yes and guess what? I invented a system just for this office. I don’t like to see the client’s name right on the top of the file. Not private, you know? So everything is filed by street.”

  “Street?” This couldn’t be real.

  “Sure, where the crime happened. For example, Lili Molina, God rest her soul, was murdered on Indio Muerto.”

  “Nothing wrong with the old system,” I whined. But in spite of myself, my spirit was lifting, for I could smell the heavenly odor of coffee brewing—serious coffee, dark and intense. I followed my nose to the kitchen. There, arranged on a tray I hadn’t seen for a year, were two cups, a sugar bowl and a creamer, and two pastries oozing chocolate.

  “I thought we could go over some stuff while we have our coffee,” Gabi called from the other room.

  “OK.” I could sense my control slip-sliding away. “But turn down that party music, please. My head’s starting to hurt.”

  “Sure. It’s funny, isn’t it? Loud music helps me concentrate. Now Miss Jaymie, come and sit down in here. This room is more organized. Just wait, I’ll get to that table tomorrow.”

  Pretending I hadn’t heard that, I walked into the front room and sat in the visitor’s chair. “So where do I find this Darlene Richter?” A tiny splurt of chocolate escaped my lips. “Hope Ranch or Montecito, I suppose.”

  “That’s right, Montecito, on Hot Springs Road. All the dog stealing happens in Montecito. I know ’cause they put up the reward posters in my neighborhood, the lower Westside.” Gabi daintily licked a finger. “I already printed a map to her house for you. You’ll find it on your desk.”

  “My desk?” I was waking up now, thanks to the coffee. “But you’re sitting at it.”

  “No no, the big one in the kitchen. The table,” Gabi smiled engagingly. “I know you like it the best.” She sent me a sideways look. “I like everything organized. Don’t you?”

  “I like my mind to be organized,” I said as I polished off the pastry. “All the rest of the crap doesn’t matter so much.”

  Gabi grimaced, but quickly recovered. “See? We make a good pair.”

  I had to smile. There was, after all, a smidgen of truth in what she’d just said. “Speaking of order, I’ve got someone to meet before I go see Mrs. Richter. If I’m going to fit Minuet’s mommy in sometime before lunch, I’ll have to hustle.”

  “How will you get there? Montecito’s too far for a bike. You have a car?”

  “Mostly my ride stays home, for its own protection. Around town I pedal my bike.” No need to explain that my cherished El Camino had belonged to Brodie. After my brother’s death, I’d paid the astronomical impound fees, then taken it home.

  “Use mine,” Gabi urged. “You’ll get more done. But as your PA, let me advise you about something. Your appointment with Darlene Richter is not ‘sometime before lunch.’ ‘Sometime before lunch’ would be Mexican time. This is American time: ten A.M. sharp.”

  * * *

  I stood at the curb and peered into the big old station wagon. Yep, the woman was organized, all right. A large collection of mops, dusters, brooms, and brushes was arranged with military precision. In fact, a sort of homemade rack system had been constructed from lumber and cleverly installed.

  A waft of ammonia braced me as I opened the car door. I dropped into the lamb’s-wool-padded driver’s seat and pushed the buttons to drop the windows. When I turned the key in the ignition, the engine surprised me, roaring nimbly to life. Gabi obviously knew a moon-lighting mechanic, and a good one at that.

  I pulled the station wagon away from the curb and steered down the street. It was a little like piloting a barge down a narrow canal.

  I snuck a call on my cell. “Mike? I’m running early—I’ve got four wheels. Where are you?”

  “Near the mission. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. But Jaymie? Don’t drive while you’re on the phone.”

  “Whatever you say, dep. See you in ten.”

  Hadn’t I promised myself I’d keep my distance from Deputy Dawson? But this didn’t count, did it? This was business, after all.

  * * *

  It was too early for tourists, and the mission parking lot was empty. I pulled in beside Mike’s pickup. His gun rack was bare, and the cab was meticulously tidy. The man himself was nowhere to be seen.

  I walked out of the lot and climbed the sandstone steps of the elegant old mission church. The warm morning sun reflected off the cream and pink stuccoed façade and twin bell towers. The early Franciscans had commandeered the best spot in town, and the view over the city and out to the channel beyond sparkled in the crystalline air.

  I scanned the grounds below the church, where the rose garden shimmered in delicate shades of pink and orange, ribboned in deep velvet green. Still no Mike.

  Then I noticed a half-opened gate, wrought iron and covered in lichen and rust, set in a high stone wall at one side of the mission. As I stepped through into deep shade, I spotted him. Mike had dropped to one knee to read an inscription chiseled into a gravestone. He looked up when he heard the crunch of my footsteps on the gravel path.

  When our eyes met I felt myself drawn, as if to magnetic North.

  “Hi, Jaymie.” Mike stood and held out a hand, and in spite of myself, I practically danced into his reach. He surprised me by grasping my arm and pulling me close.

  “Hey! Ask permission,” I squeaked.

  “You gave me permission.” He grinned. “I saw it in your eyes.”

  “Baloney.” I tried not to match his grin with one of my own. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Looking in on the relatives.” He swept a hand in a semicircle. “Over four thousand bodies buried in this area—pretty tight quarters.”

  “I
didn’t know you were Chumash.”

  “Not Chumash, no. My abuela was half Spanish, half Salinan Indian. Yolanda was the matriarch of the family, totally in charge. Even Dad had to bow to her will. She’d inherited a Spanish rancho, and our land was part of it.”

  “Sounds like your grandfather married well.”

  “He knew an opportunity when he saw it. But Mom always said they were in love.”

  “You’ve told me so many good stories about your mother. I wish I’d known her,” I said impulsively. Once the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back: they invited intimacy.

  “She’d have liked you. More than liked you.”

  My throat tightened. I turned and stepped away.

  “Jaymie? You OK?”

  “Sure.” I quickly donned what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. “Listen, what did you want to talk about? I’ve got an appointment at ten.”

  “OK. Business it is.” Mike reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a sheet of yellow paper, folded in quarters. “I heard you visited the kid in jail. Good for you.”

  “My, news travels fast. Your fellow peace officers approve too, no doubt?”

  “Who gives a damn what they think?” He shrugged. “Any ideas yet on raising Armenta’s bail?”

  “One or two. I’m working on it.” I knew better than to mention Zave Carbonel. When it came to the subject of Zave, Mike wasn’t his rational self.

  “Well, the forensic report isn’t back yet. It’ll take three or four more days. But I wanted to tell you, the word is the victim most likely was unconscious when she was raped. Unconscious but not dead. The bad news is, no traces of semen. And the knife—no prints at all.”

  “Hm. Any other DNA evidence?”

  “Yes and no. They’re checking for DNA on everything, and finding it. Problem is, half the population of Santa Barbara passed through that dressing room in the last week or so.”

  “So the killer’s scrupulous … scrupulous and brutal. A lethal combination.”

  “You said it.” His lips tightened. “By the way, the cops know all about the clean windowsills, Jaymie. They don’t miss much.”

  My eyes followed a brown creeper as it explored the shaggy bark of a pepper tree. “No, I don’t suppose they do.”

  Mike handed me the folded page. “Here. It’s against my better judgment, but I’ve decided to give you this. I figure you’ll dig it up in the end anyway, so all I’m doing is saving you time.”

  “Time matters.” I unfolded the paper and glanced at it. It was a list of several dozen names, written out in longhand. “What’s this?”

  “The names of everyone associated with the case up to now. Most of them are the kids who were active in the Guild this year, members of what they call subguilds: design, construction, painting, costumes, that kind of thing. Just about everyone on the list has been interviewed, and as far as I know, they’ve all been cleared. For one thing, they all have an alibi: they were up at Alameda Park when the murder took place.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I can use this.” I folded the paper and tucked it into my back pocket. “Did you interview anybody yourself?”

  “No, not my job. But I did go over and talk to the suspect’s mother and his younger sister and brother, to make sure the sherriff’s department wasn’t involved. And I spoke to the victim’s mother. I don’t know what was worse, talking to Mrs. Armenta or Mrs. Molina. They’re both nice ladies, both cut up bad.”

  “Lili Molina—did she have any sibs?”

  “Yeah, a younger sister, Claudia. Tough kid, tries to be butch. She wants revenge.”

  “Understandable, I’d say. Fathers in the picture?”

  “No. Lili Molina’s father died in some kind of ag accident, two years ago. And Armenta’s father isn’t around.”

  “Oh boy, this is going to be tough on those families.”

  “You can say that again.” Mike folded his arms across his chest. “Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for you. I thought it was better to talk face-to-face than to send an e-mail or leave a message on your cell. You know, in case somebody decides to check our computers or phones.”

  “You sound kind of paranoid.”

  “Paranoid? Christ, Jaymie, I’m risking my job by talking to you about this.”

  “OK, so why are you doing it? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, and I promise you’re safe with me. But…” I gave him a hard look. “What’s in it for you?”

  “Not what you apparently think.”

  “Which would be what?”

  “Don’t be cute,” he snapped. “You figure I’m trying to score points with you. Right?”

  I stared at my shoes. “Maybe something like that.”

  “And that’s crap. Because with you, there’s no goddamn advantage in scoring points. Doesn’t help.” Mike glared at me. “Maybe I’m interested in seeing justice done. That ever occur to you?”

  “Sorry. Fair enough.” I felt myself blush.

  “Odds are, the kid’s guilty.” His voice still carried an edge. “Thing is, the entire PD, from Chief Wheeler on down, have made up their minds. And it’s none of my business, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s just too goddamn early to shut the door.”

  “Mike. Are you saying Danny’s being framed?”

  “Framed? I don’t know about that.” He turned away and looked over the walls to the mountains. “What I think is this: SBPD is just going through the motions now—the case is already closed.”

  “Framed, prematurely closed—it amounts to the same thing in the end. And I don’t see it the way you do, by the way. I’d say there’s a good chance Danny Armenta is innocent.”

  “Aw, come on, Jaymie.” Mike raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You got any proof?”

  “Maybe not actual proof, not yet. But—” At that moment, a Franciscan brother, garbed in a brown cowl and robe, crossed the side yard to the main church. A massive twelve-foot-high wooden door closed on his sandaled heels with a thud.

  “Mike, listen. Part of it’s a gut feeling, I admit. But I swear, there’s more to it than that. The other day, when I went around to the alley and checked on the sill? I noticed the dressing room window had been pried open with something like a flat-headed screwdriver. The nick was still bright.”

  “Forensics caught that too, Jaymie. Give them a little credit, will you?”

  I had to admit, I was kind of surprised. “OK. So what do they think?”

  “They think it’s not that important.” He shrugged. “They claim the nick on the frame and the wipe marks on the sill could have been made any time over the past week or two.”

  “Bullshit, and they know it. No more than twenty-four hours. There was virtually no dust on the inside or the outside ledge. And there was a big june bug…” I made a face. “Never mind. It’s pretty clear there’s an agenda in play.”

  “Hold on. Yeah, something’s going on at the top. But the guys on the ground are just doing their jobs. You have to see it from their point of view, Jaymie. A young woman is brutally murdered. A crazy guy is found sitting beside her body, mumbling and staring at a bloody knife on the floor. That’s a lot more compelling than a missing splinter in a window frame.”

  “I’d have thought that’s part of a detective’s job. You know, to not be compelled.”

  “Sometimes common sense has to be listened to, doesn’t it?”

  I shrugged. “All I know is, those carvings performed on the body after death, the hair stuffed in the mouth … to me it looks like the killer wanted to appear to be crazy. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody tried that trick. And now you’re telling me there were no prints on the knife. So either the killer wiped it, or he was wearing gloves. We know Danny wasn’t wearing gloves. Are you telling me he had the presence of mind to wipe it clean?”

  “I’m not telling you anything. It’s not my case.”

  I followed him out through the gate. “Mike? I appreciate what you’ve given me,” I began.

  “Uh-oh. She’s butt
ering me up. Here it comes.” He stopped and turned to me. “What else do you want?”

  “I was just wondering—any chance of me seeing the interview transcripts? That’s what I really need.”

  “Nope.” He unhooked his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt and slipped them on. “Sorry, Jaymie. No chance in hell.”

  I thought of a quick retort, but swallowed it. No need to alienate the guy, after all. “One more question then, OK? The Apollo Guild—what’s your take on it?”

  “Hard to say.” Mike shrugged. “Like I told you, supposedly it’s a charity, a way for the wealthy to help disadvantaged local kids. But the way I see it, it’s also an excuse to party, prestige for the wives, et cetera. The usual society crapola.” He put out a hand. “Here, let me look at that list for a second.”

  I was happy to comply.

  “OK, see here?” He tapped the yellow paper with an index finger. “If you want to start somewhere, I’d start with this little prick. He caught my attention for sure.”

  “Jared Crowley,” I read. “No alibi?”

  “Oh yeah, clever Jared was up at the park too. I just wish he was guilty.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Crowley’s not a high-schooler like the others. He’s older, what they call the ‘Guild Super.’ Basically, he organizes the kids. He’s twenty going on forty, if you know what I mean. A real wise guy.”

  “OK, I’ll give him a look. Thanks, Mike. I want to move fast, before the public has Danny Armenta tried and convicted.”

  “Too late for that. You should go online to the Independent and see what people are saying about the case.”

  “Think I’ll pass.”

  We walked out through the gate and into the warm sunshine, heading for the parking lot. “So, you’ve got four wheels today? Taking the El Camino out for a spin?”

  “Not exactly.… Here, this is my ride.”

  Mike bent down and peered into the station wagon. “What the hell, Jaymie. Have you taken up housecleaning?”

  “No, what I’ve taken on is a personal assistant, thanks to you. Gabi Gutierrez, the woman you sent to me? This is her car. She wanted to hire me, but she’s got no money. So guess what? Now she’s working for me, whether I want her to or not.”