Baby Girl Doe (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 5) (4 page)

“I can’t sleep.”

Gus moaned in his sleep. I watched him for a moment to see if his eyes would open. They didn’t.

“Hey, I said, I
can’t
sleep.” Those words are usually enough to wake him out of the deepest trance.
Can’t sleep
being a euphemism for
hey, big fella, I need it bad
. I nudged his shoulder. “Did you hear me, sexy, I said I can’t sleep,” I repeated in my most seductive voice.

He finally stirred. “Steph, I’m so tired.” Gus had been out on jet skis for hours and had really gotten his brains rocked by the East End waves. I could see why he’d be exhausted. “Can we do it tomorrow?” he pleaded. I could tell that he was starting to drift off again.

“Come on,” I said, “wake up.”

He looked over at the Pack ‘n Play. “Is it okay with Max next to us, or do you want to go into another room?”

“I don’t want to have sex.”

“You
don’t
?” He sounded both weary and disappointed.

“No. I need to talk.”

“Talk?” he said in an incredulous voice. “You woke me up to talk?”

“Yeah, talk. I’m really strung out about what’s happened to the family that lived in this house.”

“For real? We’re on vacation, hon—isn’t sleeping part of the equation?”

“How can you sleep with everything we heard today? A murder on the railroad tracks, a girl gone missing, and a fire at the cottage we were supposed to rent—my shit-storm detector is going a mile a minute.”

“I think you’re making too much out of it.”

“Is that how you really feel, or are you just giving me lip service so that I’ll let you go back to sleep?”

Gus stretched. I could hear his spine popping. He pushed himself up against the headboard and jammed a pillow behind his head. “You’re so creeped out about all this that you can’t sleep? What can we do about it?”

Cops are usually pretty good at staying uninvolved because crime is part of our everyday lives. It goes on everywhere and everyplace. We’re always getting asked to help out on matters in which we should have no involvement. “I know, I know, I can’t solve everyone’s problems. It’s just—”

“This one’s calling out to you?”

“Yeah, my antennae are up.”

“So the vacation be damned? You’re gonna stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?

“You know I’ve got a sixth—”

“Sense?”

“Uh-huh.”

Gus gave me that look—it said,
I don’t want to agree with you but I have to.

“I just want to do some checking around. I was ready to let it go until I heard that Bill Alden probably burned to death in his cabin.”

Gus shook his head in an
I-give-up
sort of way. “Maybe it was a grease fire.”

“Tate said that he was going back to the cabin in the morning. Do you mind if I go with him to have a look around? I’ll be home by noon, and we can jump back into vacation mode the minute I get back.”

“Sure, I’ll hang with Max. I can teach him important man stuff, like cat calling and crotch scratching.”

“Seriously?”

“Actually, I brought my pole—maybe I’ll stick Max in the papoose and walk over to the bay for a little bottom pounding.”

My eyes grew wide.
That sounds erotic.
“Pole? Bottom pounding? I guess you figure it’s never too soon to teach your son the facts of life.”

Gus snickered. “I’m talking about fluke fishing.”

“Oh. I thought you and Max were going to have ‘the talk.’” If called upon to testify, I could certainly attest to Gus’ prowess as a pounder, bottom, top, and every which way. If he could fish as well as he could . . . well, then I might have to change my name to Mrs. Gorton. “Make sure you teach him about safe bottom pounding—a young man can never be too careful these days.”

He glanced over at Max. Our son was a vision of purity and innocence, an angelic smile plastered across a sleepy little face.

“I take it there’ll be no bottom pounding tonight.” Gus didn’t wait for an answer. He fluffed his pillow and assumed the position—the fetal position, that is. He was out again in a flash.

It had rained during the night, and the ground was still wet as I walked from my SUV to Bill Alden’s old burnt cabin.
The humidity was high and the air was thick with the aroma of burnt wood, which covered the exterior of the house. The frame and outer shell of the house were pretty much intact, although the handsome orange cedar planks were burnt and blackened. Tate’s fire chief truck was parked in front of the house alongside a gold Chevy Impala. I wondered who was in there with him.

Access was not a problem as the front door was lying on the ground outside the cabin. I stood at the entranceway and looked in. The floor was soaked with water. I heard voices inside. “Hey, Rich?” I called. “It’s me, Stephanie.”

I heard the crunch of footsteps on debris. Tate wore a broad smile as he approached. He held up his hand. “Wait right there,” he said. “You need a safety helmet.” He walked up to me. “What’s the matter, you couldn’t help yourself?”

I shrugged. “You know how it is; once a cop always a cop.”

“Follow me. I’ve got safety gear in my truck.”

I got a blast of Old Spice as Tate opened the rear hatch. Several empty bottles had been haphazardly discarded within. One of them rolled off the tailgate and clattered to the ground.

“That’s quite a collection of cologne bottles you’ve got there. You get a deposit back when you return the empties or something?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I use the Old Spice to mask the fire smells; otherwise, I stink of smoke all the time.”

“No problem. My dad used Old Spice. It reminds me of him. Still you ought to think about recycling.” I glanced at him accusatorily. “Every gallon of oil we waste . . .”

Tate shoved a helmet and jacket at me. “Here, recycle
this
,” he said jovially. “I’ve got gloves for you too.”

“No need.” I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves.

“I suppose that’s essential vacation gear.”

“You never know when you’ll come across a fresh crime scene . . . they also come in handy for changing diapers.”

“So you’re not over the Fisher story yet, are you?”

“No.”
That’s half the reason I’m here. I was up most of the night thinking about Sarah Fisher and the girl who was killed by the train.
“Stuff like that doesn’t just roll off my back.”

Tate chuckled. “Gus must be thrilled about you coming out here and snooping around like this.”

“It’s part of our wedding vows: ‘I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, and indulge your every delusional whim.’ He knows what he signed up for.”

Tate laughed heartily while I slipped on my firefighter’s jacket and helmet. “The poor bastard. I guess that Gus doesn’t mind you wearing the pants in the family.” He wasn’t expecting an answer. He put his arm on my shoulder and directed me back toward the cabin. “Ever investigate a fire before?”

“No.”

“Safety first, got it, kid? Shit falls down, floors collapse. It’s heads-up at all times.”

“Will do. Who else is inside?”

“Jay Charnoff. He’s my fire investigator. Knows his stuff inside and out.”

“Any thoughts about how it started?”

“Oh yeah,” Tate said confidently. “Jay’s just about all done inside. Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to him. I’ll have you out of here in two shakes so you can go back to being a mother and wife.”

I followed Tate’s example as he moved cautiously past the debris on the floor. I stepped where he stepped and followed him into the large den, which I had seen in an online snapshot when we were looking for vacation rentals weeks earlier. The dimensions of the room were as I had expected them to be, about twelve by fifteen with sliding glass doors that led out back. As I remembered, it was easily the biggest room in the house. I could see the Atlantic through gaps in the tall pine trees behind the house. The cabin was set near the top of a bluff, no more than a quarter mile from the water.

I saw a young, average-size guy making notations on a clipboard. He stood next to the remains of a recliner, which had been cordoned off from the rest of the room. I guessed this was the recliner Tate had mentioned, the one Alden’s body had been found on. Even without lights and electricity, it was not an issue to see clearly, as a huge section of the roof had burned away and provided beaucoup illumination.

“Jay Charnoff, say hello to Stephanie Chalice,” Tate said.

“Are you with the insurance company?” Charnoff asked.

“Me? No. I’m just a busybody.”

Charnoff turned to Tate with an expression that read,
is she for real?

Tate’s hearty laugh returned. He slapped Charnoff on the back. “Stephanie and her husband are friends of mine. They rented this place and would be in it right now if it hadn’t burned down. They’re both on the job in The Big Apple.”

“Oh.” Charnoff’s expression brightened. “Hi, Stephanie. Always happy to meet one of New York’s Finest. Where do you work?”

“Homicide, out of Midtown North.”

“Homicide, really? That’s no lightweight job.”

“Neither is fire investigation.”

“Before I came out here, I used to work at NYFD headquarters,” Charnoff said. “Downtown Brooklyn, where you can still get a good corned beef sandwich and Dr. Brown’s soda for under twenty bucks.”

“Love Dr. Brown’s. Cream soda or Cel-Ray tonic?”

“Cream, of course.”

“Atta boy,” I said approvingly. Charnoff looked pretty young. If I had to guess, I’d say that he was in his late twenties.

“What’s your interest in this fire?” Charnoff asked.

“Just satisfying my curiosity. A few hours difference, and I might’ve been the one sitting in that chair instead of Bill Alden. I need some closure.”

“The body is with the Suffolk County ME’s office, Steph,” Tate said. “No positive ID yet.”

“What about your dollars to donuts theory?”

Tate shrugged. “Who else could it be? It’s Bill’s house and the old guy smoked like a chimney.” He turned to Charnoff. “Jay can give you the blow by blow.”

“I’m all ears,” I said.

Charnoff grabbed his pen and poked the charred armrest of the chair. “The chair is the origin of the fire. The roof is burnt away above it because this is where the fire burned longest and hottest. Sniff the burned fabric.”

I did as instructed. I wrinkled my nose and recoiled. “Smells awful. What is that?”

“Acrid?” Charnoff asked.

I nodded.

“It’s probably acrylic,” Charnoff continued. “Burns like a son of a gun and gives off all kinds of toxins.”

“Smells like roasted nuts, and I don’t mean honey roasted pralines.”

“The house looks pretty dated,” Charnoff continued. “My guess is that this chair was manufactured way before the industry observed meaningful FR standards.”

“Flame retardancy?”

Charnoff nodded, turned on a pocket flashlight, and directed the beam of light under the recliner. “The floor under the chair isn’t badly burned. The ash from the burnt fabric may have smothered the fire on the floor. He waited while I looked for myself and then stepped around me and walked to the doorway. He signaled for me to join him. He used his flashlight again—this time to illuminate a section of the doorframe. “You see how the inside of the frame is completely burnt but the outside not so much?”

I nodded again.

“That’s a char pattern. It shows that the fire started in here and then spread out into the hallway.”

“Okay, so the fire started in here, and you think the chair was the origin. Nothing suspicious?”

“Nothing, my bloodhound friend,” Tate said. “There’s nothing that points to the use of accelerants. It’s pretty cut and dry. The body was found in the recliner, feet up. Alden probably fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand and set the chair on fire.”

“Why didn’t he try to save himself when he realized the recliner was on fire?”

“I don’t know,” Charnoff said. “That’s a question for the ME. The smoke could’ve overcome him. Rich said he was an older guy and not in the best of health—maybe his ticker gave out first and then the cigarette fell out of his hand and started the fire. I’ve seen a lot of that over the years.”

“So we sit and wait.”

“That’s right,” Tate said. “It’s out of our hands for the moment.” He glanced at his watch. “See? I told you I’d get you in and out fast. Tell Gus he owes me.”

“You don’t mind if I take a look around on my own, do you?”

“What?” Tate said. “You’re not convinced?”

“I’m convinced. I’m just not satisfied, and I know you’d be disappointed if I was.”

“Oh no,” I said when Gus walked through the kitchen door holding his son and a cooler.
“No way!” I warned. “Keep those putrid things away from me.”

Gus sat Max down in his booster seat and strapped him in.

“There’s no way that I’m cleaning all that smelly fish.”

Gus opened the cooler and set it down on the table. He beamed proudly as he displayed the day’s catch, two mammoth dead fishies floating in ice water.

Max reached into the cooler and splashed stinky fish water everywhere.

“They’re monsters,” Gus boasted.

I took a good look at the two dead creatures and noticed that they both had two eyes on the same side of their heads. “Oh, Christ, they’re mutants!”

“No they’re not.”

“Then why are four eyes staring up at me instead of two?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of evolution, Mrs. Darwin?” he asked sarcastically. “They lie in the mud and don’t need eyes on the side that faces the bottom.”

I reached over and nudged the cooler lid closed. “Adorable. I’m going online to order a fluke-print scarf for myself. Nothing shouts confidence like a woman attired in fish.”

“They’re both over two feet.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“How can you not care?” Gus said. “Your son and husband went out and caught dinner. What’s manlier than that? We didn’t go to the supermarket. We went out to sea with our rods and reels and came back with the ocean’s bounty. Those monsters put up a hell of a fight.”

“First of all,
Ahab
, you didn’t reel in Moby Dick. You went out into the tranquil little bay in a putt-putt boat, so tone down the bravado.” I snickered. “You bench press three hundred pounds in the gym. I had no doubt you’d emerge victorious in a tug of war with two oversized guppies.”

“I don’t see how you cannot be excited!”

“Are they self-cleaning fish?”

“No.”

“Well then I’m not excited.”

“Wait until you taste them. There’s nothing like a fresh catch—some olive oil and breadcrumbs. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Gus had some mad cooking skills, but he rarely got a chance to show them off at home. Between Ma’s never-ending stream of dinner invitations and having the corner pizzeria on speed dial . . .

“That’s sounds great. I’ll give Max a bath, and you can call us when lunch is on the table.” I picked up my son. “Come on, sweetie, mommy will hose all the stink off of you.”

“Hey,” Gus protested. “I could use a good hosing off myself.”

“I’ll bet you could. Don’t worry. I’m woman enough for both of my men.” I shot Gus a wicked little grin. “Right after the little man goes night-night.” I bounced Max in my arms and got a good whiff of fish smell when he nuzzled my neck. “He smells like fish poop—you didn’t let him play with the bait, did you?”

“Are you kidding?
”

Gus pulled his fish knife out of the sheath and began to slice the fluke with the dexterity of a hibachi chef. Fish parts flew everywhere—bones and guts into the trash and clean fillets into a skillet.

“Come on, little one. Let’s see if we can make you smell like a baby again. Want to play with Rubber Ducky?”

Max liked Rubber Ducky. His eyes gleamed excitedly.

Gus watched us as we climbed the staircase.

“That fish better be good,” I said, cautioning him playfully. “Bathing children makes me powerful hungry.”

~~~

“This is incredible,” I said as I savored the sautéed goodness of Gus’ fresh catch. “Maybe you should go fishing again tomorrow.”

Gus eyed me warily, “Why? I sense an ulterior motive.”

“The entire bay is full of these tasty crazy-eyed buggers after all, and you seem to like it so much. I thought I’d give you another opportunity to commune with nature.”

“Come on, Stephanie, spill it. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I thought maybe I’d do a little more poking around.”

“For what? You said the fire appeared to be accidental.”

“It did, but—”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand what Alden was doing in the cabin. I mean, he mailed us the keys with the signed rental agreement. There was really no reason for him to be there.”

Gus had his eyes on his plate while he spoke. It was clear that he was more interested in his meal than Bill Alden’s death. “Maybe he wanted to greet us in person and show us around. Is it a crime to be neighborly?”

“Yeah, I know. I won’t harp on it until we hear back from the ME’s office.”

“Okay, but what’s so important that you want to get your son and husband out of your hair again tomorrow morning?”

“You know me. Nervous energy.”

Gus looked at me suspiciously.

“I thought I’d go talk to the engineer who—”

“Who saw that woman get pushed in front of the train? Stephanie really? What kind of vacation is this turning into? There’ll be a stack of case folders waiting on our desks when we return. I don’t need to keep in practice.”

“It’ll just take a couple of hours. I’ll take Max with me and you can bottom pound to your heart’s desire. Today worked out okay, didn’t it? You fished, I investigated, and we’re eating your delicious fish for lunch. We’ve got the rest of the day to do anything we like.”

“I’ll take, Max,” Gus insisted. “He doesn’t need to be exposed to a conversation about a young woman’s murder or meet a train engineer who is probably struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Gus’ comment was on the money. I was trying to make it easier on him, but I wasn’t seeing the big picture. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” My head slumped a little. I guess it was the guilt.

Gus put down his fork, and came around the table to give me a hug. “It bugs me too, but I can turn it off. I’m a cop a good ninety percent of the time, but when I’m on vacation, I’m on vacation.” He tapped me on the head. “But I know you just can’t shut it down. That crazy mind of yours is always working.”

“Thanks, hon, you won’t be sorry. I’ll make it up to you with lots of intensely hot sex.”

“Is that your answer for everything?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Good by me,” he chuckled. “Just remember, I’m keeping score.” He sat down and was about to put his fork to his mouth when the house shook. “What the hell was that?”

Max started to cry.

The house shook again and again with what sounded like hammer blows. I grabbed Max, and we ran outside to see what was going on. A workman was atop a ladder nailing aluminum trip onto the fascia board just below the roof. “Shhh,” I said to Max as I tickled his chin. “It’s okay.”

“Hi,” Gus called to the workman. “Can I help you?”

He stopped hammering and gazed down at us. “You’re the renters, I guess.”

“That’s right,” Gus said. “We’re the renters. I suppose you’re Camryn’s brother.”

“Yup,” he replied. “I’m her brother.”

The sun filtering through the tree caused me to squint. I shielded my eyes as I called to him. You got a name?”

“Ray.”

“You gave us quite a scare, Ray.”

He turned his focus back to the fascia board and continued to hammer the trim into place. We seemed to be an afterthought as he readied another nail. “I’m sure Camryn told you there’d be some noise.”

“Some noise, yes. Sudden deafening hammer blows?
No.
We’ve got a baby with us. Do you think you can give us a heads-up next time?” My son was just beginning to settle down.

“I’ll try,” Ray said in a noncommittal tone.

Okay, he was way up in the air and the sun was in my eyes, but Ray didn’t look like a big fellow to me. He looked like someone Gus could break in two. My husband was built like a commando. I guess Ray hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

“
Hey
, can you come down here for a minute?” Gus asked.

“Come down? I’m in the middle of a job,” Ray replied. “I’ll be down when I’m finished.”

A huge crease formed across Gus’ forehead. I’d seen it before. He was silently stating,
why, you son of a bitch . .
. He was ready to get crazy and throw down.

“Not in front of Max,” I whispered.

Gus shook his head. “We’ll be waiting inside. Make sure that you stop by before you go,” Gus said unhappily. He walked back into the house without waiting for Ray’s response.

The hammering stopped a while later. I went out to check on Ray’s progress, but he had already gone.