Red Fish, Dead Fish Page 7

  And freezing.

  “Your sweatshirt is sopping,” Ellery said grimly.

  “I’ve got a spare in the backseat,” Jackson said absently. It had become habit to bring a small change of clothes when they were commuting together. It made Ellery nervous when he saw Jackson’s clothes getting battered or scuffed in the course of Jackson’s regular day.

  “Jackson, are you sure I can’t take you—”

  “No,” Jackson grated. He couldn’t go back to Ellery’s house. Not now. He sort of loved Ellery’s home—the grace, the dignity, the pretty things. Why would he want to contaminate it with everything inside him right now? “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Okay, fine.” Ellery slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Jackson to change into a T-shirt and hoodie not saturated with sweat and blood. Jackson regarded him unhappily from outside the car for a moment as he stood, bare-chested, bandaged, under the cool autumn sun.

  Ellery’s eyes were narrowed in either irritation or concentration, and his square, bony jaw shifted as he thought. He alternated between squeezing the steering wheel and thumping the flat of his hand against his thigh. He was gnawing on a problem—probably Celia or the druggies or what to do with Jackson’s house. His brain, always turning, his words, always shuffling and reshuffling, trying to find the exact thing to say.

  He’d faced down Dakin without blinking, had read Jackson’s mind—as much as Jackson had been able to think—without skipping a beat.

  He’d throw himself between Jackson and danger in a heartbeat, without a vest, thinking his words alone would protect him.

  Jackson’s throat swelled, and his chest, and for a moment he wondered if his whole body would just seize up, lungs frozen, heart stuck in place, unable to get past this moment when he was forcing himself not to grieve, not to care, not to need.

  Ellery looked up at him and blinked slowly, incuriously, as though Jackson stood out in the chilly fall morning shirtless and puzzled all the time.

  Jackson swallowed past the lump in his throat, and time started again. He dressed quickly, shivering, and jumped into the car. Ellery had pumped the heater up, and he welcomed the warm air on his face, closing his eyes for a moment to get his bearings.

  Ellery sighed. “Do you think?”

  Owens.

  And Jennifer Ricci, the girl under Celia’s body, fit his profile to a T.

  “We haven’t heard from him in six weeks,” Ellery said, but not like that meant he was dead or anything. “Not since Jason Rivera. Do you think he’s been….”

  “Biding his time? Doing his homework?” Jackson’s blood went cold. “Watching us?”

  Ellery took a deep breath and grunted. “I think we should talk to Mike and Jade. Like, now. While we’re driving. And I think we should warn Kaden. I know he doesn’t live in Sacramento anymore, but he’s isolated, and it’s a day trip from here. I’ll talk to the marshals’ service and ask if we can put a detail on both of them. Anyone else you—”

  “I’ve slept with half the city, Ellery.” Jackson’s voice crackled. “But no. If he went after Celia, he’s not going for the fish I’ve thrown back. He’s looking for the big fish, the ones that’ll….” Hurt me. “Why not you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ellery was laughing, which actually cheered Jackson a bit. It meant he wasn’t scared.

  “You’re the one who arrested Bill Chisholm. You’re the one he took a potshot at after Bridger was arrested. Why didn’t he come after you?”

  “Who says this isn’t him coming after me.” Ellery smirked as he said it, and Jackson found himself spinning his wheels.

  “What do you mean?”

  The smirk twisted. “Look at yourself, Jackson. You’re a wreck. You don’t know whether to rage, cry, or throw a bloody party. If Owens wanted to hurt me, all he had to do was tie you into fucking knots.”

  Jackson let out a keening noise. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “I should go. I should move out. I should take my cat and find a hotel—”

  “And that’s three,” Ellery sighed. “No, you’re not going to do that, and do you know why?”

  “My cat loves you more than he loves me and he will shit on all the things?”

  Ellery’s eyes flickered to him and then back to traffic down Stockton Boulevard. “That’s sweet you think your cat loves anybody as much as he loves you. No. Because once you’re out of my life, he’s coming after me. Think about it, Jackson. Me, all alone in the house, you not there to protect me—I’d be naked.”

  Transparent. And effective.

  “You’re not naked with anybody but me,” Jackson muttered and then realized what he’d said—done. “I could have a protective detail set. Your buddy Kryzynski would be happy to do it.”

  “You really want that?” Ellery baited. “Pretty young Kryzynski, watching me at night. Would that make you happy?”

  “Augh!” Jackson kicked the floorboard. “You are the dumbest smart person I know. Take the protective detail. Ditch the asshole who’s a fucking liability.”

  “You have to leave me first, Jackson,” Ellery said calmly. “Go to my house, pack up all your stuff, take the cat, and don’t forget to say good-bye. You’d feel like a real asshole if you didn’t say good-bye.”

  Jackson leaned his head back against the seat and let out a breath. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he admitted. “Tim Owens killed my mother, Ellery. And he did it horribly, like he was trying to make a point. And he buried her on top of a girl you defended.”

  “Another point,” Ellery acknowledged.

  “I’m… I’m so damned scared right now, I’d probably blow Kryzynski myself if he’d just watch my cat.”

  “Not happening,” Ellery warned. “But I do think we need to talk to Jade and Mike. And we need to get to the firm—Jade told me the arraignment for your scumbag is this afternoon.”

  “Okay. So, talk to everyone I know and warn them. When this scumbag is released, I try to follow him. If I lose him, I go back, talk to the scumbag in the hospital—”

  “The one we’re not defending?”

  “That’s the one. He might get pissed the other guy’s getting a fancy lawyer and roll.”

  Ellery laughed, low and evil. “Nicely played for a guy with a knife in his arm.”

  Jackson’s lips twitched. “I try not to make it easy for them.”

  “Well done. So when he wakes up, we maybe interview the second scumbag—”

  “Scumbag on a bicycle.”

  “Scumbag on a bicycle, and see where that takes us. I’ll research the crap out of Jennifer Ricci’s docket, look into anything that can help us there. As soon as the county does the notification, you can interview friends and family, and we can see if there are any connections between her and Celia—”

  “I wonder if she’s pregnant,” Jackson said, the idea surprising even him.

  “What?” Well, yeah—’twas a horrifying thing.

  “He put Celia’s heart in her womb—but her heart never was in her womb. Celia was like, you know, what Jennifer would become if she’d kept going. Party girl.”

  Ellery digested that for a moment. “So, like a progression. The pretty dirty party girl and what she’d become if she had a baby.”

  “Yeah.” Jackson nodded, thinking about that poetry he’d seen. “Like… he saved her from her future.”

  “Hunh.”

  Ellery only made that sound when Jackson had surprised him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Now call Mike, and we can talk to Jade at the office.”

  On any other day, Jackson would have pressed him. Would have made him spill what “Hunh” meant.

  But not today.

  Radio Silence

  JACKSON DIALED Jade’s number, and Ellery ran the call through the car’s speaker system, wishing the whole time that he was taking the car down US 50 to Power Inn so he could take Jackson home.

  His home.

  Yeah, he was an autocratic bastard. He knew it. He�
�d gotten Jackson’s damned cat fixed when Jackson was still touch and go in the hospital that summer. A lot of people hated him for that, but Ellery didn’t give a damn.

  He loved the damned cat too.

  He wanted Jackson to live with him, in his house, where he was safe. And not just from the Tim Owenses of this world.

  God, watching him try to keep it together had been one of the hardest things Ellery had ever done. Ellery’s whole body screamed to touch him, to comfort him.

  Simple things—human comfort, human emotions.

  Jackson had no idea how to deal. The woman on the slab they’d just left behind had drank, snorted, and injected Jackson’s entire childhood and almost any hope he could have had for emotional normalcy.

  The man who’d been left behind had a sense of decency and honor—most of it imparted by Jade and Kaden’s mother, and then by Jade, Kaden, and Kaden’s wife, Rhonda. Ellery would readily concede that.

  But he also had the emotional stability of a freaked-out tomcat with a newly amputated leg getting accustomed to a new home.

  Yeah, sure Jackson could function as an adult—could hold a job, maintain a home, take care of his adopted family. But could he function as a lover?

  Three months of baby steps—and damn Celia Rivers for dying anyway, because who knew what this was going to do to Jackson’s hard-earned peace?

  If she wasn’t already dead, Ellery might have killed her himself. No, he had no sentimentality—not toward her. Ellery’s own mother was a terrifying, overbearing helicopter parent with insanely inflated expectations. Ellery was not going to wax rhapsodic over the woman who had tried—almost since birth—to destroy the only man Ellery was probably capable of loving.

  “Yeah, Mike—is Jade already at work?”

  Ellery tuned in to hear the conversation.

  “Yeah, Jackson—she drove your car, in case you need it. I’m doing cleanup on the yard, and I called the same company who came out and spackled the bullet holes. I figured they’d know what to do with all the needles.”

  Jackson groaned. “Augh! Dammit, Mike, I’m sorry. If I’d been living there—”

  “Jesus, kid—the place is still unlivable. The only room that was clean was the guest room, and you know—”

  “We have to clean the guest room,” Jackson mumbled. “Yeah, I know. Can I ask a huge favor of you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Go buy a fuckton of locks and latches and lock the place up. Sure, they’ll break the lock, but if we replace it every time it happens—”

  “Sends a clear message,” Mike agreed. “They got sneaky on us. I think the window in the garage, otherwise—”

  “Albert would have gotten them. Yeah, I get it.”

  Albert was Mike’s German shepherd, an animal that sounded fierce as hell over the fence but who was really a big snuggling carpet in real life.

  “So I’ll reimburse you,” Jackson said, ignoring Mike’s “Pfft….” in return. “But look, Mike, I’ve got something serious here, and I want your suggestions for what to do.”

  “Is this about…”—even over the phone, Ellery could hear him floundering—“your trip to the morgue?” In his mind, Ellery could see Mike, weathered forty-fiveish face wrinkling in distaste, front teeth showing as he raised his upper lip and ran his hand through his prematurely white hair. “’Cause… I mean, any other woman, I’d tell you I was sorry, but I’m just glad I didn’t kill her myself.”

  Jackson laughed shortly, but the sound held no humor. “I think Ellery would trip you and walk over your back for a chance to do the same thing. No, this is actually scarier than Celia. Mike, we haven’t told the police about this, and we’re not going to unless we can get some solid proof. But we think maybe Celia’s death might have something to do with… you know. That shit that went down in August.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Ellery had never thought of Mike as old before, but his voice suddenly went thin and quavery. Uncertain.

  “We arrested the people in the corruption ring. You know that. But one of the guys—the guy who got away. Bridger’s muscle. Ellery and I… we’ve been sort of investigating him on our own.” Ellery had taken the evidence to the state more than once since Jason Rivera’s death, but it was all too thin. No fingerprints, no DNA to match their samples against, just a bunch of “dirty pretty” young people whose lifestyle may have killed them anyway.

  “Wait—you’ve told me about this—Owens.”

  “You told Mike?” Ellery burst out.

  “Because Mike’s gonna call the press?” Jackson shot back. “Besides, he’s the one who shot up my house. Mike had the right to know. Anyway, yeah, Mike. Owens. We…. Celia wasn’t… didn’t OD. Her death was….”

  “Ritualistic and symbolic, and her body was found on top of Owens’s favorite type of victim,” Ellery finished, because Jackson was looking so many places at once he was going to get carsick. “And we’re thinking he might be targeting Jackson.”

  “Or you,” Jackson said bleakly.

  “Naw, probably Jackson,” Mike said over the speaker. “Kid, I love you, but you’re like… like all the things this guy would want to mess with, right down to being really pretty and hella fucked-up. And an ex-cop, and an IA rat, and all comfy with your sex and—”

  “I get it, Mike.” The dryness in Jackson’s voice almost shriveled Ellery’s skin. “Let’s go with hella fucked-up. I’m his target, and I put Ellery in danger just sitting in the goddamned car.”

  “Ellery, if you let him get out of the goddamned car, I’ll hunt you down and skin you myself. Kid, hold yourself together, okay?”

  “How can you call me ‘kid’ and then date Jade, who is exactly my age!” Oh good—contentiousness. For the first time in his life, Ellery wished he were his mother. His mother could deal with this. His mother could make Jackson settle down, scream, cry, beat something up, and see reason.

  “Because Jade’s full-grown, Jackson. You still need training up. It’s like your adult got fucktarded when you were in the hospital, and it just got another kick in the nuts. Now, shut up. I need to tell you something.”

  Ellery made a mental note to buy Mike something really expensive and manly for Christmas. Like a tractor or truck nuts or a tool system made of adamantium. Yeah, his language would have gotten him kicked out of Liberals-R-Us, but his psychology was right-the-fuck on.

  “Fucktarded?” Jackson repeated blankly.

  “Yeah, it’s probably a bad word. Now shut up and listen.” Mike’s voice sank a little. “Jackson, your mother—I saw her not too long ago.”

  Ellery slowed to turn left off Alhambra, heading toward their law offices on Seventh, and tried hard not to stand on the brakes and kill them both.

  “I’m sorry?” Jackson asked, voice shredded and breathy.

  “No, kid, I am.” Shame. That was the note in Mike’s voice. Aces. “I saw her—about a week back. She was… well, you know. She was always unpleasant and usually high. But she seemed higher than usual and more… well, I’ve never seen her frightened. She was like you that way—didn’t have the sense God gave a turnip to just up and fucking run. But she was scared. She wanted to know where you were, wanted to talk to you. Said… wait… what was it? Someone had the screws to Billy, whoever that was.”

  “Her pimp/dealer,” Jackson said hollowly. Elliot’s stomach churned because Jackson would even know that. “Not a bad guy, really. Used to give me granola bars when I was a kid so I’d stay out of his hair.”

  Ellery breathed really slowly through his nose and tried to pay attention to his driving.

  “But she wanted you, and she wanted money. I… I didn’t talk to her. Jade did, and then Jade screamed for me to bring my gun, and Celia took off, and that was the end of the conversation.”

  Jackson grunted. “I’ll just bet.”

  “I’m sorry. We should have told you, but—”

  “No.” Jackson’s swallow rang through the car. “You… you were trying to get rid o
f her—”

  “We didn’t want her around you. She’s—she was—like toenail fungus. Ugly and hard to get rid of and just easier on you not to see her. She fucked you up inside every time.”

  On second thought, there was no gift big enough for Mike. Maybe a house. Maybe buy Jackson’s duplex from Jackson and just give it, carte blanche, to Mike. These were hard truths—terrible, painful truths. From Ellery they’d sound petty and self-serving.

  From Mike they sounded like a friend who worried.

  “Did you get a sense of who had the screws to Billy?” Jackson asked.

  “No. Wait! Hold on, hold on….” Mike’s voice sounded like he was rummaging through something. “She gave me a card, of all things. I… I should have thrown it away, but, you know—”

  People kept cards. It was almost reflex. The damned things got shoved to the back of the wallet and thrown away later. Jackson, in fact, was one of the most meticulous people Ellery had ever met when it came to taking information on a card and putting it into his phone. He was almost compulsive about it, and Ellery wondered now if that came down to never knowing who would give him food when he was little. Knowing who to talk to was the difference between eating and not getting beaten when Jackson was a kid.

  “Here!” Mike’s triumph rang over the phone. “Okay, I’ll keep it so you can see it later, but right now, it’s got the name ‘Billy’—like you said—and here.” He read off the number clearly. “And it’s got a… well, she wrote ‘Please, Jacky’ underneath.” Mike sighed. “I’m sorry, Jackson.”

  “Not a worry,” Jackson said, voice neutral. Yeah, he might be upset about it, but Ellery knew Jackson’s priorities. Mike and Jade had trumped Celia when she’d been alive. He wasn’t going to change that now.

  “No, I mean, I would have driven her off, but I should have told you.”

  “That’s not my worry.” His voice was so flat it sent chills up Ellery’s spine. “My worry is if Owens comes after you and Jade. He’s dangerous, Mike—and smart. And he likes hurting people. We’ve been looking for months, and we haven’t found him.”