Alone a bone secrets nov.., p.18
Alone (A Bone Secrets Novel), page 18
Her sharp-eyed teacher had made a report. Child welfare had paid a visit. The empty fridge and cupboards didn’t please them. When Trinity couldn’t tell them what she’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours, they were even more unhappy. She was rushed to a doctor who clucked her tongue over her weight and then took her to a house where there was always food. It wasn’t the healthiest food, but it felt like living in a grocery store.
“How old is your friend?”
“He’s a senior.”
“Then he’s old enough to ask the right people for help. It’s not your responsibility to try to save him. Just guide him in the right direction.”
She was right. Trinity thumbed a quick text to Jason with the doctor’s advice then shoved the phone aside. Part of her wanted to run to him and do everything in her power—which wasn’t much—to make him feel better. Her therapist had told her she was a natural nurturer and protector. It would always be inherent in her to help others, even to her own detriment. She had to learn to weigh the consequences and ask if she was hurting herself in order to make someone happy.
“You look miserable,” Dr. Peres said quietly.
Trinity exhaled. “You’re right. It’s not my problem. I’m sure there’s someone better suited to really helping him.”
“Good girl. I wish I’d been that smart at your age.”
“That means I should be heading up NASA by the time I’m your age.”
Dr. Peres laughed, and Trinity was struck by how beautiful she was.
“Johnson Creek flooded again,” Ray Lusco stated as he dropped his bag on his desk. “I didn’t think I was ever going to make it to work.”
“Are you surprised?” Mason asked his partner. He glanced at the time on his computer. Ray was barely five minutes late.
“Of course not. But the sucker is always the biggest headache around. Messes up traffic something awful.”
“I worry more about the people who live by it. I don’t know why they don’t move. Seems like we see the same homes on the news every time.”
“This is going to be a bad storm. When I watched the weather last night, there’s no letup in the coming week. We’re already breaking the rainfall records for this month. They’re lucky that landslide in the West Hills last night didn’t hurt anyone.” Mason frowned. At least they wouldn’t be crying drought next summer like this past hot summer. The snowpack in the Cascade Mountains benefited from the excessive rain.
“The dirt is oversaturated with water. All the slopes are treacherous. I’m stunned at the number of people who build homes on the sides of the hills around here. Who wants to wake up and find your neighbor’s kitchen has slid into your garage? Hate the rain.” Ray scowled.
“Did you ever get ahold of Trinity Viders’s guardian? Does she know we want to talk to the girl again?” Mason was done talking rain.
“I left a message for her last night. Haven’t heard back yet. I told her I had some questions.”
“There’s a teenager angle to these latest deaths that I think we’re missing completely. I feel like there’s something just out of our reach. Something that these kids know about and they’re not sharing with adults yet.” Mason hadn’t realized this fact until he’d said the words out loud. Something was hovering just out of his awareness, something about the deaths and the teenagers that he couldn’t grasp. And he suspected talking to these kids was where they needed to focus.
Ray studied him. “You think some of these teens know what is going on?”
Mason thought for a minute. His stomach was doing an odd tingle that told him he was speculating in the right direction. “I think they’re not telling us everything. I feel like we’re only getting part of the story. Either the kids are covering for each other or they’re scared of something.”
“They’re teenagers. Of course they aren’t telling us everything.”
Mason tapped a pen on his desk. “What about Lorenzo Cavallo’s family? Where are all those sons he was so proud of? Four boys?”
“Five,” corrected Ray. He scowled as he flipped through a small notebook. “I’ve called three of them. I left messages at two homes, and at the third, the wife said she’d have her husband call me back. I haven’t heard a word. I’m still trying to locate the other two. I was hoping to get numbers from the other brothers.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“I agree with you there. I’ll check to see if someone has requested the body. Maybe some family has come out of the woodwork. We gave clearance for the release yesterday. Forensics and the medical examiner have everything they need.” Ray picked up his desk phone.
Mason looked at the blue pen in his hand and slowly set it aside. He needed to look over the reports from the medical examiner. How would Dr. Rutledge describe the pen jammed in Lorenzo’s ear? His stomach did a slow roll. The lab should have the original pen by now, and no doubt it was in a long line of backed-up evidence waiting to be processed.
Mason adjusted his reading glasses and dug to find his notes from the Cavallo house. It was rare that he didn’t trust his memory with scene recall, but he had to admit he’d been a bit distracted during this particular case. The pen jammed in the ear had rattled him. And the absolute loneliness of the home. He hated the thought that Lorenzo had died alone without contact from his family for years. He scanned his notes. Nothing jumped out at him. The follow-up with the family members was the priority. Where the fuck were they? Why hadn’t they called back?
Ray hung up the phone. “No one has inquired about Cavallo.” His tone was grim.
Mason felt nauseous. That old man. Living alone for years and now the abandonment continued in death. Anger flared in his chest. “Jesus Christ. Give me the numbers you have for those kids of his. I’ll have a word with them.”
Ray handed him a slip of paper. “I’m stunned. What would drive away an entire family?”
“It’d have to be something big for all five kids to shun their father. Seems like there’s always one who will look out for the parent no matter what the feud is.”
“But remember when we talked to him? He spoke of his kids like he saw them every day. That was a proud father. Apparently the kids aren’t reciprocating the feelings.”
“If they’re still breathing, I intend to find out why.”
“Christ. I didn’t think of that.”
“What?”
“Maybe something’s happened at their homes, too.”
Mason froze as the number he’d called rang and rang in his ear. He’d been using an expression of speech with his comment about breathing, but Ray had an excellent point. “No one’s answering this one. I’ll try the rest, but get their addresses and get someone to check on their homes immediately. Are they local?”
“I think at least two of them are.” Ray looked pale.
“Figure out where the other phone numbers are located and we’ll get the local departments to check on them.” Mason swallowed hard, images of more pens floating in his head. “You said you talked to someone at one of the homes?”
“Yes, I assume it was a wife.” Ray was already dialing dispatch.
Mason wiped at his forehead. Hopefully the numbers Ray had were landlines. That’d make the addresses easier to search. Christ. He didn’t want more deaths associated with this case. He dialed the other number and listened to it ring.
Why no voice mail or answering machine?
“Hello?” A woman’s quiet voice answered after countless rings.
Mason rattled off his identity and asked to speak to Mr. Cavallo.
“I’m sorry, he is very sick and can’t speak on the phone right now. May I take a message?” The voice was all politeness.
“Are you who my partner, Ray Lusco, spoke to the other day? And asked to have him call us back?”
“Yes, I spoke to a police officer the other day. My husband is still sick.”
“Mrs. Cavallo, are you aware your husband’s father, Lorenzo Cavallo, was murdered? We are trying to notify the family.”
The phone was silent and Mason wondered if she’d hung up.
“Yes.” The woman paused. “We’d heard.”
Mason waited. That was all she had to say? “Who is going to claim his body? He’s still at the morgue.”
The woman paused again. “Do we have to?”
Mason straightened in his chair. “What?”
“Are we legally obligated to do something? Just because we’re related?”
He was speechless. “Ah… I don’t think so. Your husband won’t feel differently?”
She gave a humorless laugh. “I’m positive. He hasn’t spoken to his father in years.”
“Perhaps one of the other brothers will want to take charge.”
The laugh again. “That is doubtful, but you’re welcome to try.”
Mason tightened his grip on the phone. “Mrs. Cavallo, I don’t understand. When I spoke with your father-in-law a few days ago, he seemed very proud of his children. He mentioned them several times. What happened to this family?”
“I’m sorry, Detective Callahan. I can’t help you.”
The phone clicked in his ear.
He slowly set the receiver back in its holder. What had Lorenzo Cavallo done to his sons?
“You reach someone?” Ray asked.
“Yeah.” Mason relayed the odd conversation.
“What the hell?” Ray wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m still sending a uniform over there,” Ray added. “I want someone to actually lay eyes on and talk to these fabulous sons of Lorenzo’s, so we know they’re still breathing.”
“Good idea,” muttered Mason. Had all the sons turned their backs on their father? What could cause that kind of divide in a family?
“What the hell?” Ray muttered, staring at his computer screen. “Did you look at this email from Victoria Peres?”
“No, I haven’t looked yet today.” Mason waited as long as possible to open his email in the morning, because once he did, it seemed like he got nothing done. He liked to clean up yesterday’s leftovers before adding more pork to the pot.
“You really should scan through first thing in the morning,” Ray rebuked. “You might see something important.” It was a regular argument that Mason chalked up to organizational differences. “It was sent to both of us.”
“Well, then I didn’t need to see it first thing, right? You’re on it.” Logic. “And if it was really important and something I needed to know right away, she would have called.” More logic.
Ray gave him the evil eye. “An arsonist hit Victoria Peres’s house last night.”
Shock spiked Mason’s spine. “What? Anyone hurt?”
“No. She wasn’t home.” Ray studied his screen. “Victoria says a skeletal female skull was found inside the home not far from the rock that broke the window. Someone threw in both items before a Molotov cocktail–type device to start the fire. Damage to the home was minimal.”
“She think that’s one of her missing skulls?”
“She wants to find out. Naturally, they didn’t let her walk off with it last night. Do you have anything from the Portland Fire Department? I don’t yet. She says she told them to contact us.”
Mason opened his email, his guilt prickling because he’d missed Victoria’s message. He would have opened it ten minutes earlier. That wouldn’t have helped much. Christ. He’d received forty new emails overnight. This was why he preferred not to look. “I don’t see anything.”
“I’ll reach out to them and get that skull on her table. I think she had X-rays. She should be able to tell if it’s one of the missing.”
“Why in the hell was it thrown in her house?” Mason asked, mentally adding an arson element to his odd case.
Mason clicked on Victoria’s email. Not surprisingly, it read like a report. Facts stated in chronological order. Some questions at the end. She and Seth Rutledge discovered the fire after midnight? What was the medical examiner doing with Dr. Peres at that time of night? Mason smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Ray asked.
“Nothin’. Just wondering what Seth Rutledge was doing over there at that time of night.”
“Christ. Get your head out of the gutter. She’s a nice lady.” Ray sounded doubtful. “Nice lady” was a term rarely used to describe the Bone Lady.
“Well, she and that medical examiner have a past. I don’t know exactly what, but he’s looking to get the fires going again, I believe.” He chuckled at his pun.
Ray snorted. “Lame.”
“But the skulls were stolen. Why give one back?”
“Maybe the thief didn’t need that one.”
“Why?” Mason pressed.
Ray struggled to theorize and threw up his hands. “Beats me. Maybe someone else was returning it. But why do it along with arson?”
Mason shook his head. “We still need to talk to Trinity about the shooting last night. This is another reason to get the girl in here ASAP. One boy says the shooter got riled because he saw Trinity Viders.”
“Well, at least we know the shooter didn’t set that fire. He was still in holding at that time.”
“Maybe he has friends.” More teenagers.
No doubt Leo’s message with the skull had made its point. The woman was as vulnerable as the rest of the world. The location of her home was not a secret. Her profession was not untouchable. Her safety was not a given. She should be feeling rattled. He could ruin her career and destroy whatever she held precious.
Adrenaline surged in Leo’s bloodstream. The nicotine from his cigarette pulsed through his veins. He was unstoppable.
Old Cesare often shoved the woman’s success in his face. For a man who seemed to believe women were best kept barefoot and pregnant, he had a bit of an obsession with the success of Victoria Peres. He took pride in the woman’s achievements as if they were his own, but in the same breath tore her down, claiming she was a misfit and a disgrace.
Considering the identity of her mother, he understood Cesare’s point.
He’d decided it was time for Victoria Peres to learn about her mother and had put the wheels in motion yesterday. Her present bone investigation had been entangled, her home security compromised. What would discovering the truth about her roots do to her psyche?
Two people knew the truth about Victoria’s mother: himself and Cesare. Cesare believed only he held the knowledge. But the man shouldn’t keep written records. The man had a lot to learn about living a secret life. He’d been sloppy. His hiding places weak. Cesare had managed to fool his congregation for years, but Leo had easily discovered the truth. If you’re going to hide an alternative life, don’t leave dead women in your shed.
He blew a lungful of smoke into the air. The ceiling of the tiny bedroom grew fainter through the gray-blue haze. He set his cigarette in the ashtray and tucked his hands under his head as he rested on the bed. Last night had gone as planned. He’d hoped the fire would have burned more of the home, but he’d made his point. She wasn’t safe.
The first time he’d found a body in the shed, he’d nearly wet himself. She’d had long dark hair. The feature was a fetish of Cesare’s, and he decided to adopt it as one of his own. He’d been snooping, noticing the man often made trips to the shed at all times of the night. His father kept the door padlocked, but he had watched to see where Cesare kept the key. One early morning, he’d decided to look for himself.
She’d been dead for a while. He could smell the rot.
Why had Cesare been visiting a dead body?
The handcuffs were carelessly cast aside. The mattress foul. The room showed signs of occupancy. A water bucket, a waste bucket. Some empty cracker boxes. More handcuffs and rope attached to various metal rings in the walls and floors. The room had been strengthened. From the outside, it looked like a shed about to collapse. Inside the walls were closer than they should be. A sign of thick space between the inner and outer wall, no doubt filled with an insulating material. He’d tapped on a wall. They’d been dense two-by-eights. A room meant to imprison.
The next day he’d returned, and the woman had vanished. A few days of wandering in the woods behind Cesare’s home had revealed a plot of freshly turned dirt. Nearby were other sunken depressions in the ground. He’d read that an amateur grave will first be a raised area of dirt, but then sink where the torso collapses as it rots, leaving the concavity. He’d counted five possible sites.
Cesare wasn’t the holy man he presented to his flock.
He’d kept his knowledge to himself, watching as the old man preached to the dwindling congregation. Now the group was small, mostly older men like Cesare whose wives had abandoned them to their faith, unable to live the oppressive role their husbands laid out for them.
Leo wondered if Cesare had always been so bitter toward women, or if it’d grown after his own wife left. Had he intensified his hatred because of what his wife had done to him?
He’d snooped thoroughly through the shed and discovered a locked fire box of photos. The key hadn’t been hard to find. Cesare kept his keys in the same drawer he’d used all his life. His confidence in keeping his secrets safe was laughable.
The pictures were of women. Some dead, some still alive. All with long dark hair and white dresses. But the photos that struck him the most were of the circle. The women laid out as if they were daisy petals. Their white dresses echoing the flower. Some pictures showed them flush with life. But others showed their cheeks and eyes starting to sink as they lay lifeless in their circle day after day.
How many days in a row had Cesare returned to photograph the women?
He pictured Victoria Peres in the circle. Her life’s essence destroyed.
Not yet.
First he wanted to emotionally rip her to shreds.
The bones were done. Victoria stretched the kinks out of her back, shuddering at the series of loud cracks. Everything was inventoried. Samples were removed for testing. Full records written and photographed. Frustratingly, she hadn’t found an earth-shattering lead to use as a tool to hunt down the women’s identities. From an anthropologist’s perspective, these were a bunch of nondescript women. Sadly missing their skulls.
