Death Perception Read online

  But then I noticed how red his own nose was and even from five feet away I could see a fine dusting of white powder right around his nostrils. He moaned then and I hobbled across to stand over him as his eyelids fluttered and his eyes attempted to focus.

  ‘‘I’d be real quiet and all cooperative-like if I were you,’’ I suggested.

  ‘‘I want my mother,’’ he said thickly.

  ‘‘I’ll just bet you do,’’ I said. ‘‘But she’s busy with another detective at the moment and isn’t taking visitors. But don’t worry, honey. Where you’re going, you’ll have plenty of time to wait for her to come to you.’’

  Dutch appeared over my shoulder and glared down at Delgado. ‘‘That hurt?’’ he asked, indicating the large bump forming at the top of Delgado’s forehead.

  ‘‘Like a bitch,’’ Delgado said.

  ‘‘Good,’’ Dutch said as he handed me a package of frozen peas. ‘‘Maybe next time you’ll freeze when I tell ya to.’’

  * * *

  An hour later we were still at the condo. Dutch had found me a chair from inside and I sat in it glumly while they processed the scene. Delgado and Bambina had been moved to separate cells at the police station. Brosseau had enough with the amount of drugs that were found in plain sight to hold them for now.

  I’d had a feeling Delgado would clam right up the moment he knew he’d been caught. And he had. Other than demanding a phone call to his attorney, he hadn’t uttered a word.

  I could tell it was frustrating to Dutch, because by the looks of things, it appeared that Ricky Junior and his father’s girlfriend very likely had something to do with Delgado’s abduction. Brosseau and Dutch both felt that the scene they’d dropped in on was likely some sort of celebration. They could have been celebrating pulling off the kidnapping of Ricky’s father, or just the fact that they had the place to themselves. Either way the whole thing was really suspicious.

  I looked up as Dutch came out into the hallway carrying a picture frame. He handed it to me and I looked at the image. The photo was of Ricky in a sideways hug with an older version of himself. ‘‘Ricardo and Ricardo Junior?’’ I asked.

  Dutch nodded. ‘‘Tell me what you see,’’ he said, his voice filled with tension.

  I looked back to the image. ‘‘He’s still alive,’’ I said, and I saw Dutch let out the breath he’d been holding.

  ‘‘As long as he’s alive, Chase might have a chance.’’

  I dug into my purse and pulled out Chase’s picture again. ‘‘He’s still with us, sweetheart,’’ I said. ‘‘Nothing’s changed about his image.’’

  ‘‘Thanks,’’ he said warmly. ‘‘We’re almost done in there, and Bob has invited us to his house for dinner. He’s been going on and on about what a great cook his wife is.’’

  ‘‘I’m game,’’ I said. ‘‘How’s your stomach feeling?’’

  ‘‘It can probably manage something bland,’’ he said. ‘‘I wanted to see how you felt about it before I accepted.’’

  ‘‘Good thinking,’’ I said. ‘‘You guys going to question Ricky and Bambina?’’

  Dutch nodded again. ‘‘We’ll tackle Bambina first, but we’re letting her sweat it out for a few hours. Let the drugs wear off a bit and allow the paranoia to sink in. She’ll be telling us anything we want to know in a few hours.’’

  ‘‘Do you think they had anything to do with the kidnapping?’’

  ‘‘I do,’’ he said, then eyed me thoughtfully. ‘‘What do you think?’’

  I sighed heavily. ‘‘Babe,’’ I said, ‘‘I’m so tired right now, I don’t think my radar could help you on that one way or another.’’

  ‘‘Understood,’’ he said, and leaned in to give me a kiss. ‘‘How’s your leg?’’

  ‘‘Hurts.’’

  ‘‘Can I get you some more peas?’’

  ‘‘Naw. Maybe just an aspirin.’’

  ‘‘We’ll nab one from Bob. He’s wrapping up with them and he’ll be out with us in a minute. Hold on to that picture for now, though, okay?’’

  ‘‘Got it,’’ I said, tucking it into my purse, grateful that I’d brought my big bag instead of the little satchel I normally carried.

  Brosseau came out into the hallway, pulling off the latex gloves he’d been wearing. ‘‘Those two really had themselves a party,’’ he said. ‘‘We found enough coke and crack to light up more than a few of the casinos.’’

  ‘‘So you’ll hold them for the drugs while you investigate their possible connection to Chase and Delgado’s abduction?’’

  ‘‘That’s the game plan, but first I gotta eat. Did you ask her, Dutch?’’

  ‘‘I did,’’ Dutch said, and I could tell he was really warming to the detective. ‘‘We’re a yes.’’

  ‘‘That’s great!’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘My wife, Nora, is a great cook.’’

  Dutch and I shared a look as we tried to keep from smirking. ‘‘She won’t mind us dropping in on her last-minute?’’ I said, glancing at my watch and adding, ‘‘And at eight o’clock at night?’’

  ‘‘Naw!’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘She loves company!’’

  My left side felt decidedly heavy. I had a feeling Mrs. Brosseau wasn’t going to be extra thrilled to see her husband toting guests for dinner. ‘‘Can we bring anything?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Nah,’’ Brosseau said, waving at the remaining patrolmen and crime-scene techs as we left the condo. ‘‘We’ve got four kids, so we’ve learned to keep the pantry full. Plus, Nora is terrific at putting odds and ends together. Twenty years ago I tasted her lasagna and that night I proposed.’’

  We got to the elevator and I said, ‘‘You proposed because she could cook?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely,’’ Brosseau said. ‘‘I mean, I loved her, but the fact that she could throw together such a fantastic dish, well, it put me over the top.’’

  ‘‘Gee, Abby, did you hear that?’’ Dutch said, pumping his voice with enthusiasm. ‘‘Bob proposed because the gal he was dating could cook!’’

  ‘‘I heard,’’ I said, narrowing my eyes as we got into the elevator.

  Dutch turned to Brosseau and added, ‘‘I’m just trying to stop my girlfriend from poisoning me every time she goes to make a sandwich.’’

  Bob laughed until he saw the look on my face, at which point he cleared his throat and stared at his shoes.

  ‘‘Aw, come on, Edgar,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘You have to admit, that was funny.’’

  ‘‘You are so dead,’’ I whispered to him. ‘‘Dead, dead, dead.’’

  ‘‘Harsh,’’ he said, but he was still smiling.

  ‘‘Dead,’’ I muttered again, and looked away.

  Looking back, I wish I could take every single part of that retort back, because on the elevator ride down, I had no idea how right I actually was.

  Chapter Four

  We followed behind the detective again as he led us through some side streets back onto the highway and away from the city. Darkness had descended upon Nevada and I could see the plain desert landscape only in shadow. Traffic heading out from the city was a snap; it was the other side of the highway that carried a preponderance of cars.

  When the lights from the Strip had melded into one big glob of yellow, the detective exited the highway and entered a subdivision of middle-class means. Streetlights dimly illuminated two-story homes with short lawns and very little grass. We turned right at a stop sign, drove another two blocks to another stop sign, and turned left onto a cul-de-sac at the end of which Detective Brosseau pulled into a driveway and cut the lights.

  Dutch parked on the street and we got out. ‘‘Home sweet home,’’ the detective said.

  ‘‘Nice house,’’ I said, taking in the well-tended yard absent of grass but manicured with rocks and dry mulch. Here and there a cactus stuck out and on the covered porch were two terra-cotta pots brimming with red begonias.

  The door opened before we got to the front steps and a tall woman wit
h broad shoulders and hair trimmed in a perky bob flipped on the outside light and looked out at us behind tortoiseshell glasses. ‘‘Welcome!’’ she said as she held the door open.

  ‘‘Thank you so much,’’ Dutch said, taking the door handle and holding it open for me.

  ‘‘So kind of you to have us over,’’ I said, passing through the entry.

  She extended her hand. ‘‘I’m Nora, Bob’s wife.’’ Dutch and I both introduced ourselves. ‘‘Bob phoned me from the road and said to expect company for dinner.’’

  In the background I could hear as well as feel the deep bass vibration coming from somewhere upstairs. In the back of the house a television was blaring and while we stood there, one small head peeked around the corner and said, ‘‘Hi, Dad!’’

  ‘‘Nickie!’’ Bob said warmly. ‘‘Come here, guy,’’ and he held his arms out for the young boy.

  ‘‘He should be in bed,’’ Nora said. ‘‘But he likes to wait up for his pop.’’

  From the hallway we were standing in, I could see into the kitchen. Another figure appeared in the doorway, this one a younger version of Bob but with Nora’s nose and jawline. ‘‘Mom?’’ he said. ‘‘The timer went off.’’

  ‘‘Our son Michael,’’ Nora said as she turned toward him. ‘‘I’ll be right there. Can you handle taking the potatoes out of the oven?’’

  ‘‘Duh,’’ Michael said, and turned back to the kitchen.

  ‘‘He wants to become a chef someday,’’ she said. ‘‘Of all my kids, he’s the only one interested in cooking.’’

  ‘‘Can I interest either of you in a glass of wine?’’ Bob asked.

  Dutch immediately shook his head and held his stomach protectively. ‘‘No, thanks, Bob. I’m going to pass.’’

  ‘‘Oh, you poor thing!’’ Nora said, taking his hand and leading him into the dining room to sit at the table. ‘‘Bob told me you got food poisoning right before you came to Vegas. You sit here. I’ve prepared a special remedy that will help settle that stomach.’’

  ‘‘Can I help you in the kitchen, Nora?’’ I asked, and nearly hit Dutch when he gave me a rather skeptical look about the suggestion.

  ‘‘That would be lovely,’’ she said. ‘‘Let the boys talk about their case. Dinner’s almost ready anyway. I fed the kids hours ago, but I always like to eat with my husband.’’

  I tagged along behind her to the kitchen and took a deep sniff. ‘‘Ohmigod!’’ I said. ‘‘What are you making that smells so good?’’

  Nora laughed. ‘‘Well, tonight I’m doing pork tender-loin with an apricot-mango compote, sweet potato soufflé, and rainbow green beans. But your boyfriend is having some homemade chicken soup and fresh-baked bread.’’

  I sighed. ‘‘You’re gonna make me look bad,’’ I said to her.

  ‘‘Honey, if I had your figure, I wouldn’t need to know how to cook either.’’

  I laughed, then asked, ‘‘What can I do to help?’’

  ‘‘You can sit and keep us company until the pork is done. Michael? How’s that coming?’’

  ‘‘Another minute or two,’’ he said as he stood over the frying pan. I couldn’t get over how tall he was. He towered over his mother and she towered over me.

  Nora poured two glasses of wine and set one in front of me. ‘‘Chablis okay?’’

  ‘‘It’s fine, thank you.’’

  ‘‘Bob tells me you’re a psychic,’’ she said.

  I felt my cheeks redden. Not that it was a secret, but it just wasn’t something I liked to advertise in mixed company. ‘‘For a couple of years now,’’ I said.

  ‘‘My grandmother was a professional psychic too,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Really?’’ I asked, my interest piqued.

  ‘‘Oh, yes,’’ she said. ‘‘She lived in Hollywood, California, and read for all the stars back in the fifties and sixties.’’

  ‘‘That is so cool!’’

  ‘‘And she was the one who told me that I needed to learn how to cook, and cook well. She said that it would be an important component to meeting my Prince Charming. Can you believe I bought into that?’’ she said with a chuckle.

  ‘‘It worked, didn’t it?’’

  ‘‘Better than expected,’’ she said, giving me a wink as she took out some plates and bowls.

  ‘‘Pork’s done,’’ Michael said.

  ‘‘Fantastic. Michael, will you go see that Nickie gets to bed while I serve dinner?’’

  I carried out the plates and bowls to the table while Nora brought the serving dishes of our dinner and set them in the middle of the table. In front of Dutch she set a steaming bowl of chicken soup that wafted a delicious garlicky aroma around the room and a basket of freshly baked bread. ‘‘This will cure what ails you,’’ she said, giving him a pat on the back.

  We all sat and dug into the dinner, and I have to admit, it was one of the best damned meals I’ve ever tasted. It was the perfect blend of sweet, sour, salty, and bitter and I ate until I couldn’t eat one more bite. ‘‘That was amazing,’’ I said with a sigh.

  Nora beamed at me. ‘‘And how about you, Dutch? Are you feeling better?’’

  Dutch smiled kindly. ‘‘I actually am, Nora, thank you,’’ and I could tell he was. Some color had returned to his cheeks and he seemed closer to his old self, except for the dark circles under his eyes that I knew were the result of his worry over his cousin.

  Bob looked at his watch and said, ‘‘Think we’ve left Bambina on ice for long enough?’’

  ‘‘I believe we have,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘But if we can stay and help clean up, we’d like to.’’

  ‘‘Oh, no,’’ Nora said. ‘‘You go work on finding your cousin. Mike and I have this.’’

  As if on cue, Mike appeared at the table and began to gather up the dishes. We stood too and even though Nora had insisted she could handle it, both Dutch and I gathered as many plates and dishes as our arms could hold and carried them into the kitchen.

  A short time later we said our good-byes and got back into our cars. ‘‘What a lovely family,’’ I said as we pulled out of the driveway.

  ‘‘They’re good people,’’ Dutch agreed. ‘‘Hey, Abs, can you take down the address? We’ll send flowers to Nora tomorrow to thank her for the dinner.’’

  ‘‘No problem,’’ I said, squinting in the dim light to read the number on the front of the house, which luckily was posted right underneath the front light. ‘‘Two-seven-nine... what street is this?’’

  ‘‘Desert Bloom Road,’’ he said.

  After I’d jotted down the address on a gum wrapper, I laid my head back against the headrest and sighed.

  ‘‘You tired?’’ Dutch asked.

  ‘‘Very.’’

  I heard Dutch fiddle with the clip on his belt and punch in some numbers into his cell phone. ‘‘Hey, Bob,’’ he said. ‘‘I’d like to drop Abby off at the hotel before I meet you at the station.’’ There was a pause, then, ‘‘Great. I’ll see you there.’’

  I opened one eye and said, ‘‘You’re a great boyfriend, you know?’’

  ‘‘I try,’’ he said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

  ‘‘I really gotta learn how to cook,’’ I muttered.

  Several hours later, I woke up coated in sweat and panting hard. I’d just had the most hideous dream and my heart was still racing. The room was dark, but I could make out shapes and my eyes immediately darted to the other side of the bed. Dutch’s form was lying there and as I strained to listen, I could hear the deep sound of his breathing. ‘‘Oh, thank God,’’ I whispered, and I reached over to lay a hand very gently on his hip. He stirred ever so slightly but went back to his deep breathing and I knew he was all right.

  Still, the dream echoed in my head and I was having a hell of a time trying to quiet my nerves. I’d dreamed that I’d been attending Dutch’s funeral. The pallbearers, made up of four men—Ricardo and Ricky Delgado, Dutch’s cousin Chase, and his boss, Raymond Robillard—
had laid his coffin into the ground and proceeded to shovel dirt over it as fast as they could.

  I’d begged them to stop. I didn’t want to believe that Dutch was in the coffin. ‘‘Just let me look inside!’’ I pleaded, trying to take Ricardo’s shovel from him.

  ‘‘Get back!’’ he’d snapped, but I wouldn’t let go. And that’s when I’d felt the arms of Raymond Robillard grab me from behind and his hand take hold of my chin.

  ‘‘You’re dead now too,’’ he said, and fear gripped my heart like a vise. I’d seen Robillard kill before in a vision given to me by his dead victim. Dutch knew his boss was a killer and he’d been very quietly investigating him for months with the approval of Robillard’s boss, but other than that, no one else in the bureau suspected the truth.

  Remembering that part of the dream, I rubbed at my chin. His hands had felt so real and I shivered a little as I tried to shake it off. I got up as quietly as I could and headed to the bathroom, where I splashed cool water on my face and the back of my neck. I often had prophetic dreams, and typically they came to me in the form of a nightmare. I had the sense that this one was no different, and as I searched for the hidden meaning, I felt a real sense of cold fear settle into the pit of my stomach. Which part of the dream was I supposed to pay attention to? Robillard? Dutch’s funeral? Delgado and his son lowering my boyfriend’s coffin into the ground?

  I wanted to sit down and contact the crew and ask them to clarify it, but I was so shaken by the images I’d seen that I hesitated. Maybe it was just a dream. Nothing important, just my anxiety during this trip acting up.

  My left side said it didn’t think so.

  ‘‘Shit,’’ I said.

  There was a soft knock on the door. ‘‘Abs?’’ I heard Dutch say. ‘‘You in there?’’

  I opened the door. ‘‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’’