Taking Names

By Emory Cosgrove

An explosion at the home of Copper State University CFO kills four people, including the CFO, James Donner. Sunset Hills police determine that Donner had been shot dead prior to the explosion. Acting on an anonymous tip, they find the murder gun in the office of the University Registrar, Ms. Audrey Simmonds—the romantic interest of Scottsdale Police Detective Manny Acosta.

Ms. Simmonds’s fingerprints are found on the murder gun and tell-tale signs of bomb-making are found in her garage, and she was known to be on very bad terms with the Donner. Sunset Hills police arrest her on suspicion of quadruple homicide.

Detective Acosta is convinced that Ms. Simmonds is innocent, but the Sunset Hills police aren’t interested in the theories of a Scottsdale detective. Acosta enlists the help of his friends, Jeff and Connie Fletcher, to help determine what actually happened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emory Cosgrove
• Release date: Aug 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311094162

Book preview

Taking Names

a crime novel

the Smashword Edition

Emory Cosgrove

cosgrovecrime.com

[e-mail]

Copyright © 2015 Emory Cosgrove

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you want to share it. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Credits

Cover photos courtesy of Shutterstock.com

Cover layout and interior formatting by Debora Lewis arenapublishing.org

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction, a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure there are no errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or inconsistencies herein, any slights or people, places, or organizations are unintentional.

To Shirley

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank several people for reading earlier drafts of this book and providing valuable suggestions. They include: Roger Ames, Mary Brumand, Irene Coatta, Debora Lewis, Dennis Rennicke, Don Stevens, and Ron Wick. I also want to thank my wife, Shirley, for her patience and my daughter-in-law, Rosa, for her help with the nuances of Spanish words.

Note: To provide the reader with more of a sample from the actual story, the Table of Contents appears at the end.

Prologue

The Boathouse

A girl’s gotta start somewhere.

Twentieth Century American Proverb

Tahoe City, California — Dollar Point

1983

Sunday, June 5th, 8:00 a.m.

Knock-knock. Are you awake, Charlie? Estelle has made a lovely breakfast—your favorite: Belgian waffles with blueberries. Wash up and come downstairs. I have a surprise for you. I know you’ll like it.

I’m still sleepy, mother. Can’t it wait? What is it?

No. It can’t wait. And if I tell you what it is, it won’t be a surprise.

Okay, mother. I’m coming.

Good boy.

Charlie went into his bathroom, brushed his teeth, and washed the sleep out of his eyes. Like most twelve-year old boys of the wealthy class, he liked surprises because they always involved something pleasant. He put on a clean shirt and trousers, combed his flaxen hair, and plodded down the stairs and into the dining room.

He stopped in his tracks. A girl was seated at the table across from his mother. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, even in magazines or movies. She had silky blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her tight blue sweater made her look mature and sexy. She was also wearing makeup—which his mother never did—and she had nice ones! She must be fifteen or more. Charlie was completely captivated by her good looks and her confident, easy-going manner. But even though she had his full attention, he found it difficult to look at her square in the face. A paralyzing combination of desire and self-consciousness had overtaken him.

His mother nodded toward the girl. This is your cousin, Susan—your second cousin, actually. Her mother, my cousin Beatrix, died in Fresno a few days ago. She died and left Susan behind. She’s only fifteen, poor thing. She arrived here just this morning. Took a bus from Fresno all by herself. Can you imagine? She’s coming to live with us—at least until she’s old enough to go out on her own. You and she can be friends.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Susan. It was difficult for him to say even this—something so simple, and so true.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlie. Come sit next to me. We can enjoy our breakfast together.

He sat next to her as she’d told him to do. It was as though his mother were no longer there. He would sit wherever Susan told him to sit, and do anything she told him to do. He was certain of that.

After breakfast you can give Susan a tour of the house and the grounds. It’s such a big place, it’ll take her some time to get used to it and learn her way around. —Have you ever seen a boathouse, Susan?

No, only in movies.

"Charlie will show you our boathouse. We have a sailboat and a speedboat. Maybe the two of you can take one of the boats out later, when it warms up. —Do you know how to sail, Susan?"

No, I don’t.

Charlie can teach you. Would you like that?

Yes, very much.

After breakfast, Charlie showed Susan through the house and around the grounds. Then he walked her down to the lake toward the boathouse. She held his hand. Her touch coursed through his body like an electric current. This kind of excitement was completely new to him.

As they entered the boathouse, she squeezed his hand and said: I do want you to teach me about sailing, Charlie, but first I want to teach you about something.

She kissed him on the mouth, breathed heavily in his ear, and rubbed her body against his. She maneuvered him to a place in the corner where they could lie down on some old blankets. She kissed him again and removed her clothes. She stretched out on the blankets and raised her arms to him.

Come here, Charlie.

Shafts of morning sunlight filtered through the slats in the wall and glistened on her flawless white body. She pulled him down to her and helped him remove his shirt and trousers. She held him close. She taught him things. He was lost in her.

When they were finished, she cuddled him and ran her soft fingers through his hair. You know, Charlie, we can do this every day—any time you want. But you mustn’t tell your mother. If she finds out, she’ll make me leave. If she makes me leave, they’ll take me back to Frezno. I can’t let that happen. She took a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket and lit one. Do you smoke, Charlie?

No, I don’t.

They say it’s a nasty habit. But I’ll teach you how if you want. Most people get sick the first time they try. I could help you with that, too. —Charlie, you won’t tell you mother what we did, will you? You mustn’t let your mother make me leave.

"No, I won’t. You know I won’t."

Good. This’ll be our secret. We can share lots of secrets, you and I. Would you like that?

Yes, I would.

I’ll be nice to you, Charlie. You’ll see. Will you always do what I ask?

Yes, I will.

Part 1

Counting Bodies

He’s in prison now, being punished: and the trial doesn’t even begin till next Wednesday: and of course the crime comes last of all.

Suppose he never commits the crime? said Alice.

That would be all the better, wouldn't it? the Queen said.

Alice and the Queen in Through the Looking Glass

Lewis Carroll

Chapter 1

Central Arizona

2013

Saturday, January 26th

Shortly after 11:00 a.m., a bomb exploded at the most luxurious home in Sunset Hills, Arizona. It was the home of James Donner, Vice President of Finance at Copper State University. Four people were killed, all of whom held important positions at the University. The victims were Donner himself, his comptroller, the head of information technology, and the head of human resources. The explosion set off a raging fire, which reduced the house to cinders. The bodies would be difficult to identify.

The blast could be heard two miles away in northeast Scottsdale, where a wedding party had assembled on the patio at the Las Cañadas Golf Club. The sound came rolling across the valley just as the priest said: Friends, we are gathered here today… There was a short pause while the guests looked at each other, murmured, and shrugged. The priest continued: … to witness the marriage of Jeffrey and Consuelo. Let us call upon God to be with us today as we celebrate this union of two into one….

The ceremony proceeded without further interruption.

The principals of the wedding were Jeff and Connie Fletcher (née Consuelo Spencer). Las Cañadas was several miles northeast of Scottsdale proper—so out-of-the-way that some of the guests had trouble finding it. But Jeff and Connie had chosen Las Cañadas because this was the first place they’d ever spent time alone together, and they had a strong sentimental attachment to it.

The wedding party was small: Jeff and Connie’s Scottsdale Police friends, Tony Santoro, Manny Acosta, and Avery Carter; their private detective friends, Jasper and Lori Crabb; and four others: Jeff’s friend and former business partner, Jarvis Jarrett, had come from Seattle; and Connie’s surrogate father, Eddie Rodriguez, had driven up from Sombrero Springs. Janice Taylor and Sandy Santoro were also there. Janice was an old college friend of Connie’s with whom she and Jeff often played golf. Sandy was Tony Santoro’s nineteen-year-old daughter.

Tony Santoro was Jeff’s oldest friend. They’d served together in the Marine Corps during the First Gulf War. Connie had helped Sandy through a rough spot in her life back in November, and Sandy believed that Connie was the greatest woman alive. She and Jeff were fond of Sandy as well. When they’d learned that she needed a job they’d hired her to cook for them and help Connie around the house—which she would have eagerly done for free.

As the party dispersed about three hours after the I-do’s, a few of the guests looked off to the east where a faint plume of smoke was still lingering above the ridge. They associated the smoke with the noise heard earlier and asked one another what it might have been. No one knew and no one particularly cared. But many of them would care before long, because the event in Sunset Hills would soon affect some lives in a significant way.

Saturday, February 9th – Sunday, February 10th

On February 9th, the newlyweds went on honeymoon and left Sandy in charge of the house. They drove to Palm Desert, California, where they had made reservations at the Desert Springs Resort. They planned to play a round of golf there the next day, spend a second night at Desert Springs, and then head up the California Coast on Monday.

But on Sunday morning, their schedule was interrupted by a telephone call from Manny Acosta.

Jeff Fletcher speaking.

Hello, Jeff. This is Manny. Is Connie there with you?

Yes, she’s right here.

Put this call on speaker so you can both hear what I’m about to tell you.

Jeff motioned for Connie’s attention, then put the call on speaker.

Okay. You’re on speaker.

I’m calling from your house. Something very bad has happened. Tony Santoro was killed shortly after 2:00 a.m. this morning. I’m here with Sandy. I’ve just told her.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence. Connie was the first to speak.

Can you stay with her, Manny?—with Sandy, I mean. Please don’t leave her alone. We’ll be there as soon as we can check out of here and get back on the road. Tell her that—five hours or so. Please don’t leave her alone.

I’ll stay here with her.

* * *

The drive home was somber. Connie was fidgety and churning inside. Jeff seemed thoughtful and rather stoic. As they merged onto I-10 East, she asked: "How did this happen? How could it happen?"

Manny’ll tell us more when we get home. I don’t think he wanted to talk details in front of Sandy. I find it interesting that he wanted you to hear the news directly from him this morning.

"Yes. He thinks he and I have a bond. In November, the night you were shot and he took you to the hospital—he also drove me back to Morelli’s Restaurant to pick up your Explorer. You remember. He talked a lot—a lot of personal things about himself. It turns out that he’s a half-breed, like me, but his mother’s Anglo. His Mexican half is the father. The rest of his story is similar to mine: The father abandoned his mother before he was born. His mother raised him by herself. She distrusted men, worked every job she could find, and seldom spent money on herself. She saw to it that he grew up right, did well in school, and—above all—that he got through university. He thinks that he and I have a lot in common. And we do.

And by the way, what he did for you that night—he wasn’t just acting out of his sense of duty as a policeman. He really likes you. He told me he was leery of you at first because you had money and a big house. But he changed his mind when Tony set him straight and he saw how committed you were to helping me. He has a lot of respect for you. I think he sometimes sees you as some kind of father figure. I imagine it’s hard to form a friendship with a person you see in those terms. You and he’ll come around. Just give it some time.

I do like the guy, Connie. I’m grateful for what he did for me, and I respect him. I’d like to see him become Chief of Police someday—maybe even Governor of Arizona. I’d even be willing to work on his election campaign. But you’ve got to admit: he’s a little hard to understand sometimes.

"Okay, so he’s a little up-tight. I was very up-tight when you and I met, but you got to know me… Let that fact be a beacon for you."

Her thoughts turned to Tony Santoro, and her eyes began to well with tears.

"This is devastating. I just can’t believe it. Tony was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I feel so bad. This is outrageous."

"Try not to get angry, Sweetie. We need to do what we can to get even, and getting angry won’t help."

She weaved her fingers together in her lap for a while and thought about what Jeff had said. Then she brought up a related topic. What are we going to do about Sandy? She’s had a pretty rough ride already, and now she has no parents. She’s still a teenager. We can’t just turn her loose and hope for the best.

If you mean ‘Shall we persuade her to come live with us?’, the answer is ‘Yes, of course.’ You can work out the details with her. Whatever the two of you decide will be fine with me.

She kissed the tips of her fingers and stroked his cheek in her special way. You drive for two more hours. Then we’ll trade off. She turned and gazed out the window at the roadside scenery of eastern Riverside County. It matched her mood—downbeat and dreary. As they approached Blythe, she picked up her SmartPhone and called Sandy.

Hello ….

How are you holding up, Sandy?

Okay, I guess.

I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll make you feel better, and you might not even feel like talking with anyone right now. But I want to get something on the table: Jeff and I are very fond of you. We’ve talked this over, and we want you to come and live with us—as a member of our family. We can re-do the study upstairs for you, any way you want. That’ll give you more privacy than any of the rooms downstairs. Or if you’d rather, we can even build a separate casita for you out by the pool. We just want you to be with us, and we want you to be comfortable.

I can’t ask you to give me a place to live.

Connie let out a muffled ironic laugh. "You sound like your dad... You’re not asking us. We’re asking you. Think it over—one of the guest rooms downstairs, the study, or a casita out back. We’re just crossing into Arizona now. We’ll be home in about three hours. You and I can work this out later—whenever you feel like making some decisions."

Sandy didn’t say anything. Connie concluded the conversation.

We’ll be there as soon as we can.

Shortly after 10:00 a.m., they stopped for gas at a Shell station in Tonopah and switched drivers. A little after 1:00 p.m., Connie steered their Ford Explorer through the entry gate and into the garage at home. She made a beeline for the house, put her arms around Sandy, and guided her into the guest room she’d used the night before. Jeff started a pot of coffee. He and Manny took up a position