Left for Ruin: Sarah Malone Mystery Series

By Nikki Kincaid

When disgraced ex-cop Sarah Malone joined private investigator Charlie Ekhorn three years ago, she took a vow to help those in need, no matter the cost. Now Charlie is dead and Sarah is left picking up the pieces of her shattered life. 

 

The PI business they built, while never booming, is surviving, and better yet, Sarah has a new man in her life. So when Charlie's estranged sister comes to her for help, Sarah can't help but say yes. After all, she owes everything to Charlie. 

 

But Charlie's sister holds a secret. A secret that will threaten the very thing Sarah loves most in this world.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nikki Kincaid
• Release date: Dec 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215690611

Nikki Kincaid

Nikki grew up with a love of all things crime, noir, and the darker side of life. She lives an ordinary, crime-free life with her husband in Montana. I love hearing from readers and other fans of thrilling fiction. Please visit me at NikkiKincaid.comor drop me a line on social media!

Book preview

2 THEIR VICTIM

Even in the dim light of morning, Abe Schwartz could see the bruises. The woman lay on her side, her head thrust back at a funny angle, revealing the deep purple bruising around her neck. Her eyes were open, staring at a sky she would never see again. Sky that had become a rusty orange with the breaking dawn. Sounds from the nearby freeway grew with the light as morning commuters jostled for space in their ever-growing city. It was early spring, which meant while it was still cold, the smell of green could just be detected in the air. A couple of birds twirled their songs from the trees along the river.

A funny juxtaposition to the scene before him, one Abe would never get used to.

The woman wore a dark sequined skirt and a black silken blouse, neither of which appeared significantly disturbed. One foot was bare, the toenails painted pink, the other was stuffed into a navy pump.

Where’s the other shoe? his partner Bea called over her shoulder to the responding officer. The man, Officer Joe Something (Abe was having an increasingly difficult time remembering the new officers’ names) had been first on scene. He’d given them a full report on the happenings since his arrival on scene following a frantic 9-1-1 call from an early-morning jogger, including the state of the weather, a misting rain. Abe thought he’d done a nice job of it considering, by the paleness of his boyish face, this was probably his first murder. But from the instant Abe and Bea arrived, Bea had treated the poor man like he was something scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

Officer Something’s cheeks flushed red. I—I didn’t see a shoe.

Bea sighed heavily. Where’s the forensics team? They should be here by now.

It’s five a.m., Abe reminded her. Give them a chance to get out of bed.

Bea rolled her eyes and knelt to examine the body. As Abe watched her carefully examine the waxy skin, the blue extremities, test the lividity, he couldn’t help but feel a trickle of pride. Bea had been assigned to him nearly three years ago now, and in that time, he’d seen her grow from a headstrong rookie to a confident, albeit willful, head investigator. Chief Polermo never wasted a chance to put his beautiful young detective in front of the cameras, giving her and Abe the higher profile cases, a fact not lost on the other detectives in the department. But Bea’s beauty and confidence had a way of keeping jealousies at bay. Despite her tendency to treat beat cops poorly, she ingratiated herself with the other detectives almost to the point of brown nosing.

Based on the blood pooling and the lack of rigor mortis, Bea said, I’d say she hasn’t been dead long.

Abe gently lifted the woman’s silken blouse. Her belly had the characteristic stretch and loose appearance of someone who had been pregnant. The faint outline of a linea negra was still visible down the center of the abdomen.

She’s been pregnant, Abe said, But not for some time.

With the sharp decline in fertility rates and the subsequent rise in abductions of both children and mothers, investigators had been trained to check for such signs. But at least in this case it looked like she’d not been pregnant for many years. Still, whether a natural mother or one who’d been granted H.S., the government-sponsored procedure developed to enhance—albeit slightly—the chances of getting pregnant, any kind of mother could be in danger.

Check for pockets, Bea said, jotting notes in her notebook.

Abe examined the sequined skirt. It’d been torn along one side, but there were no pockets. The blouse was thin, not nearly warm enough for the early spring weather. As the sky brightened, he glanced around the empty patch of land where she’d been dumped. An acre lot near the river, earmarked for the controversial AbilityHomes development, a new low-income housing development by an up-and-coming architect with the high ideals of youth.

Abe was reminded of the Eranda Perrine case he and Bea investigated last year. The body of Eranda’s mother had been found on a site set for concrete in-fill. But she had been buried, and only found by a stroke of luck. This woman had been dumped here like trash thrown from a window.

That had also been the case in which Sarah Malone had saved his life.

Guilt twisted his insides. After that case, he promised himself he’d stay in touch with Sarah, but job and family stress had kept him busy, and before he knew it, six months had gone by. He’d spoken to her only a few times on the phone, and each time their conversations had been short, characterized by the awkward silences of two people who really have nothing connecting them but a long ago past.

Still, Sarah was never far from his thoughts. His wife Marybeth sent her cards and fresh-baked cookies every once in a while, as a small token of appreciation for saving Abe’s life, but neither them had seen Sarah in several months.

A voice rang out behind them. We’ve got a purse!

An officer who’d been dispatched to search the surrounding area jogged toward them, holding out a black leather bag. Found it outside the eastern most of those buildings, he said, pointing over his shoulder at a row of apartments. The strap was hanging over the side of a dumpster.

Abe reached for the bag but Bea swooped in and snatched it away. Abe frowned but reminded himself that he’d given her charge of this investigation.

Bea dug through the purse and pulled out a driver’s license. The woman in the picture matched their victim.

Kelly Ogden, thirty eight.

3 OUT OF GUILT

The diner was nearly empty, one of its lights buzzed overhead, flickering like a fly trapped at a window. Even the milkshake and fries I ordered did little to soothe my irritation.

The bell over the door tinkled and a woman with short brown hair wearing an ill-fitting woolen blazer with patches on its elbows came inside. She glanced around the empty diner, spotted me, and smiled.

Sarah? She grabbed my hand with both of hers. Her grip was cool, the skin dry. As she sat, I noticed gray peeking through at the roots of her part, and partially smudged eye shadow in the creases beneath her eyes. A woman several years past her prime, desperate to keep her looks and youth. I did some quick math in my head (never an easy feat) and figured she must be nearing fifty.

She blew out a breath and slid out of her blazer. She wore a beige silken top with a small grease stain below the left breast. A golden bracelet tinkled softly on her wrist. Her fingers were unadorned.

Thank you so much for meeting— her eyes fell upon my left arm, which I kept held against my body, below the table line. I’d taken off my sweater because the diner was warm and humid. I’d meant to put it back on before she arrived but it had slipped my mind. Oh. Her cheeks flushed a fierce red. I’m sorry. An awkward giggle. I didn’t mean to stare.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they react when they see you’re missing something like an arm. Most people choose to ignore it. A few ask you about it. And others, like Gracie, make a scene.

How—I mean. May I ask how—um, were you born that way?

If you had anything to do with Charlie, you’d know, wouldn’t you? I said, anger buzzing beneath my words.

The flush of her cheeks darkened. I’m sorry, I don’t know what—

I lost this the same day he died. I wrapped my real arm over my left, hugging it into my body. But you wouldn’t know because you didn’t bother coming to his funeral.

She sat stiff-backed against the booth, her eyes wide. Then something shifted and she said, her voice going hard, You have no idea what went on between Chaz and I. Or our family.

I was more family to Charlie than any of you were.

"Working for someone for three years does not make you family."

He hated being called Chaz, I shot back.

A prickling silence descended between us. The waitress, a bubbly college student, chose that unfortunate moment to come over and take Gracie’s order.

What can I get you? she beamed.

I expected Gracie to snap at her, but to my surprise, the woman softened considerably and said, Just some coffee. Thank you.

Need some more fries? The waitress glanced at the crumbs on my plate.

When she was gone, Gracie said, I understand your concern for your friend, but you have to understand that what we—Chaz and the rest of us—went through with my dad would be enough to break any family.

But Charlie was the only one who believed your mom.

Is that what he told you?

Charlie had always maintained that the reason he had no contact with his family was because his other siblings believed their dad had run off and abandoned them, that their mother was too heartbroken to see the truth of it.

We all believed that dad would never leave us, Gracie said. "But the way Chaz did things, the way he decided to help people—that wasn’t okay with us."

She was talking about Charlie’s tactics when it came to finding people and finding the truth. Bartering quid pro quo with the less-than-savory citizens of the city, playing people off one another, skirting the boundary of the Trade, and sometimes doing more than skirt. These were the things Charlie did in the name of hope and justice.

We worried about Mom, Gracie said. We encouraged her to accept that dad left us so she could move on. Charlie only prolonged her suffering.

The waitress brought Gracie’s coffee and my second order of fries. I stared at the crispy goodness before me, and even the delightful aroma of salt and fry oil couldn’t soften the blow of what Gracie had just said. Never once had I thought about Charlie’s endless pursuit of justice as prolonging someone’s suffering, his offer of hope an impediment to moving on.

I shoved some fries into my mouth and said, So why’d you want to meet?

Gracie set her coffee down. Her fingers were long, the skin a bit saggy, the knuckles already knobbing with age. She seemed older than her fifty years. Maybe life hadn’t been the easy road you’d expect for someone with a Master’s Degree in Finance. She didn’t have children, divorced, I think, but still probably made more in a week than I made in a month.

I talked to Harley the other day and he said you were still running Chaz’s business.

I froze, fry halfway to my mouth. If she wanted some sort of claim on Charlie’s business, she was about to be sorely disappointed. Charlie had left nothing behind but his office space and a woefully inept business partner.

I just want to get to know you, Sarah. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened. She rested a hand between us on the table. You were Chaz’s friend. One of his last.

I could see shadows of Charlie in his sister’s face. In her blue eyes and the cut of her nose. I missed Charlie with an ache deeper than the ache of my phantom left arm. He was my friend, my confidant, and he’d saved my life. He pulled me from a hole so deep I feared I’d never be able to surface. And yet, in the end, I’d not been able to save him. I’d watched him die, a lonely man whose family had abandoned him for doing what he believed in.

The ice cream in my milkshake was quickly melting, the chocolate syrup congealing on the bottom of the glass. I slurped it up the straw.

No thanks, I said.

Gracie blanched. Excuse me?

Charlie’s dead, I said, shoving the last fistfuls of fries into my mouth and collecting my sweater. And I don’t have time for friendships born out of guilt. Thanks for the food.

I got up and left her staring after me as the light above buzzed and flickered, and finally, went out.

4 QUID PRO QUO

Jeffrey Ogden looked like a man who had been thrown in front of a bus, run over, and then tossed beneath its tires once again. Abe had seen a lot of grief in his life and Ogden’s was profound.

They’d broken the news to him at home, where he was helping one of his two daughters with a school project due the following week.

May we have a word? Bea had asked when Ogden answered the door. Ogden glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, at the table covered in glue and construction paper, then slipped outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

The early spring morning was still cool, but the sun was creeping higher in the sky, promising a relatively warm day. Abe noticed the bright green stalks of irises sprouting from a patch of dirt next to the door.

After depositing the girls with a neighbor (without telling them what was wrong), Ogden had followed Abe and Bea to the morgue where he ID’d the body of his wife.

A half hour later, Ogden, average height and overweight, paced the small interrogation room at the station with an almost manic energy, rubbing rubbing rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes roving the small room as if searching for some way to wake him from this nightmare.

According to Ogden, his wife had been invited to a party thrown by a prominent businessman in the community. A gala and fundraiser for the city’s poorest citizens, attended by its richest. Kelly Ogden had been invited as a guest speaker on behalf of her client, NewStar Developments.

Jeffrey Ogden ran a private printing company in a strip mall south of downtown, and said he couldn’t attend with his wife because his mother, their usual babysitter, was away and therefore couldn’t watch the girls that evening.

If we don’t talk to him soon, Bea said, He’ll claw his way through the walls. The tiny AV room smelled of coffee and ozone and the faintest hint of body odor. A bank of monitors spread across a long narrow desk showed the department’s six interrogation rooms.

I want to let him sit a little longer, Abe said.

"But look at him."

Abe watched the devastated man pace back and forth, still rubbing the same area of his neck. Something’s telling me to let him wait a little longer.

Usually, Bea listened to Abe, especially when he invoked his gut feelings, but today she appeared about on edge as Ogden himself.

I’m going, she said, pulling open the door and disappearing down the hall.

A muscle in Abe’s jaw tightened. Considering his last partner had been Sarah Malone, Bea’s increasing stubbornness was not something Abe couldn’t handle. What disturbed him was that their partnership was fracturing and he didn’t know how to stop it. They’d been partners for three years. And while Bea never spoke of a desire to marry or have children, what Abe had gone through with Sarah had forced him to erect a wall between him and his new partner. He made a promise to himself to keep their partnership strictly work-related, knowing in his heart that it would never last. Partners in this line of work had to trust and rely on one another, fully and without doubt. But every time Bea tried to get closer to Abe, inquiring about his home life, his children, or his past, she ran up against that wall and he shut down.

Up until now, it had never seemed to bother Bea. But a few months ago, that had changed.

They’d been at a local diner, waiting on lunch after tracking down a possible witness to a car theft when Bea said, I heard the Ravens are doing well this year.

Abe tensed. The Ravens was his daughter Janet’s basketball team. And they were doing well. Had just won the semi-finals, in fact, and were headed to State next weekend.

I’d love to go watch the game, Bea said. She picked at a straw wrapper. You know I went to State with the Pumas when I was in high school?

Abe hadn’t known that, but he didn’t like the direction this was going. Sure, he said, That’d be great.

But Bea was a good detective and could smell insincerity a mile away. Her ever-moving fingers stilled. You know, if you don’t want me around outside of work, you could just say it rather than lying to my face.

Abe straightened, caught off guard by the sudden anger in her voice. No, that’s not how I meant it. It’d be—

I’m not asking to be your best friend. She tossed the straw wrapper aside. But the least you could do is offer me some basic human dignity.

And that’s where they’d left it. She hadn’t asked him again about his family, and he hadn’t brought it up.

Abe felt a rumble of acid in his stomach and followed his partner down the hall to the interrogation room. He knew he ought to talk to her about it. Tell her why it was so hard for him to open up. But he knew as soon as he brought up Sarah’s name, Bea would roll her eyes and stop listening. His partner had no love for the disgraced ex-detective.

Sarah. It always came back to Sarah, didn’t it? Why couldn’t he just let her go?

Interrogation Room A smelled of stale coffee and fear. Ogden stopped pacing as they came inside.

Do you need more coffee, Mr. Ogden? Bea asked. Another crescent roll?

Ogden shook his head sharply. He hadn’t touched his coffee or the roll they’d provided after the morgue visit. Abe couldn’t blame him.

Have a seat, Abe said. Usually, he and Bea would discuss their strategy before talking to a suspect, but this time they hadn’t. Apparently today he was going to be the bad cop.

What’s going on? Ogden asked, refusing to sit. Why am I here? I told you I don’t know who could’ve hurt Kelly.

We’d like to know a little more about her, Bea said. She was a mother?

Ogden paled slightly. Yes.

A natural breeder?

Unbelievably, yes.

Marybeth was a natural breeder too. Four times. An almost unheard of rate in this day and age. Abe remembered the utmost joy and terror at the announcement of each pregnancy. Almost as though it had been a dream. A wonderful, terrifying dream. Especially with Jordan coming so soon after Jane.

I have to ask, Bea started, hesitantly, Did anyone approach you about surrogacy?

Ogden looked momentarily perplexed. No, no. He shook his head. What does that have to do with anything? Nadine is almost nine, if someone wanted to—to use Kelly for her breeding ability…wouldn’t they have done so years ago?

So you’ve not been able to get pregnant since? Abe asked. He dropped his voice an octave,

Ogden began on the back of his neck again. The spot he’d been rubbing was a stark shade of red. No.

Abe and Bea shared a glance. They could probably scratch out fertility-related crimes. Mothers were most vulnerable in their late teens and early twenties. Kelly was nearly thirty nine. Even if she was a natural breeder, it was doubtful someone would go to the trouble of kidnapping her.

With fertility rates so low, kidnappings of women and children happened more often than Abe cared to think about. Often, the women would never be seen again, sold into the Trade where they’d become forced breeders, plied with vex until their bodies gave out on them, or forced to give birth to child after child until they could no longer produce. Then they’d be dumped somewhere, a withered husk who’d outlived its usefulness.

But Kelly had been alive until at least two a.m. last night.

Tell me about the party Kelly attended, Abe said.

It was a benefit for the food bank. Their biggest fundraiser of the year. Good Life was one of its biggest promoters.

Tell me about Good Life, Bea said, pulling out her notebook.

At last, Ogden sat with a heavy sigh. He poked at the crescent roll. The skin of his unshaven cheeks looked sallow. She took over as its Senior Program Officer about two years ago. Before that she worked as an executive assistant for KLM Group so she knew a lot of the developers around town. They all liked her, which is what made her an ideal candidate for the PO job.

You mean she could get them to include affordable housing in their developments? Bea asked.

Sometimes, yeah.

And the times she couldn’t? Abe asked. What then?

Ogden looked at him blankly. What do you mean?

Did she walk away? Did she keep on them?

She walked away, yeah. He glanced at Bea. What does this have to do with who…who did that to her?

Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm your wife? Abe pressed.

No one, Ogden said. She was an angel. His voice choked. She helped people get homes. People who would otherwise have no place to go.

But the developers, Abe continued, They didn’t like her pushing the regulations on them, did they? Threatening legal action if they didn’t comply with city code—

Yeah, Ogden said, then quickly, "No—no, I mean, yeah, they didn’t always like what Kelly stood for