What Happened to Those Characters? Daddy’s Girl (Jayashree Sandoval)
[This is the fourth installment in a series of short stories titled “What Happened to Those Characters?”. Each one revisits a character or characters from one of my novels and takes a peek at what happened later. This one is about Jay Sandoval, the ezine investigative reporter in Full Medical, the first book in my “Clones and Mutants Trilogy.” Enjoy.]
Daddy’s Girl
Steven M. Moore
Copyright 2014
Jay Sandoval often reminisced while she ran. Her life with Boston cop Chris Tanner had turned out better than she hoped. Chris was still only a detective, albeit a successful one, but he had turned down two promotions, not wanting to be chained to a desk. They had their little house in Medford, bordering on the Fells, her usual choice as a jogging spot. Their two adopted kids were doing well in school and the oldest would enter kinder in the fall.
All the turmoil associated with the cloned children had subsided as far as she knew. Their good friend, Kalidas Metropolis, was busy at the Center taking care of them; they’d soon be released into the government’s witness protection program. The cover-up, engineered by the government, would be complete.
Jay’s career as a reporter was on hold; she had left the ezine to raise their kids. Between birthday parties, after-school sports, and clubs, she was busy. But I’m bored!
She didn’t want to return to those dangerous times. Her contact with their friends from then reduced to emails and Christmas cards for the most part, although she liked to talk to Metropolis on the phone. Maybe adrenalin surges are habit forming? I need more excitement.
She often ran with her eyes on the ground. In the Fells, roots and weed clumps often invaded the trails. She had broken an ankle skiing and didn’t want to repeat that experience. Because of that, she didn’t see the body until she almost tripped on it.
Well, I guess if I were dumping a body here, I wouldn’t do it in the middle of a trail! Hands on hips, she caught her breath, took off her sweatband, and used it to wipe her face. There were marshlands, expanses of tall grass, and many small copses of trees spread across the Fells, considered one of Boston’s lungs. They would all make better places to dump a body.
She walked around to cool off, but then returned to the body and knelt down. Why am I so calm? The victim, a woman, was dressed in a slinky, black nightclub gown, complete with sequins and a Hollywood slash up one leg to show thigh. Rings were on a few fingers, and a long, gold necklace that plunged into her cleavage looked like it had just been taken out of the jewelry chest. Or, bank vault?
Cause of death was obvious. Probably any of the three gaping wounds, two in the stomach and one just below the left breast, would kill anyone with time, although the one to the heart was probably an instantaneous deathblow. Blood had coagulated and dried around the wounds—not much. Jay imagined the chest cavity was filled with old blood.
The victim was young, maybe twenty- to thirty-years-old. Jay found her cell phone, dialed, and smiled when Chris’ face appeared.
***
“The kids?”
Chris Tanner was kneeling by the body. “I left them with Mrs. Feinmann, who surely will make them behave with a plate of cookies. ME and forensics will be here soon.”
Jay felt uncomfortable in the Tyvek booties and latex gloves. They didn’t exactly go with the running clothes. Chris was in bermudas, T-shirt, and boat shoes he used for work around the house. The shoes were set off to the side; his booties were on bare feet.
He had snapped several pictures; they were waiting for the police computer to make an ID. “I don’t recognize this woman, but I never read the society sections of Boston Globe online. Any ideas?”
“Only that it wasn’t a mugging. A mugger would be after the bling. This is something else.”
“Agreed. When the ME and CSU arrive, we should go home and clean up. I’ll be able to do more at the Precinct.”
“Agreed,” she said, mimicking his voice. “Isn’t this exciting?”
He stared at her. “Unusual, I’d say. How many times have you run here without coming across a body? But why exciting?”
“I was just thinking back to the times with Kalidas Metropolis and the rest of the gang. They were dangerous but exciting times.”
“Well, forget about it. You’re a mom now.” He looked back toward the houses on the horizon. “Speaking of which, I hope our people hurry, ‘cause I’m not sure Mrs. Feinmann will have enough cookies, and they’ll give the hellions a sugar high.”
***
After Chris left for the Precinct, Jay called Mrs. Murphy, another neighbor who looked after their kids more than Mrs. Feinmann. Mrs. Murphy was taking her own grandson to the zoo and, yes, she’d love to take Jay’s kids too. Jay waved as the old electric SUV pulled away with two rows of filled carseats. They’ll be home before Chris even knows, she thought. She went back inside and sat down at the computer.
“I’m working on a story,” she typed. She waited, went and poured coffee, fought the urge to eat a snack, and returned. Still no reply. Ben Ito, now managing editor of Crime Fighters Ezine, was probably not in the office. She was about to log off from her ezine account, which she had kept unbeknownst to Chris, when Ben replied.
“Good Lord, is that you? How’s tricks, Mrs. Tanner?”
“Stow the crap and listen up.” She quickly described the body and where she found it. “I want this story.”
“There’s some clutter about it on the scramblers, but it’s just breaking. I’ll put out a bulletin with your by-line. Welcome back, I think. Does Chris know about this?”
“He’s working on the cop end of things. I can sleuth around where he can’t.”
“What about the kids?”
“At the zoo with the baby sitter for the day. You see, I recognized the woman.”
“And you didn’t tell the police aka your husband?”
“They and he’ll find out soon enough. I’ll have my story by then.”
“And can you tell me who she is?”
“Not on your life. It’s my story. Bye now.”
Jay smiled. She knew it was only a temporary fix, but she could feel the adrenalin flowing. She backed Chris’ little hydrogen roadster out of the garage and tore down the street, leaving rubber on the pavement.
***
“Mr. Cavanaugh, please,” Jay said to the aide. She flashed her ezine reporter’s ID. “Jay Sandoval, from Crime Fighters Ezine.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh doesn’t have time for the paparazzi,” said the aide.
“Tell him I found his dead daughter,” she said.
The aide’s jaw dropped. “Just a minute.” Her patience wore thin with the wait, but he returned. “Come this way.” He showed her into a large study that looked like something from 19th century England. Wood bookcases and old books weren’t unusual among Boston’s old, wealthy families. She wondered if it was all for show. Who reads leather-bound books anymore? Who even reads paper books anymore?
But Cavanaugh is Irish mob.
A white-haired man dressed in guayabera, jeans, and sandals was sitting at a modern desk that was bigger than most dining tables. All the drawers were on one side, and wooden filing cabinets stood behind him like they were silent bodyguards. Fungus in the toenails. It was a common affliction among people who couldn’t afford full medical. Maybe Cavanaugh just doesn’t care. He certainly has the money for the best treatment possible.
He motioned for her to sit down.
“Miss Sandoval is it?” She didn’t correct him. It was better to keep Chris out of this. “There must be some mistake. My daughter’s at Wellesley as we speak.”
“Call her then,” Jay said.
Cavanaugh shrugged and dialed, spoke curtly, and handed the phone to Jay, who maintained a straight face even though she was surprised. The face belonging to the dead body filled the phone’s tiny screen, only this body was alive.
“What’s this all about? I have a class in five minutes!”
“Maybe an error,” said Jay. She handed the phone back to Cavanaugh. He said a few words that sounded fatherly and hung up. “She doesn’t have a twin sister, does she?”
Cavanaugh’s laugh was booming—and slightly insulting. “You people are all alike. Maybe this dead woman looked like my daughter a bit, but you people will jump to any conclusion to file a story.”
“I saw your daughter in an internet video. She was wearing exactly that dress and bling and was having a great time at a Boston night club.”
“There are as many Irish in the Boston, Miss Sandoval, and there are certain ethnic similarities. Many people don’t look as distinctive as you do.”
“That sounds a bit racist,” she said.
“Take it as you wish, but people have doppelgangers. Leave this to the police. Let them do their job. Aren’t you married to a cop, by the way?”
After leaving the mansion, Jay sat in her car and thought. One, Cavanaugh or his aide researched me even before I went into the study—very fast work! She smiled. The internet made such things too easy. Second, by his body language, especially in the eyes, Jay knew the old man was hiding something.
She dialed Chris’ Precinct.
***
“I can see where you are, you know,” said her husband. “Where are the kids?” She explained. “Well, Cavanaugh’s estate isn’t exactly a safe place to be, you know.”
“He wouldn’t do anything in broad daylight. Besides, Ben knows I’m here.”
Chris groaned. Secretly, he was happy his wife was back on the beat. She had seemed bored and out of sorts lately.
“Have they ID’d the body?”
“No, but blood type and DNA don’t match Cavanaugh’s daughter, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Impossible. I know it’s her. You should ask for a blood sample from the woman at Wellesley I talked to.”
“Considering the resemblance, I can probably do that. Would it make you happier? You don’t have a story, Jay.”
“OK, so who’s the woman? She’s all over the internet in videos taking at Boston night spots.”
“We’re working on that,” said Chris. “We’re doing our jobs, Jay. Be home for the kids when they get back.” He hung up.
***
Jay frowned. Did he think that pursuing the story was too dangerous? Or, did he think I’ve lost my touch and should stick to being a mother?
She looked at her watch. She had one more stop to make. At this time of day, the return trip to Boston and on to downtown didn’t take long. She went to the door and knocked on the plate glass in spite of the closed sign. A striking older woman with a tad too much makeup opened the door.
“I need to speak with someone who was here last night,” said Jay, flashing the Crime Fighters ID.
“That’d be me. What do you want?”
“I just want to ask a few questions.”
The woman shrugged and stepped aside. Jay followed her back to the bar.
“We open at six,” said the bartender, continuing her task of hanging long-stem wine glasses into racks above the bar, “but I was here last night, like I said. Am I going to be on Crime Fighters?”
Jay smiled at the woman. Andy Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame had never touched her. She had agreed with Pierce Hamilton, National Security Adviser to President Fulton, that the scandal about the clone children should never be made public. But people still wanted those fifteen minutes.
“Sure. I’ll come back with a videocam tech maybe.” She snapped several pictures with her phone. “But stills work too.” She paged to a previous set of photos. “Know this woman?”
“Sure. That’s Sheila Cavanaugh. She’s a regular. We get a few Wellesley coeds here all the time. Maybe looking for Harvard studs, even though Wellesley now has male students? We’re an upscale club. Drinking, dancing, and flirting among the beautiful people of our fair city.”
“What hour did she leave last night?”
“Her bodyguard hefted her over his shoulder to take her home. She had finally passed out. She was right here at the bar several times, throwing down Irish whiskey like it was going out of style. She was screaming a lot of nonsense.”
“Like what?”
“One thing she said a lot was that Daddy’s going to burn in hell for this. I feel for the old man. He’s received a bum wrap from the media, not to mention the authorities. She’s been uncontrollable for years.”
Once on the street, Jay began to curse. The meter had expired. She had a ticket.
***
She sat in the car, thinking about what the bartender had said, when her phone rang.
“You might be on to something,” said Chris. “The blood and DNA records in the FBI database were hacked. The records of very two-bit Boston were changed, including Cavanaugh’s and his entire family. Somebody paid a lot of money to have some serious hacking done.”
“How is that possible?” she asked.
“Not my expertise. Who am I, Mr. Snowden?”
“Who’s that?” Chris had a habit of bringing up law enforcement trivia. It would never be a subject on a newsnet game show, but is was always honest trivia when she bothered to check it out. “Never mind. So, do you agree with me that the body was really Sheila Cavanaugh?”
“Didn’t say that. I’m saying the police have an interesting case to pursue that Mrs. Tanner should stay out of. Like I said, Mr. Cavanaugh’s not a nice man.”
“It won’t do any good to obtain blood or DNA samples from the Wellesley woman, you know.”
“What do you suggest? I’m at a loss.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you back.”
What the hell’s going on? She turned when there was a tapping sound on her side window. She stared into the barrel of a gun. The left hand of the person indicated she was to roll down the window. It was Cavanaugh’s aide.
***
She was blindfolded and taken to a place with echoes. An empty building? She heard a heavy door slide open. Maybe a garage or warehouse?
“Kill the blindfold and gag.” She recognized Cavanaugh’s voice even before her eyes could adjust to the bright light. Sheila Cavanaugh was standing behind him. “I need to know how much the police know.”
She rolled her tongue between teeth and lips to produce some saliva. The gag had left her mouth dry. “I’m sure they’ll want to question the woman standing behind you. She’s not Sheila.”
He laughed. “Oh, but she is. In my line of business, I make strange friends. One friend, for a fee, provides spare body parts. I’m on my second liver and third kidney. And please, no jokes about drunken Irishmen.”
Jay gasped. “She’s a clone!”
He nodded. “Another service my friend provided.” Jay could tell Cavanaugh was almost bragging now. “Why make money if you can’t spend it, right?” He took out a Glock and used the barrel to caress Jay’s cheek. “Now, little snoop, how much do the police know?”
“I’m just a reporter. How could I know?”
“Because you’re a reporter, a damn good one in your day. And your husband is a cop, a damn good one then and now. You just couldn’t leave this alone, right? You were looking for scandal, right?”
“I just wanted to know why Sheila Cavanaugh was dead. The story’s always in the why. But now I know why. You committed some crime that even shocked your own daughter. With her partying, it was too much a risk, right? Now the story will be about what kind of crime shocks a woman who’s a mobster’s daughter.”
He clubbed her with the barrel of the gun, opening a gash over her right eyebrow. “The stupid bitch has been out of control for a long time, but this was the last straw.” He nodded to the clone. “She’s more docile, brainwashed or something to do exactly what I want her to do. My friend is a real clever guy, you see.”
He handed the clone the gun. “Shoot her. The police know nothing. We’ll toss the body into the harbor with a few concrete blocks attached.”
Jay grimaced as the clone pointed the gun at her. Now it’s an overdose on adrenalin! But then the aim swung in a different direction. The clone shot Cavanaugh and his aide.
“Mr. Cavanaugh’s friend thought Mr. Cavanaugh’s usefulness was over.” She put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger one more time.
***
“I don’t get it,” said Chris as he massaged Jay’s feet. It was two days later. They had just tucked the kids in. “What was the agenda?”
“Did you find out what Cavanaugh did that shocked his daughter so much?”
“Yeah, thanks to ICE. It’s a theory, anyway. Cavanaugh was branching out into human trafficking.”
Jay nodded. “Sheila apparently reached her limit with all the other stuff. Apparently, the new business appalled her. At least her death wasn’t completely senseless. Will this crush the new line of business?”
“I’m more worryied about Cavanaugh’s friend. He’s still active, probably with an assumed name.”
Jay nodded, knowing who he was talking about. “I’m going to have to warn Kalidas Metropolis and the others.”
“Are you putting any of that into your story?” said Chris.
“Not the last. We’re under a gag order, remember?”
