by R. J. Noonan
“You were right,” he said casually. “Heather Erickson said she’ll talk to a woman.”
“Look at that. I have a gender advantage on the force.”
“Probably won’t be the last time,” he said. “But that’s not PC for me to say.”
I gave a little smile. At least he was honest. “I can head over there now.”
“No need. I got Heather and her parents coming in for an interview.”
“No way.”
“Coming right in. Heather was reluctant, but that’s one of the down sides of living in your parents’ basement. When they found out why I was there, they insisted she do the right thing. The parents are all religious. They’re like, ‘Lying is a sin, Daughter.’ So I think Heather’s going to be pretty square if you can get her to talk.”
“That’s great.” I was impressed.
Frazier nodded. “That’s them.” He waved to two blonde women and a bald man and ushered them into the interview room. I went over to them and introduced myself. The Ericksons seemed stern, while their daughter dabbed at her eyes with a wad of tissues, still crying.
I patted Heather’s arm and led the way to the interview room, grabbing a fresh box of tissues for the table.
“We want to come in, too,” the mother said. I told them they would have their chance after I spoke with Heather.
The girl was as wobbly as Jell-O. She jumped a bit when I closed the door behind me. She was a big girl squeezed into tight jeans and a blouse that gaped at her bra line. With gold hair down to her waist and smooth, pale skin, she could have been Andy’s sister.
“You poor thing,” I said. “I know this is hard, but I just have a few questions for you and then you can go.”
“I know but . . . I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“You don’t have anything to be nervous about if you tell the truth.”
“I know, but . . .” That brought a fresh wave of tears. “I don’t want to get Andy in trouble.”
I decided to back off a bit. “Did you know Kyra Miller? From the Jameson ranch.”
“I may have met her once or twice. I never paid much attention to the ranch workers. Andy says they’re a royal pain. They’re the reason he comes to my house. Andy doesn’t like me at the ranch. It makes him nervous.”
“Really? When your boyfriend has his own house in the country—a place that rivals any luxury rental cabin in the northwest? It seems like the perfect getaway for a young couple like you two.”
“I was there a few times. I got to meet the author and his wife and all. But Andy says it’s not safe for a girl like me with those hobos wandering around in the woods.”
The word hobo was comical, and I had to bite my lower lip to keep from smiling.
“So instead, Andy comes and hangs out in your parents’ basement,” I said.
“It’s my room, and Andy likes it. He says it feels like home. We’ll get our own place when I finish school, but for now, he hangs out at my house.”
“Does he stay overnight?” I asked.
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Sometimes. He’ll stay a few days, but my parents don’t know. He comes in and out the basement door.” She glanced toward the door to the squad room. “You don’t have to tell them, do you?”
“I don’t have to tell them. You’re twenty-three years old.”
And still afraid of your parents, I thought. I got that. Heather and I were in the same boat, except that she was getting steady sex in the basement, and I was still barely pursuing my high school crush.
Now that Heather was more relaxed, I pushed a little more. “Did you see Andy last night?”
“Yes. He was with me.” She looked down at the table and started picking the cuticle of one thumb. “He got there around six and stayed overnight.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Early this morning, around six thirty. He likes to get back early to shower in the cottage. Less evidence for my mom to find at my place.”
“And you’re sure he got there around six?”
She shrugged, looking toward the side wall. “I guess.”
“What were you doing when he got there? Maybe watching TV? That might help us pinpoint the time.”
Her face flushed pink and her eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t know,” she sobbed.
“Think about it, because this part is very important.” I stayed calm, knowing the tears meant something. “Take your time.”
“I don’t know. I . . .”
I waited, the clock on the wall ticking off the seconds.
Heather sobbed again. “I don’t remember, okay?”
It was not okay.
“So,” I started, “there are two men standing on a hill when a cloud moves and the sun shines down on them. One man sees his shadow and shrieks in fear, thinking that all the bad choices he made in the past are catching up with him. He runs and runs, but he can’t get away from his shadow.”
Heather blotted her eyes and squinted at me. She was skeptical, but I had her attention.
“The other man sees his shadow and smiles in delight. He thinks his shadow is an angel who has collected all the good things he has done in his life. He jumps for joy, and the shadow jumps with him. He jumps so high, he quickly reaches the top of the hill.”
She sniffed. “Is that some Chinese proverb?”
“I’m Japanese, and it’s just a story my father used to tell me. But sometimes, when I have choices to make, I ask myself, will I smile back at my shadow? Or will this choice send me running down the hill?”
Heather straightened and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t home when he got there, okay? But after I got home, he was there with me all night long. And I know he didn’t hurt that girl. He wouldn’t.”
“What time did you get home, Heather?”
“Around eight fifteen or eight twenty, I guess. I was at school—a chem class. I’m going for my med tech certification at the CC. Class ends at eight.”
“And Andy was there when you got home?”
“Asleep on the couch. He does that all the time, comes over after work. He says he got to my place around six, let himself in. He’s got a key. He fell asleep watching the news, and the next thing he knew, I was walking in the door.”
“So you don’t really know what time Andy arrived there.”
She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a fresh tissue.
“Why did you lie to us?”
“When Andy called, he was so upset. I promised him I’d fudge the time for him. I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
Right now that was beyond her control. “Do you know if your parents saw him come in?”
She shrugged. “Probably not. There’s a separate entrance to the basement around the side of the house.”
After I’d finished talking with Heather, her parents wanted to be heard, too. Like two puffed-up birds, they sat, stern-faced, while Frazier and I went over the timeline from last evening with them. Heather was correct: they hadn’t heard or seen Andy at all.
“Have you ever had any issues with Andy while he was dating your daughter?” I asked.
“We’ve trusted Andy Greenleaf,” Liam Erickson said, his bold brows high on his forehead. “We have enjoyed his company and shared our home with him. Now we’re apprised of his previous difficulties with the law, for which he’s begged forgiveness. But if he’s going down the wrong road, our faith will not allow us to keep company with him.”
Frazier held up one hand, interrupting the lecture. “Just what are you saying, sir?”
“I’m on the church council, and my wife sings in the choir. We’re steady, law-abiding citizens.” The bald man’s face was set in a stoic expression. “We will not have our daughter dating a criminal.”
“Dad, he didn’t do anything wrong,” Heather insisted. “Didn’t you hear the detective? They’re collecting evidence to clear him. It’s a routine investigation.”
“Is that true?” Liam asked.
“As of
this moment, we have no charges against Andy Greenleaf,” Frazier said.
I leaned back in my chair and glanced down under the table to see Frazier’s left hand on his thigh. He was crossing his fingers.
* * *
With the cell pressed to his ear, Charlie Omak paced behind the closed door of his office, hating the airless, confined space. If he thought about it too much, he could feel his throat closing up, the light in his head exploding to superwhite as the IED rocked the armored vehicle, sucking the air out, sucking the life from the other soldiers. White to black, light to darkness.
You got lucky, everyone told him. Yeah. So lucky.
The others had gone home in body bags, but he had walked away with a scar, thirteen more months of deployment in Iraq, and an expanded vocabulary of terms. Improvised explosive device. Green Zone. Route Irish. Posttraumatic stress. Traumatic brain injury.
You got lucky.
Years of therapy had helped him see that it was true. He was lucky to be alive, lucky to have a good life, a woman who loved him, a family, a job.
But still . . . the closed spaces could bring him back to that dusty road, the heat and grit and pain that could snap him back in an instant. The noise and smell, the alarm and fury. He had no choice but to breathe slowly, sweat it out, and keep pacing.
“Are you there?” asked the mayor.
“Yes, Ron. Sorry. My mind’s scattered in a few different directions.”
“Understandable. I know the situation up on the Jameson ranch is cracking open even as we speak.”
“Yes, it is.” Omak would rather have met with the mayor—a face-to-face was always better—but this investigation had to be kept confidential; Omak couldn’t simply stroll into the mayor’s office on Liberty Square, and it would cause a stir if the mayor walked into the precinct, let alone took a closed-door meeting in Omak’s office. No, one-on-one was possible only during late hours, through back doors, in vacant parking lots. Hence the closed door, the stuffy office, the pacing.
“Do you have an update for me on the Jameson crash?” Ron asked.
“You know the driver was identified as a runaway girl, fifteen. We’re checking on a possible suspect. I’ll have more on that soon. Right now, I need to know how much latitude I have with the Op-C investigation.” The internal investigation—called Op-C for Operation: Corruption—had been Mayor Ron Redmond’s brainchild, a way to sluice out bad cops from the inside. The secret nature of the operation appealed to the mayor because he wouldn’t have to share details of police corruption with the media until the culprits were satisfactorily rooted out. It appealed to Omar because he saw it as his chance to delve into the mystery of his sister’s death while on duty. “How far do you want this investigation to go?”
“Not sure I like the sound of that question,” Redmond said. “Sounds like the wound is deep.”
“Seems like.”
The shorthand between them was more a matter of trust than camaraderie. Both men were former military, and though Omak didn’t know Ron Redmond well, he’d served in Iraq with Redmond’s son, Jacob.
“Are we talking highest level?” Redmond asked.
“Could be. I don’t have time to go into detail, but it appears that Cribben is aware of at least some of this. Lazy cops. Cops on the take. Cops turning against each other. Cops who set up the whistleblower.”
“And the chief of police. Are you telling me it goes that high?”
“It’s pointing in that direction. We’ve got cops with special assignments to cover the Jamesons’ neighborhood and squash complaints against them. The same cops always get assigned to respond when a resident dies alone.” Omak had seen that bit of thievery back in Seattle; while waiting for the coroner, the cops stave off the family and pilfer the home, stealing any cash under the mattress or untraceable coins in the closet. “When I talked to the dispatcher, she said she has a standing order from the chief to put Brown and his partner on those cases.”
Redmond let out a low growl, like an awakening bear, and Omak imagined his gray eyes, steely and magnified behind his glasses. He had the look of fruit drying on the vine, but there was spunk and gristle in that wiry old man. An inveterate runner, Redmond always placed when he ran half-marathons in the area. Yeah, he was a local treasure. Omak knew he wouldn’t be serving on the Sunrise Lake Police Department if Redmond hadn’t invited him to come investigate and, in the process, given him the opportunity to find out the truth behind his sister’s death three years ago.
The official story was that Officer Franny Omak Landon had been shot and killed walking into the scene of a bank robbery. The notorious Twilight Bandit had been hitting locations around town, and Omak understood his sister’s eagerness to stop the thief. Some said she was overzealous and careless. Others pointed out that the dispatcher had told her backup was on the scene, when in fact, two other units were a block away. Other discrepancies in the case had suggested that Franny had been set up by her fellow cops sworn to protect and serve.
When all this was coming to light during the preliminary investigation, the cover-up began. The dispatchers’ recordings went missing. Officers’ personal logbooks were reportedly stolen from their lockers. The roll call from that shift was still intact; there was a record of every cop on duty. But all records of the squad cars’ assignments and locations had vanished. The weasels had covered their tracks.
His sister had been hung out to dry, and the dirty cops thought they were free and clear. But Omak would never forget. He’d been trying to get information about his sister’s death and stewing over the suspicious details when Ron Redmond had reached out to him. Redmond sensed corruption in Sunrise Lake’s police department, but the guilty had eluded detection, and the cover-up was fueled by camaraderie that ran deep in the department.
“Why don’t you come on board here,” the mayor had suggested. “Work in the department. Try to shake the vermin loose from the inside?”
Omak couldn’t say no. He’d moved his family to Sunrise Lake and dug in for the long haul. He was determined to find the cops who’d abandoned his sister, determined to make them pay.
“These cops on special assignment,” Redmond said, jarring Omak back to the present. “Are these the same players you’ve been watching? These cops were on the job with Franny?”
“The same crew. Five- and six-year veterans. But culpability is pointing to administrators now.”
Redmond gave a low groan. “It’s going to get ugly, but we can’t put blinders on. When you’ve got a cancer, you have to cut the diseased tissue out. All of it. Only a half-assed surgeon would leave a few tumors behind.”
“Okay, then.” Omak opened his office door, grateful for the curl of fresh air. “I’ll go where the trail leads.”
“That’s right,” the mayor said. “Take it all the way to the top.”
15
As we headed along the wooded road to the Jameson ranch, I felt myself sagging in the seat. Double shifts made for a long day, and the lulls between adrenaline rushes made me crave coffee. What I wouldn’t give for a shot of espresso with a lemon peel! I contented myself knowing I could have one tonight, after our family dinner at the restaurant. I needed to take a few hours off at the end of the tour, but Omak didn’t mind as long as I was caught up.
I slowed and Omak lowered his window as we pulled up to a cameraman and reporter who stood poised under a giant umbrella. “How you holding up?” he asked.
“It’s been a long day, but we’re happy to talk to you, Lieutenant.” The reporter smiled, greasing the pan. He was a middle-aged Asian man with a gorgeous smile. How did he get his teeth so white? “Do you have a minute for an on-camera interview?”
“Sorry. We need to roll.”
The reporter gripped the windowsill, unwilling to let go. “Do you have an identity of the driver of Kent Jameson’s car?”
“No comment,” Omak said, “but check with the police information officer. I think we’ve got a press conference coming up this evening.�
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The reporter thanked him and backed away as I drove the Jeep off. I was about to execute my first search warrant, and I wanted to get going. Since the Ericksons had left the precinct, I had done a little more digging on Andy. First, I’d finally managed to locate his former girlfriend Ginnie Walters, who now went by Ginnie Walters Blue on Facebook. When I sent her a message to call me, she had gotten back to me within half an hour, driven by curiosity, I think. She had spoken fondly of Andy, though she had come to believe that their relationship was a mistake. Now married to Tyler Blue, with two kids and living in Utah, she had more questions than answers for me. How was Andy doing? Was he married? Had he stayed in the area? Any kids?
I answered what I could and told her I was interested in her version of what had happened seven years ago. “Andy remembers you fondly,” I said.
“Aw. I still feel bad about that. Andy was a good guy. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, but my parents, they were trying to protect me. I understand that now, but Andy was the one who got hurt from it.”
Her statement made Andy seem like less of a creep, although he had still broken the law.
Another theory had cropped up when I discussed Heather with Frazier. “She was so overwrought. What if there’s more behind this than lying about an alibi?”
“Like what?” he asked. “You think she’s trying to cover something up?”
“Well, if Andy really is the A mentioned in Kyra’s journals, if he was having an affair with Kyra, Heather would have been upset to find out about it. What if she didn’t go to chemistry class? What if she found out about Kyra or accidentally walked in on her with Andy?”
Frazier held up his hands. “Now you’re thinking like a detective.”
Figuring that it was worth checking out, we decided the easiest way to check the theory was to see if Heather had attended a class that night. On the community college website, there was a chemistry class scheduled Mondays from six to eight PM, but when I called the school to confirm Heather’s attendance, the dean told us that they could not release that information without Heather’s permission or a warrant.