by Tracy Weber
I didn’t argue with the detective, but I didn’t agree with her either. Light sentence or not, a conviction for a violent felony would ruin Rainbow’s life. I thanked Martinez for her time, hung up the phone, and spoke to my canine companion. “Well, Bella, that settles it. I’m moving on to plan B.”
twenty-two
Martinez was a good cop—a great one, maybe. But like Dad—like Sherlock Holmes, for that matter—she was programmed to follow logic. Elementary, my dear Watson, and all of that. Good in theory, but in my experience, logic rarely led to the answer.
Like Bella, I trusted my gut. And my gut insisted that Rainbow was innocent. I’d come up with lots of ideas about who’d killed Gabriel, but as both Dale and Martinez had noted, they were built on flimsy assumptions. If I was going to prove Rainbow’s innocence, I needed to create a solid foundation.
I resolved to contact Sam that night and beg him to connect me with Cherie and Vonnie so I could explore my jilted lover theories, but until then, it was time for Jace and me to have a pointed discussion about his vocation. With a little patience and luck, Echo would lead me straight to him. All I had to do was hang out near her campsite, watch, and wait.
Michael’s stern voice reverberated inside my head. Don’t you dare stake out Woodland Park on your own.
Imaginary Michael was right, which is why I was planning once again to take Real Michael with me. As plans went, it was a great one. Or so I thought.
When I dropped by the pet store, Tiffany informed me that Michael was on a supplier visit for the rest of the day. I considered asking Tiffany to come with me instead, but the Baby Now Loading … T-shirt she wore nixed that idea. I didn’t think staking out Echo would put Tiffany in any danger, but I wasn’t willing to risk her unborn child. Besides, Michael was relying on her to staff the pet store in his absence.
No problem. Rene, my other partner in crime fighting, was always up for an adventure. A hand-written sign on Infant Gratification’s door nixed that idea, too. Closed due to toddler virus. Back when the twins stop coughing.
I considered asking Rene to bundle up the twins and join me anyway, but a stakeout with colicky sixteen-month-olds seemed counterproductive. Ditto driving home to grab Bella. Stealthiness wasn’t exactly her strong suit.
Sorry, Michael, I tried.
I altered my plans and headed for the Honda alone, mentally rehearsing the excuses I’d give Michael. My solo adventure was in no way irresponsible. I wasn’t planning to interrogate Echo, simply follow her. Following wasn’t dangerous, right? And if she led me to Jace like I hoped she would, well …
I’d deal with that problem when the time came.
I pulled a knit cap and sunglasses out of the trunk, drove to Woodland Park’s northernmost parking area, and stopped where I could easily see Aurora Avenue North. If Echo walked from her campsite to meet Jace on Aurora, I’d see her.
The question was, would she see me? I doubted it, especially if I scrunched down low enough in the driver’s seat. When Echo, Michael, and I had driven to Woodland Park the day we found Rainbow, we’d been in Michael’s SUV. There was a small chance Echo would remember my Honda from Gabriel’s memorial, but I doubted it. She’d been too focused on getting her next high to notice a beater automobile in a public parking lot.
I slumped down until my scalp was barely visible over the dash, peered out through the steering wheel, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Ninety minutes later, I’d seen three joggers, five dog walkers, four squirrels, and a half-dozen or so transients from the park’s homeless encampments. No sign of Echo.
Way to waste an afternoon, Girl Detective.
An hour after that, I was ready to call uncle. My stakeout had been an obvious waste of time.
I sat up, turned the key halfway in the ignition, and caught a glimpse of bright pink.
Echo’s jacket. Moving toward Aurora. Alone.
Nervous anticipation bubbled beneath my sternum. Showtime. I grabbed my knit cap off the passenger’s seat, tucked my hair underneath it, and slid on the sunglasses.
When Echo was almost out of sight, I tossed my keys into my jacket pocket, left the Honda behind, and followed her. She crossed northern Woodland Park’s wide grassy expanse and meandered between the evergreen trees and the low fence bordering Aurora. I stayed on the park’s inner path, trying to look inconspicuous while still keeping her in my peripheral vision. When the fence melted into the sidewalk along Aurora, I turned a sharp left and followed a block’s distance behind her. We continued this way for three quarters of a mile, past dive bars, cheap eateries, and used car lots. Sixty-fifth Street, 70th, 80th … Come on, Echo, where are you headed?
Two buildings before 83rd Street, she turned right and entered a convenience store parking lot. She continued past the entrance and took another sharp right around the north side of the building. A few steps later, she disappeared from my sight.
The hair on the back of my neck vibrated. What are you up to, Echo? I’d driven past this store multiple times. There was nothing on that side of the building except more parking spaces and a large garbage bin. Was she dumpster diving? Meeting someone? Waiting to ambush a five-foot, three-inch yoga teacher? I stopped walking and stared at the window of a Thai fast food restaurant, pretending to examine the menu while actually looking for Echo in its reflection. The scents of garlic, ginger, and peanut sauce made my stomach rumble.
Okay, Super Sleuth. What’s your next move?
If I followed the path the teen had taken, she’d see me as I approached. If I cut behind the building and snuck up on her from behind, I might lose her. If I stood here staring at Thai food photos much longer, she’d be long gone before I made up my mind.
Ultimately, I chose option two. I turned right on 82nd Street, jogged down the alley behind the convenience store, and crouched behind a large blue dumpster. Echo was leaning against the building about twenty-five feet away, smoking a cigarette and looking impatient. From my new vantage point, I could see the convenience store’s driveway, side parking lot, and north-facing wall. The front lot and the store’s entrance were out of my view, but as long as Echo stayed put, I’d be okay.
I squatted lower to avoid being seen and tried to ignore the stench of dog waste wafting from the dumpster. Echo glanced at her watch, ground out the cigarette with her shoe, and immediately lit another.
Five minutes passed, then five more. Echo chain-smoked; my thighs cramped. Dozens of cars pulled into the store’s driveway and left it again, but no one ventured to our side of the building. I gave up on squatting and kneeled on the wet pavement, trying not to imagine what other fluids might be mixed with the rainwater soaking my knees. Five minutes more. The leg cramps diminished, replaced by bone-chilling cold. I yearned for hot chocolate with a triple shot of Schnapps. And a restroom.
Three minutes after my toes had turned numb, a dark gray Mercedes pulled through the driveway and disappeared out of view, presumably having parked. Foggy recognition tickled my subconscious. Who did I know with a gray sedan?
I was so caught up in trying to place it that at first I didn’t notice the gangly, confident-looking teenager ambling toward Echo.
Jace. Finally.
I was plotting how to inconspicuously tail him when my conscious and subconscious minds collided. Rapid-fire images flashed through my head. The loading zone at Teen Path HOME. The parking area in front of Greg’s garage. The convenience store’s driveway. All had one item in common: a dark gray Mercedes. I shifted from kneeling to crouching and watched, one eye on Echo and Jace, the other on the driveway, scanning for the car’s departure.
Echo dropped her cigarette and walked toward Jace. Jace meandered toward Echo. In one fluid motion, their palms touched. A flash of green passed from Echo to Jace; a clear plastic bag passed from Jace to Echo. The Mercedes stopped at the driveway, readying to
turn right onto Aurora. I stared at its back bumper and mentally repeated its license plate.
A few seconds later, Echo walked back toward Woodland Park. Jace sauntered the opposite direction. The Mercedes successfully turned right on Aurora and headed north, not slowing as it sped past Jace. I pulled a pen out of my jacket pocket and made a note on my palm.
Three letters, three numbers.
Gotcha.
I abandoned my hiding place and jogged the three-quarters of a mile back to my car. I didn’t try to avoid Jace or Echo, though I doubted either of them noticed me. It didn’t matter. I no longer believed either of them was the killer. The killer was behind the wheel of a dark gray Mercedes. A dark gray Mercedes that had just dropped Jace off at his new territory.
It was all theoretical, of course. There were likely thousands of Mercedes sedans driving around Seattle, and although the timing was right, I hadn’t actually seen Jace get out of the passenger seat. But by the time I arrived home, I believed my new theory as much as Bella believed that the mailman was a dog-torturing psychopath. And if I was right—if this Mercedes was the same one that had been parked in Greg’s driveway the night of the board meeting—it belonged to one of five people: Chuck, Greg, Greg’s wife, Janice, or the balding man whose name I’d never been told. Now all I needed to do was to figure out which one.
Whoever it was, they certainly weren’t following the supposedly sacred hands-off policy that the center espoused. At best, they were driving around town with an underage client. At worst, they were pushing life-ruining drugs to the teens they were supposed to be helping.
I screeched into the driveway and dashed through the kitchen to my office, barely acknowledging the exuberant canine bouncing around me. I might not be a computer expert like Sam or an Internet wizard like Michael, but I’d learned one thing from both of them during my short time as an unwitting sleuth: you can find almost anything with a computer and a search engine.
I pulled up a browser and typed in the phrase how to find owner of car. Not elegant I’ll admit, but then again, it didn’t have to be. Such is the terrifying power of the Internet. The very first site gave me what I needed: a search engine that would find the owner of any licensed vehicle, provided the searcher had a vehicle identification number, the title, or the license plate number.
I clicked on the link, scanned the warning asserting that unauthorized use of the search engine would subject me to criminal fines and/or civil liabilities, and clicked the checkbox affirming that yes, I understood the possible risks of my actions. I would have added and I don’t give a crap, but that wasn’t an option.
The next item stumped me: To conduct searches, please select from one of the authorized purposes below. If none of the below purposes are applicable, you may not conduct searches. I scanned the drop-down menu and checked the box next to Driver safety and theft. Carting around drug dealers had to be unsafe for the driver, right?
A quick electronic payment later, I knew exactly who was running drugs out of Teen Path HOME. If my theory was right, that same person had killed Gabriel.
Now all I had to do was prove it.
twenty-three
“I’m not sure this was such a great idea, Kate. Maybe Michael was right. Martinez and Henderson could have handled it.”
Sam paced back and forth in front of the pool table at Teen Path HOME, boots making muffled thuds with each step.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, turn.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, turn.
Over and over and over again.
I took a deep yogic inhale, coordinating my breath with his steps in an odd, waiting-to-catch-a-killer mantra.
Inhale—Thunk, thunk, thunk, turn.
Exhale—Thunk, thunk, thunk, turn.
For the first time in my amateur sleuthing career, I wasn’t going to unveil a murderer by accident—or by myself. This time, I’d involved all of my loved ones in creating the plan. Michael hated the idea. He was concerned about Sam’s and my safety. Rene complained about being left out. “But you two will get to have all the fun without me!”
I told them both the same thing. “You can’t be there. The trap will work best if Sam and I set it alone.”
So here Sam and I were. Alone. Sort of.
I perched uncomfortably on the couch while Sam grumbled. “I hope he doesn’t come. This was a terrible idea.”
The front door squeaked open. “What was a terrible idea?” Greg closed it behind him, locked eyes with me, and froze. “What is she doing here?”
Sam stopped pacing. “Kate is my source.”
I stood and tried to look confident. “I’m afraid Sam wasn’t completely honest with you. I didn’t think you’d come if you knew the truth.”
Greg’s face turned pomegranate red. “Sam, when you called me this morning, you told me you’d learned who was selling drugs at Teen Path HOME. You assured me that I’d want to discuss it in person—alone. You didn’t say anything about bringing the yoga teacher.”
“Don’t be cranky, Greg,” I said. “You should be glad I’m here. If it weren’t for me, Sam would have called the police. I convinced him we could come up with a more … equitable solution.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “A more equitable solution to what?”
“To the problem of what to do with you.” Sam’s low growl startled me, and I jumped. He strode several steps forward, not stopping until his nose was inches from Greg’s. “All that time you spent being a ‘positive role model’ to the teens. All those ‘surprise inspections.’ They were all smokescreens. You’ve been funneling drugs through the kids. What I don’t get is why. These kids trust us. They rely on us. Why would you take advantage of them that way?”
Greg appeared genuinely startled. “Sam, what are you talking about?” Then, dawning clarity. He stumbled back toward the kitchen. “Wait a minute, you think I—”
“Save it,” Sam snapped. “Kate saw you.”
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. I’d seen Greg’s car, not the driver, but it was close enough. “You got sloppy yesterday,” I said. “I saw you with Jace Foster, right before I witnessed him selling heroin to a street kid named Echo.”
“That boy had heroin on him? I assure you that I had no idea. I saw him hitchhiking, which is terribly dangerous, so I gave him a ride. I certainly didn’t search him for drugs before I let him get in the car. Driving the kid across town may have been ill-advised, but it wasn’t illegal.”
“You’ve done a lot more than give Jace a ride,” I said. “I confronted him after you took off. He told me everything.” I felt no guilt about the deception. Lying clearly violated yoga’s principle of satya (truthfulness), but if confronting a killer wasn’t an exception, it should have been.
“Whatever that boy told you, he was lying,” Greg said.
Sam’s shoulders tensed.
I kept talking. “I should have known you were up to no good the first time I met you.”
“At my house the other night?” Greg sounded genuinely confused.
“No, at Teen Path HOME. I was there the day the rats got loose, remember?” I gestured toward the stairway. “When you came charging downstairs, you ran into me and knocked me over.”
“So? That was an accident.”
“Gabriel had just given me a tour of the second floor, and you weren’t in any of the rooms he’d shown me. You must have been in the hygiene area.”
“What’s your point?”
“Gabriel told me that the hygiene area is restricted to staff members and clients whenever the center is open. He specifically said that even board members couldn’t tour it except after hours. So why were you hanging out in there? It’s kind of creepy, if you ask me.”
Greg’s face, red to begin with, turned purple.
I gave an exaggerated shudder. “Either you have a fondness for spying on teens without their clothes on, o
r—”
Greg clenched his fists. “Shut up. Shut your filthy mouth right now.”
I held up an index finger. “Or, you had another reason to hang out with the kids alone. Were you recruiting new dealers or trying to find new customers?”
Greg sniffed and wiped at his nose. His hand came away bloody. In a burst of insight so powerful it felt almost physical, I understood. Greg’s constant nose irritation had nothing to do with animal dander. It was caused by white powder of an entirely different nature.
I pointed to the inflamed skin under his nostrils. “I had it all wrong, didn’t I?”
Greg’s face relaxed. “Of course you did. That’s what I keep say—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Not about you recruiting the kids. You’re totally guilty of that. I was wrong about why you were in the hygiene area that day. You needed privacy, didn’t you? You couldn’t exactly snort up in the loading zone. That’s probably why you got so agitated with Chuck and Gabriel, too. I understand cocaine is a powerful stimulant.”
The muscles on either side of Greg’s jaw bunched.
“It all makes sense now,” I continued. “Sam and I couldn’t figure out why a successful man like you would risk losing everything to run a small-time drug ring. We decided it must be some sort of deluded power trip. But we were wrong, weren’t we?”
Greg didn’t reply, so I kept speaking. “It has to be hard to pay for that nice car and a fancy home in Medina while feeding a cocaine addiction. Extra cash must come in handy. Not to mention the opportunity to get your own supply at wholesale prices.”
“Is she right, Greg?” Sam asked. “Are you an addict?”
Greg stared at the carpet.
“Why didn’t you get help?”
I waved my hand through the air. “Give it up, Sam,” I replied. “His motives don’t matter. Nothing from the past does. The future, that’s what’s important.” I turned back to Greg. “If you want to have one, you need to make a choice.”