by Nancy Radke
Ryan wondered why she had jumped on the name so quickly. Had she remembered Patti talking about Ted, so was willing to involve him as a cover-up? Especially with him dead?
“Are you sure?” he asked, watching her closely.
“Yes. Do you think they’re connected?”
“Highly unlikely. Computer thieves don’t steal jewelry. They stick to what they know.” And that was a fact. No question about it. The two robberies had nothing in common.
“What’s this all about?” Officer Granger asked.
“My office was robbed this week,” Ryan said. “Angie, here, saw them. Probably no connection.”
“If it’s the same men, they may have been desperate for cash. Could you identify them?”
“Just their shoes,” Angie said. “That’s all I saw. They were only a few inches from my face, so I got a pretty good look. And I worked for a shoe store for awhile, so I’m used to sizing them up.”
“We’ve got the body downstairs, at the ME— the Medical Examiner’s. We’ll take a look at those shoes— on the off-chance there is a connection— as soon as I get some details from Mr. Patterson.”
“Sure.”
He turned to George. “You’re the owner of the store?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“First of all, they couldn’t have planned it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, you see, my shop was closed. I didn’t figure on any sales, what with the heavy snow. You know how that is.”
The policeman nodded.
“Warren called me at home— we’ve been friends for years, you see— and asked if he could run down and shop privately. He wanted something special. Well, anyway, I said yes. I wasn’t doing anything, you know. I’d just opened my shop door when this car pulls up and a man gets out. He hailed me, and I thought he needed directions, so I waited. Instead he pulled a gun and motioned me inside.”
“So Mr. Brown wasn’t there yet?” the officer asked, taking notes as George talked.
“No. He came a few minutes later. They probably were looking all over town for a place to rob. Saw me open my door. It must’ve been an opportune time for them. They didn’t look at all prepared.”
“That’s for sure,” agreed the officer. “Their car had bald tires on it. It’s a miracle they got as far as they did with the streets so bad.”
“Well, they weren’t wearing masks, which made me think they planned to kill me. They were as nervous as an apprentice making his first major diamond cut— an apprentice has to pay for any diamond he destroys,” he explained. “Anyway, these clowns left their car running by the curb and came inside. I’d everything locked up and had to open the safe for them. Then Warren came in, fast, not expecting trouble. When they turned their guns on him, he just reacted. Took two steps and knocked the nearest one flat.”
George shuddered and the others waited for him to regain his composure. “The thief just panicked, I’m sure of it. As he fell, he shot Warren, shot at me, then jumped up and ran. And Warren... he just, well he looked at me, sort of surprised before he fell. I don’t think he— ”
“That’s plenty. Were there any other witnesses you know of?”
“No.”
“Any stores open next door? Across the street?”
“No.” George wiped his hand across his face. “I’d pushed my silent alarm button as soon as I got behind the counter, you see, so you guys— police, ambulance— showed up right away.”
Ryan shook his head, his mouth dry. That would’ve been just like Warren, to come to the aid of a friend without any regard for his own safety. Angie squeezed his hand, and he looked down at her fingers, feeling the warmth flowing from her to him. He hadn’t realized she had drawn so close to him, standing on one foot with the crutch propped up against her side.
He squeezed her hand in return. It felt good to have her next to him at this moment. Silent comfort in a time of loss, the understanding touch of someone who says with their presence, "I'm sorry. I understand your pain. I wish I could help"— which offers more comfort than a thousand meaningless condolences.
She couldn’t be involved in this mess, she just couldn’t.
Officer Granger pocketed his tape recorder. “Can you make a positive ID of the thief?” he asked George.
“Yes. Want me to do it now?”
“Might as well. He isn’t much to look at— didn’t have his seat belt on. If you don’t mind?”
“Sure.”
“You too, Miss. I’ll bring his shoes out so you won’t have to go all the way into the morgue.”
“Thanks.” She released Ryan’s hand— he felt the loss— and took hold of her crutch again.
He followed her down the stairs to the Medical Examiner’s area. Angie handled the crutches with expert ease.
They waited at the counter until the clerk slid back the glass to see what they wanted. Officer Granger asked him for Fairweather’s shoes.
Ryan looked at Angie, wanting so to believe her innocence. Computer thieves didn’t do hard crime— although, if they had really broken into Scott’s office, it disproved that. He shook his head, wondering what to think. If she had just made up the robbery in the first place to protect herself, she wouldn’t be able to identify the shoes. The more elaborate the story a person made up, the easier it became to catch them in a lie.
He must find out the truth about her before he fell in love. He could feel the warning signs— the need to be near her, the desire to help her. His heart so wanted her to be innocent, it’d believe anything. He mustn’t listen to it until he had proof.
Proof. He had to have proof. Could Angie give it to him? “Bring several pairs,” he requested. “Sort of like a shoe line-up.”
Angie shot him a glance that said she knew he was testing her, but he acted like he hadn’t seen it.
They waited until the clerk reappeared with four bags in his hands. “Here they are,” he said, holding up the bags. “You want to check them out?”
“No. Just look.”
The clerk pushed them through the window and Officer Granger opened one and started to pull out the shoes.
“Wait,” Ryan said, and turned to Angie. “Describe them before you see them,” he asked, since he had forgotten what she had told him earlier. “Then you won’t be influenced by what you see.”
She looked up at him and he saw the hurt in her eyes. She knew he was still checking her out. Well— he had to.
“Of course.” She looked at Officer Granger and said, “One wore brown shoes with scuffed toes. Loafers. Not suede, although they were stitched like moccasins. You know, a half circle around the toe area. That guy wore brown pants and had a raspy voice. Also, his heels were run down, on the insides.”
“Pretty good,” the officer nodded, looking in the bags.
“The other guy wore a gray suit, or at least gray suit pants. He had on black, highly polished shoes, bat-wings. Probably size eleven, eleven and a half. The brown shoes were probably tens.”
The officer pulled out the shoes and set them on the counter, a pair in front of each bag. Three pairs black, one brown.
“Look,” she exclaimed, pointing to the instep on a black pair. “See this mark— a large “Z”— like someone cut across the leather. He must’ve kicked something sharp.” She paused, looking puzzled. “The backs are scuffed. I don’t remember that. But I remember the “Z.” It’s perfect. And notice how he laced them, starting from the outside in. I remember that.” She handed the black shoes to the officer and picked up the brown pair. “These sure look like the other pair, but there were no distinguishing marks on them. Anyway, you said one of the thieves got away, so it must’ve been brown shoes.”
“No. The brown pair belonged to Fairweather,” the patrolman said, re-checking the bag’s label.
“Then who wore the black pair? They’re the shoes I saw. I know it.”
9
“Can you tell us anything abo
ut the man who wore the black shoes?” Ryan asked the clerk. The Medical Examiner’s office was quiet this evening, so their small group remained undisturbed.
“They belonged to a gunshot victim, just brought in,” the clerk said. “Shot three times and dumped in a street in South Seattle. Been dead an hour, maybe less.”
“And Ted died earlier?”
“Yes. In the car crash.”
“So no connection.” Ryan shrugged in disappointment. “Did Fairweather have a CD in his possession?” he asked the clerk.
“No.”
Officer Granger helped re-bag the shoes. “We’ll find where he lived and check there. See if he has any other stolen property. Can you describe your CD?”
“Yes. It’s marked with a number: 183-200.” Ryan gave each client a number and used it for all their files. 183-200 and 183-201 were his codes for MXOIL.
He gave the officer his business card. “I’m working on a case in Alaska that involves the CD. I’d appreciate knowing what you find at Fairweather’s home.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
“Actually, I’d like to look at what he has on his computer. Just in case he was the cracker.”
“I’ll call you before we make the search.”
“Thanks. Do you need us here any more?”
“No. Thank you.” The officer turned to George Patterson. “You can look at him now to see if you can identify him. We’ll also need you to come down to the West Precinct later and give a full statement.”
“Sure.”
They entered the morgue area, leaving Ryan and Angie outside. He turned to Angie, expecting her to look tired. Instead, she looked like she could keep going for quite a few more hours. This must seem a short day compared to some she had had as a gymnast. “We’ll check on Warren. If we can’t do any more, we’ll go home.”
“Sure. But Ryan... those shoes.”
“What about them?”
“The black pair. I’m positive.”
“How could it be, Angie? That person was shot an hour ago. There’s no connection.”
“I don’t care. It was him.”
“But it makes no sense.” He smiled down at her. She didn’t know how many “eye witnesses” were positive, yet wrong. “You just want to ID them so badly, you’ve fooled yourself. It happens all the time.”
“It does? Well, maybe you’re right.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I don’t know anymore. I felt sure of the black pair of shoes— much more than the other. Maybe I’m mistaken on both.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
At the nurses’ station he asked about Mary and Warren.
“Mr. Brown is still alive, but critical. We’ve got Mary sedated. Her two friends are with her. I’ll show you the room.” She started down the long corridor.
Angie stopped. “Shall I wait here, or come?”
“Wait in the lounge. I won’t be long,” he promised. The room was close by and he looked in at his sister, Robyn, sitting next to Alison.
“Rob, I’m taking Angie home. Is there anything more I can do?”
“No. But we’re dying to know... who is Angie?”
“My new assistant.”
“Come on, Ry, there’s more than that. Where did you meet her?”
“She used to work part-time for us.”
“Oh. Nothing more spectacular?”
“Did you want there to be?”
“Of course. You never trusted anyone to be your assistant. Except me. When I quit to drive busses— to get regular hours and a social life— I figured you’d never find a replacement.”
“You were wrong.”
“So I see. I hope Angie measures up to your standards.”
“So do I.” If only he could shake his nagging distrust. Hopefully time would prove her out. He was willing to give her that.
“They’re going to keep Mary here. We’ve talked about that. Alison has to be at her school to interpret for the student she’s working with. She’ll need to go home and be ready to work tomorrow if the school’s open— which it probably won’t be. Can you take her?”
“Sure. And you?”
“I’ll call Metro and tell them I won’t be in to drive my route. They can get someone else. I’ll just claim my personal leave day.”
“That’ll be okay?”
“I haven’t used it this year. And I really don’t want to drive in the snow with my bus. The middle section of an “ar-tic” acts like an accordion, so that the end tries to say hello to the front. I lucked out by having yesterday and today off. I’ll stay with Mary. Alison can spell me after work tomorrow.”
Alison pulled on her coat and gloves. “By then they should have the parking lot in our apartment dug out enough we can get our own cars.” She paused in the doorway. “Be sure to get a little rest, Robyn. It won’t help Mary if we’re too tired for her when she needs it.”
“I will. They’ve an area here for family members. Even though I’m not family, we’re all Mary has.”
Both Angie and Alison were silent on the return trip, each weighed down with their own thoughts, and Ryan turned the radio to an FM station playing classical music. It relaxed him and helped him focus on his driving. After making sure Alison had entered her building safely, he headed home.
“There’s a pizza store open. Are you hungry?” Angie asked, breaking the silence between them.
“No, not really.” He kept driving, thinking about the way some folks, like Mary, seemed to get all the hard knocks. If Warren didn’t pull out of this, she was going to be alone in the world. He had thought of having Angie stay with Robyn and Alison, but now Mary would have to—
“I am.”
“Huh?” He glanced at Angie sitting beside him and tried to remember what they had been talking about.
“I’m hungry.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” He slowed the car and looked around. They were still in the Northgate area where there were lots of places to eat. He eased out of the lane that would have put them on the freeway, turned around, and drove slowly back, searching for a place.
“Something fast, if you don’t mind.”
“Pizza?”
“That’s fine. I don’t care what.”
He pulled into a pizza place and ran inside. “You have anything ready?” he asked the acme-marked young man behind the counter. “I don’t want to wait.”
“Cooked or uncooked?”
“Either. Preferably cooked. I don’t care what’s on it.”
“Well...”
“I’ll pay extra.”
“Sure.” The youth pulled a pie from the oven, cut it and placed it into a flat box. “The folks who ordered this are busy with the arcade games. They won’t notice. I’ll make them another.”
“Thanks.” Ryan paid, added a good tip, carried it outside, and put it in Angie’s hands.
“Ooh. This smells good. What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh?”
“I took what they had. Let’s eat.”
She flipped back the lid, inhaling deeply. “Umm. Double cheese with pepperoni and tomatoes.” She touched the crust and jerked back her hand. “It’s hot.”
“Right from the oven.”
“I guess so.”
He turned onto the freeway, headed south, delighting in watching her wanting to eat a piece of pizza before it had cooled off enough. She would probably end up with a burned mouth, but was too hungry to care. Actually, the smell made him hungry too, and he was glad he had ended up with an extra large.
“Want a bite?” she asked, finally getting a slice separated.
“I’ll wait till we’re home. It’s not much further.”
She bit into it, backed away smartly, then tried again.
He turned off the freeway, headed up the well-plowed arterial, then down the side street to his place.
Once back inside the houseboat, he helped Angie out of her coat and boots. She walked over to the couch and h
e pulled some ice out of the freezer to pack around her ankle, which was swollen and purple.
He should’ve brought her back and left her here while he took Mary to the hospital. But it really meant a lot to have Angie close as he dealt with the tragedy. Her presence had been a comfort.
Pulling up a chair next to her, he placed the pizza box on the coffee table and pulled off a piece. “Want anything to drink?” he asked.
“Just water, thanks. But eat first.”
“I will.” The hot food renewed his energy, although it seemed to work the opposite with Angie, as she kept nodding off. She revived to drink the glass of water he brought her, but then drifted off again. He chewed thoughtfully on the pizza, relishing its warmth as much as its taste.
He felt confident she wasn’t mixed up in the robbery. After all, how could she have known what Fairweather’s shoes looked like? He stopped. Her knowing or not knowing what Ted’s shoes looked like didn’t clear her. The policeman had said Ted’s name— and she recognized it. If she knew Ted, she’d have known that he wore brown shoes. The clerk had only brought out one pair of brown shoes, yet she picked black.
Why try to ID Ted in the first place? What had she to gain? Or had she spoken without thinking, when Ted’s name first came up?
It might be that Ted wasn’t involved in the office robbery, but she had used him to keep Ryan from suspecting anything. And what about the other guy whose shoes she claimed to recognize? If he was involved— and dead— there had to be a third man. One capable of murder.
He couldn’t see a connection. There might be one. He’d be a fool to count it out completely. What was so important in an oil company in Alaska that people died in Seattle?
He had dealt with murderers before. He knew strange things caused them to kill. Pride, envy, money, rage— sometimes nothing more than a weird chain of events.
He wanted Angie to be innocent. Wanted it in the worse way. But he had thought Kathleen loved him. She had been so sweet and eager to learn what he did, milking him for all the information she could get. He had ignored the things that didn’t add up. She ended their engagement abruptly. Her marriage to Scott hadn’t lasted long, either.