* * *
The wharf area by the fancy hotel was clean, well kept, bordered everywhere with blooming flowers and expensive landscaping. Ferries? Lake tours? They parked in a free lot near some big boats and explored the docks that weren’t gated, continued following sidewalks a few hundred yards into town. After an hour or so they returned to sit on the hood of the car and survey the lake. Watched gulls, and some graceful black-and-white birds that no one could name. An osprey circled farther from shore.
“We should hide the car,” Grace said, looking west toward the Spokane River in the distance.
“How would we get around?” Mick asked.
“They’ll be looking for the three of us so we should split up,” Grace said. “Me and JJ team, you on your own.”
JJ turned to look at her. “What’s Mick gonna do?”
Mick knew he didn’t like this idea. “That’s crazy. You wouldn’t be safe. You got no place to stay.”
“Women’s shelter,” Grace said.
JJ had misgivings. Mick could see it. As close as she and Grace were, living together, JJ and Mick were probably closer. They trusted each other.
“That’s just what you can’t do,” Mick argued. “Go to a government place. Get your descriptions on their computers. That’s the first place the law would look, missions, shelters, places for runaways.”
Grace ran her fingers through her hair, seeming to think about what he said.
JJ pointed. She’d seen a police car pull into the public parking area and begin a row-by-row cruise.
They were off the hood, into the car, and rolling within seconds. Couldn’t tell if the patrol car was following.
Mick headed north on Lincoln and west on Seltice Way toward the town of Post Falls. After a mile or two he pulled off the street into a stand of pines on the edge of a construction site and shut off the car. Turned, ready to argue. “That’s stupid. We have to—”
“Separate,” Grace interrupted. “Face it.”
Mick, furious. “That’s horseshit! I’m trying to be here for you. I got you out of town. I’m trying to protect you!”
Grace was ahead of him. “You’re putting JJ and me in danger. The sheriff is looking for you. This car.”
Mick waved her off. “Do you hate all us guys so much you can’t think straight?”
A moan from the backseat. Mick glanced back. JJ had folded her knees to her chest, holding her ears. He could guess what she was thinking. JJ had left one hell and he and Grace were creating a new one.
“I’m thinking good,” Grace said. “You’re a little fuzzy ’cause you’re scared.”
That hurt. “Of course I’m scared. I don’t want anything to happen to you or JJ.”
“I mean scared to be on your own.” She paused, reached out to touch his shoulder.
Mick shrugged off her hand. This was the thanks he got.
“You’re right to be scared,” Grace said, her voice softer.
Mick thought she was manipulating him, but her words were stinging.
“It’s horrible to be totally cut loose. Imagine what it’s like for a girl.” Grace glanced back at JJ. “When I was on the road, everything was out of control. Anything could have happened anytime.”
Mick looked away at nearby trees and the flock of small gray birds that were gathering on branches. An empty six-pack hung in a bush. Around the small clearing: white paper fast-food bags, wadded plastic diapers, a soiled blanket. Was this going to be his life from now on?
“Listen.” Grace had dropped the angry tone. “Think. You’re the target. You’re the one that’s tangled.”
She reached out again and Mick stiffed her again.
“The only ones laying for us is the Cassels. You split after talking to that old guy, that sheriff. He’s probably got a wanted out for you and the car by now. He doesn’t care about JJ and me.”
Mick wanted to disagree, wanted to show Grace he was on top of things. But beneath that, he was scared. Leaving his dad. Now leaving JJ and Grace? He couldn’t get his mind around it.
“Let us go, Mick. At least for today and tonight. Let’s take a break. We can think about it again tomorrow.”
Mick heard a muted sob from the backseat, but neither he nor Grace turned around.
Mick hadn’t considered things from Grace’s point of view. She was probably right. And he saw something else. Grace had just used him to get out of town. He wasn’t like a boyfriend. He was transportation, convenience, pure and simple.
“Let’s find the bus station,” Grace suggested. “They’re usually downtown. JJ and I can stash our bags and make that our base. Meet there tomorrow.”
Mick shook his head not wanting to hear, but, inside, he wasn’t really resisting.
“Before we go, we search the car, scrounge under the seats, see if there’s any money, anything we can use.” Grace was really talking to herself. “We go to a market, get food, split it. After that, we break up and hide for a bit.”
Mick had stopped shaking his head. Stopped denying. He wasn’t going to talk her out of this. Case closed.
“You ditch the car and we hook up tomorrow morning at the bus station and decide what’s next.” Grace was on a roll. “We’ll call Gary and see what’s happened.”
Mick wanted to know what JJ thought of this plan but he was stuck giving Grace the silent treatment. Strong silent type? Pouting? He should front Grace for some money but he didn’t want to risk it. Didn’t want her to blow up and ditch him altogether. He got out of the car and emptied his pockets on the hood. Took the folding money out of his wallet. Went to the trunk and got their duffels. He opened the back door and got his things. Glanced at JJ. She was staring off in the direction of a thick line of cottonwoods. Avoiding.
Mick dumped his sack beside his money and leaned against the fender, hands in pockets, waiting for them to follow suit.
Grace fished out nearly three dollars in change from the car floor and the backseat crease. The big surprise was JJ. She had a twenty tucked in her overalls’ chest pocket.
“Where did that come from?” Grace asked.
“Birthday,” JJ said.
Grace rummaged in her purse and came out with another twenty. All pooled they had fifty-four dollars and change. They spent twenty for food. By Mick’s calculation, they might be able to buy enough gas to get back home.
47
THEY DIDN’T FIND A BUS STATION. They didn’t find a train station. The nearest were miles away in Spokane. They did find the public library. The entrance foyer had vending machines, large bathrooms, and a short wall of lockers where students from the local college could store books and laptops when they took study breaks. Fifty cents got you unlimited time and a key.
“Take what you need overnight,” Grace told JJ, while she herself pulled a small green leather purse out of her tote bag and stuffed it with a top and underwear, pitched in some lipstick.
JJ jammed an extra pair of panties in her pocket.
“Hey, take care.” Grace punched two quarters in the slot, pocketed the key. Gave Mick a quick hug.
He didn’t return it.
JJ held him by the shoulders. Her look carried a stew of feelings. “Luck,” she said.
He nodded, muted by the flood of his own emotions.
* * *
Mick sat in the car and watched them walk together toward the downtown resort area and hotel marina. His eyes got wet and then he was crying. Hands over his face, muffling his noise. At first, because he wanted Grace to want him and she didn’t. And then because he was alone. Really alone. He knew he was going to miss JJ. Her solidity. Her friendship or affection or whatever it was. And then, tears because he missed his father. Go figure! And finally he cried for his mother and her leaving and her not loving him enough to stay or take him with her.
He sat struggling with his thoughts until he feared he might be attracting attention. Okay, what now? Work? He might find a quick job, make a little gas money. Later he could look for a place to stow the c
ar.
The work part came much easier than he’d imagined. He drove south on Third and east on Sherman. In ten blocks or less he passed a corner storefront being gutted. A bright red GMC pickup was parked at an angle by a dumpster at the side door. A hastily painted sign on the edge of the building said Future home of Fly By Day Fishing Outfitters. From the curb he could see two guys tearing off sheetrock, pulling old wiring out of exposed studs.
He parked, walked around to look in the pickup bed, went in the side door and stood near the two men. The smaller one noticed.
“Help you?”
“Yes, sir. I need a little work. Fifteen dollars the rest of the day, I’d haul crap to the dumpster so you can finish your clean-out twice as fast. Hold rock or fiberboard so you can nail straight. I’ve been working at a hardware. I can do things.”
The bigger guy had stopped prying the sheetrock while Mick was talking. Looked him over. Suspicious.
“I mean it,” Mick said. “I need gas money. I’m used to stacking, lifting. I’d have wanted to steal something I’d taken that Milwaukee Power Set sitting in your pickup bed. You’d never seen or heard me. I just want to work and get paid a little cash for it.”
Neither guy said anything.
“I don’t do drugs,” Mick said. “My dad does. I don’t.”
The men glanced at each other. Looked away for a few seconds.
“Miles.” The smaller guy stuck out his hand. “Jimbo.” He pointed to the other guy. “Start trucking and keep trucking and you got your fifteen. Begin by getting this shit off the floor and into the dumpster.” Both of them turned back to the wall and recommenced ripping.
* * *
When they stopped for the day, Mick got his money, fifteen and a five-dollar tip. He’d known it wouldn’t get a motel, but it was a meal or more gas if they needed it on the way home. He hadn’t wanted the demo guys to have any reason to turn him down. Now, the second order of business, keep the Pontiac out of trouble.
Big Bonnie hardtops were scarce, either a collector’s car or a wife-beater ride. His dad’s looked like it was in the second category and it helped that a lot of other cars from that time looked pretty close to it. If you were searching hard, you’d spot it, otherwise you wouldn’t. Mick intended to sleep in it that night, so where would it be inconspicuous?
Cheap motels might work if Mick could find another one. Not easy in a fancy tourist city. Should be a different one from last night so nobody gets suspicious. The neighborhoods around his job site seemed too upscale. People might notice a strange car. But Junkville? That’s what his dad called poor neighborhoods that had appliances on the porches and ratty vehicles on blocks in the yard. His father didn’t seem to realize that’s exactly where he and Mick always wound up when they weren’t in a motel. The one in Portage, Mick guessed, would be Shackville. Within twenty minutes he’d found a suitable area on the edge of town, near a run-down trailer park surrounded by shabby homes that had once been in the countryside before the city grew around.
* * *
Mick arranged his clothes to minimize the driveshaft hump and used the tarp from the trunk for a pillow. The Bonnie’s back windows were tinted. He didn’t think anyone would see him unless they made a real effort with a flashlight. Mick had trouble sleeping that night, but it wasn’t because the back floor of the Poncho was too uncomfortable. Though he was safe and warm, feelings of loss and loneliness weighed on him like heavy blankets. Feeling sorry for himself took him into a troubled sleep with nightmares and thrashing that left him more tired in the morning than he had been when he bedded down.
48
FROM THE LIBRARY Grace and JJ walked west on Front Street, soon reaching the parking lot they’d visited earlier in the morning. A good-looking blond attendant at the boat docks told Grace about the local college, told her Macaroni’s restaurant was the town hot spot for drinks and conversation.
At the thoroughfare that appeared to be the tourist mecca, JJ marveled at the way Grace easily met different people and asked questions about the city. A taxi driver, parked and eating his sack lunch, told them they could go a few blocks farther north to St. Vincent’s shelter if they were low on cash. Get a meal and spend the night. Grace took her time bending over to adjust her sandals before asking him if he’d give them a ride to the place. When he put his food away and ushered them into the backseat, JJ rolled her eyes.
On the way, the man offered to show them the town at the end of his shift.
“That might work,” Grace said. Asked him for his number and wrote it down. “We’ll call if we can meet you.”
“So what’s your phone?”
“My friend doesn’t give out her cell,” Grace told him, sounding disappointed but resigned. When he pulled up in front of the H.E.L.P. Center, they were out and down the sidewalk before he could open his door.
* * *
Inside the women’s shelter they were told they’d have to register for a bed. The whole process took less than a half hour, meal ticket and everything. The staff directed them to a dayroom where they could read, watch TV, or rest until dinner. JJ lounged on a couch facing away from the television and was shortly asleep. Grace sat near her in a threadbare overstuffed chair and made plans.
This town was hopping, just like they told her months ago when she was ten or twenty miles west in Spokane. It might be too small for settling down but it was definitely the right spot for the rest of the summer. The best part? Full of tourists. Men who would do things here and go home. Big enough so locals wouldn’t see her as anything but another visitor. An ideal place to make some money.
Her brothers had taught her a graduate seminar in coercion. In the past few months she’d learned a bit from Cookie and watched or played a part in some of the ways Hammond put pressure on people and used their weaknesses. And Evelyn, poor dear Evelyn, that girl was literally money in the bank. Grace just needed a little more information, the lay of the land here in Coeur d’Alene, and she could begin putting this education into practice.
49
AS THE INVESTIGATION PROCEEDED, restaurant employees named a total of twenty-four men, including eight high school students, who had visited Evelyn at work more than once over the last ten days. Eventually the sheriff’s list reached Scott Cassel’s desk at the Highway Patrol office. He was discomfited to see his older son, Larry, among those identified, as well as his younger boy, Tim, and Tim’s best friend, Dave Cunneen.
Cassel had no idea where either of his sons were on the Monday evening Evelyn was killed. Larry lived north of town and kept a very irregular work schedule. Tim lived at home with Scott but he had a separate entrance. Cassel didn’t think Tim had come home that Monday evening before he himself went to bed at ten-thirty. That wasn’t unusual. Tim partied hard most nights during the summer months.
For the first time in years Officer Cassel found himself reluctant to interview a possible suspect. When he tried, Larry brushed him off, saying he had been with a woman on that night and it was none of his dad’s business. The interview was not only brief but hostile. Scott and his older son hadn’t been close for the last few years since Larry had been asked to leave the Highway Patrol Training Academy after an altercation with one of his instructors.
When Cassel asked Tim, the boy told him he’d been with Cunneen earlier that Monday night, visited a few places, and, since he was taking a road trip to see a buddy in Whitefish the next morning, he’d come home early and gone to bed. For the life of him, Scott Cassel couldn’t remember if he’d heard the Mustang’s throaty rumble in the driveway on that particular night.
None of the bulletins or interviews produced a particularly viable suspect. The coroner’s report revealed that the puncture wound came from a rounded half-inch-in-diameter metal rod with rust and bits of black paint on its surface: a rebar, a tire iron, or a large blunted Phillips screwdriver were named as possible weapons. Most likely? A tire iron. The girl did not die of the puncture, however, but from a brain injury caused when the back o
f her head was smashed against the top point of the open car door, creating a fatal wound to her medulla and stopping her breathing.
Cassel was troubled by his missing witness, the Fitzhugh boy, who apparently fled the morning following their conversation, three days after the murder, stealing his father’s car for a getaway. Sheriff Paint, who had already formed an opinion about the boy’s innocence, was more concerned about another missing witness, Grace Herick, who, after having worked with Evelyn, also fled, possibly holding some key pieces of information. JJ’s fears about invisibility would have been confirmed, as neither department gave her a thought or even realized she was gone.
In the course of his broader investigation, Cassel learned that his missing witness’s father, Tighe Fitzhugh, was relatively new in town. Searching the Western States database, Cassel discovered a possible connection to theft and crimes against property in Idaho and Washington. Paint, similarly researching the name Grace Herick, found a remarkable coincidence. A Grace Herrick, one letter difference in the last name, had been killed in a vehicle accident in Spokane a few days before Grace Herick, one “r,” arrived in Portage. The hunt for both missing witnesses stepped up.
* * *
Friday afternoon, an anonymous phone tip changed everything. A muffled voice suggested officers search the small wooden porch of the Fitzhugh studio. Doing so, Paint discovered a souvenir baseball bat, Boise Hawks, wrapped in a pile of rags that turned out to be Evelyn Edmonds’s underwear. A stain on the handle appeared to be blood. Scott Cassel, having received the same tip, picked up Tighe Fitzhugh for questioning.
Paint issued a murder warrant for Mick’s arrest.
50
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING Mick drove to a nearby city park and used the restroom, brushed his teeth with a finger. A maintenance truck was parked next to the Pontiac when he came out of the building. On the other side of it, a police car. The officer behind the wheel was talking to the city guy in the green coveralls. Mick left as unobtrusively as he could and the police car stayed parked.
Dead Girl Moon Page 12