Payment in Kind

by J. A. Jance

  And then I remembered Erin Kelsey, and I wasn't so sure.

  “Are you psychic, or just plain lucky, or what?” Peters asked with a dubious shake of his head when he was once more seated in the 928 and I had finished loading his chair into the back. “I don't understand how you did that.”

  “How I did what?”

  “Managed to figure out there was a connection between the bomb threats and the murders when no reasonable connection existed. How did you tie them together?”

  “Pure dumb luck,” I laughed, “because it wasn't exactly scientific, and it certainly wasn't the kind of connection I expected. Just you wait. In a couple of years, Tracie and Heather will be sneaking out in the middle of the night too.”

  “Like hell they will,” Peters muttered determinedly. “Not my kids.”

  “I believe those come under the heading of famous last words,” I told him. I'm equally sure those weren't words he wanted to hear.

  A thoughtful silence followed. “You never suspected the daughter, did you?” Peters commented finally.

  It was true. The idea that Erin Kelsey might be our killer still rocked me.

  “No,” I replied. “Never. That one came as a bolt out of the blue, although…” Suddenly a portion of Andrea Stovall's message came back to me.

  “Although what?” Peters asked impatiently. “Don't leave me hanging in midsentence like that.”

  “Andrea Stovall. When she called down this morning and talked to Kramer to tell him she was leaving town.”

  “What about it?”

  “She told him Erin Kelsey had called to warn her that her father was on the loose and might come looking for her.”

  “Nice kid,” Peters said. “Sounds like she's trying to pin the rap on her daddy and buy him a one-way ticket to Walla Walla.”

  “That's the thing. She sure doesn't look the part.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, Beau. Where was she late Sunday night?”

  “According to what her father told us, Erin had left for school in Eugene much earlier in the day. Sometime during the early afternoon, I think.”

  “That may be what she told him,” Peters reasoned, “but since we have an eyewitness who puts her at the scene of the crime much later in the evening, she must have lied to her dear old dad. It's that simple. Did anyone say whether or not she and her mother quarreled while she was home for vacation?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Have you gotten any other readings that things weren't okay between mother and child?”

  “Not a glimmer,” I answered. “Not from Pete Kelsey, Maxwell Cole, or the grandparents, either. The only thing I can figure is that Erin somehow must have learned the truth about what was going on between her parents and decided to get involved.”

  “And what exactly is the truth about her parents?” Peters asked. “Try to look at it through her eyes. First she finds out that for years her sainted mother has been messing around with other women on the side. Next she learns that her father isn't who or what he always said he was. I mean to tell you, this kid's world is flying into a million pieces, and where the hell does that leave her? Think about it.”

  “Up shit creek?” I suggested. “Lost? Angry?”

  “All of the above,” Peters responded. “Every damn one of them.”

  By now we were back in the parking garage at Belltown Terrace. I followed Peters as he deftly maneuvered his chair into the small confines of the P-3 elevator lobby and pushed the UP button.

  “You want to stop by the apartment for a few minutes? Amy says there's just enough leftover New Year's eggnog to divide three ways. I'm talking straight eggnog here,” Peters added with a smile.

  I shook my head. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I'll pass. It's been a helluva long day.”

  Peters got off on seventeen, and I rode on up to the penthouse thinking that at last I would be able to crawl into bed and get a good night's sleep. That was not to be.

  When you're up to your eyeballs in a case, it hardly ever is.

  Chapter 24

  In the apartment, my all-too-dutiful message-counting light was blinking furiously--six in all. A full deck. I was tempted to ignore the machine and go straight off to bed, pretending I'd never seen it, but I'm a detective, and I was working a case. In the end, I caved in and listened.

  As soon as I began playing back the messages, I was glad I did. They were from two very different people, neither one of whom I would have expected to call me voluntarily--Andrea Stovall and Erin Kelsey.

  The first was from Andrea Stovall. It gave her name and number, and that was all. I put the message playback on pause and returned Andrea's call before listening to any of the other messages. I tried dialing the number, only to be told that I had to dial a “one” first. That time the phone rang and was answered immediately.

  “Semi-ah-moo,” a cheery voice answered. “May I help you?”

  “I'm calling for Andrea Stovall,” I said.

  “One moment please.”

  The phone rang and was answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Andrea Stovall said uncertainly.

  “Detective Beaumont, Mrs. Stovall,” I said. “You left word for me to call.”

  “I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Doris--Doris Walker--gave me your card after the meeting. It was nice of you to leave one for me, considering the way I acted, but I was scared to death. My first thought was to run away. But now that Pete's in jail, I've been trying to figure out what to do. When I made up my mind to talk to someone from the police, I called Doris at home and she gave me your number.”

  “It's fine for you to call me at home, Mrs. Stovall, and don't worry about how you got the number,” I said, short-circuiting an explanation that threatened to go on forever. “What can I do for you?”

  She took a deep breath. “First, tell me the truth. He is in custody, isn't he? They couldn't report it on television if it weren't true, could they?”

  “Is who in custody?” I asked, playing dumb. I knew good and well who she meant.

  “Pete Kelsey. It said on the five-o'clock news that he had been picked up for questioning early in the afternoon.”

  “That's true, Mrs. Stovall. He is in custody. For the time being.”

  “What does that mean--for the time being? He's a killer, isn't he? You're not going to let him out again, are you?”

  “Mrs. Stovall,” I said patiently. “We're in the process of gathering information. It's important that we be able to speak to witnesses, and when they disappear on us…”

  “I didn't mean to,” she said hastily. “Disappear, I mean. Really I didn't. We're having the conference here later this week, and I thought it might be wise to come up early…”

  “Mrs. Stovall, let's not pussyfoot around. You left word with Detective Kramer this morning that you were going out of town because you feared for your life, that Erin Kelsey had called you and warned you that her father was gunning for you.”

  “That's absolutely correct,” Andrea Stovall returned. “She called early this morning.”

  “How early?”

  “Five-thirty. Five thirty-five, actually. I looked at the clock when the phone woke me up.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She was terribly upset, sobbing into the phone. I wanted so badly to go over to the house and take her in my arms, but I couldn't. I just couldn't.”

  I should imagine not, I thought. I said, “Tell me what she said.”

  “That there were terrible things in the paper this morning, things about her mother and me, and that Pete was coming after me.”

  “And you believed it was true?”

  “Absolutely. After the other night, wouldn't you? As soon as I got off the phone, I packed a bag and came up here. I'm not the kind of person who takes chances.”

  “Aren't you?” I said.

  There was a distinct pause and a distancing in her voice. “What does that mean?”

  “Evidently things had gone along smoo
thly for years with whatever private arrangement the three of you had made. Who made the decision to change them all of a sudden?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Nobody?”

  “That's what I said. Nobody. Nothing was changing. Pete didn't care what Marcia and I did as long as nothing jeopardized the appearance of their marriage. He didn't want anything to upset Erin or Marcia's parents. And neither did Marcia.”

  “But I thought…”

  “You thought what? That Marcia was going to come out of the closet and the two of us live together openly? She made a bargain with Pete Kelsey years ago. She never would have broken her word, and I wouldn't have asked her to.”

  “But somebody wanted him to think she would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Somebody called him on the phone that night and told him she was leaving him.”

  “For me?” Andrea asked. “They lied.” She added firmly.

  “Were Alvin and Marcia friends?”

  “No.”

  “Lovers then?”

  “You haven't been paying attention.”

  “Did you and Marcia have a ‘usual place’?”

  I heard Andrea Stovall's sharp intake of breath. “How did you know about that?”

  “Did you?” I insisted.

  “Yes. We'd meet for lunch. In the Center House or by the International Fountain.”

  “Did you ever meet there on weekends?”

  “No,” she said. “We never did.”

  That meant that there was a chance that the note we'd found under Alvin Chambers' shoe was a plant, a note from another time that had been placed there to make the scene appear even more incriminating.

  “This must be a nightmare for the family,” Andrea Stovall said, “for George and Belle and especially Erin, and yet she was thoughtful enough to call.”

  “You're sure it was her?”

  “Of course I'm sure.”

  “Did she say it? This is Erin?”

  “She didn't have to. I know her voice, even when she's crying, and besides…”

  “Besides what?”

  “She called me Auntie Andy. Erin's the only one in the whole world who calls me that. The only one.”

  “Did you tell her where you were going?”

  “No.”

  “Did she ask?”

  “No. Why?”

  I was thinking about the crumpled likeness of Erin Kelsey in Jason Ragsdale's sweaty paw. “Don't,” I cautioned. “Don't tell anyone at all where you are, is that clear?”

  “You think I'm still in danger, even though Pete's locked up?”

  “You could be, Mrs. Stovall. I don't want to take any chances.”

  “Right,” she breathed. “I understand. I'll be very careful.”

  “Is that all?” By now I had had to reset the PAUSE button a half dozen times in order to prevent my machine from continuing to play the messages.

  “There is one more thing,” she answered uneasily.

  “What?”

  “What happens if Pete Kelsey's crazy?”

  “That's something a court of law would have to decide. Why, do you think he is?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when I went looking for Marcia Sunday night, when I went into her office, he'd taken all her stuff.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Her pictures. Pictures of Erin when she was little. Their wedding picture. There must have been half a dozen or so. They've been in every office Marcia's ever used at Seattle Public Schools. That's the first thing I noticed that night when I went looking for her. It was almost as though someone had removed everything that had made the office hers alone. If that's not crazy, I don't know what is.”

  “I don't know either, Mrs. Stovall, but let me sleep on it, and I'll be back in touch with you tomorrow. Will you be coming down for the funeral?”

  “Should I?”

  “No,” I said. “I can't order you to stay away, but I think it could be dangerous for you if you showed up.”

  “That's what I thought too,” Andrea Stovall conceded. “At the time of the funeral tomorrow, I think I'll just go out on the beach here and say good-bye privately. That would probably be better for all concerned, don't you think?”

  “By all means.”

  The next time the PAUSE button clicked, I let the much-interrupted messages continue playing. The next five were all from Erin Kelsey.

  They started calmly enough with a very business-like: “This is Erin Kelsey. Uncle Max just left. Please give us a call as soon as you can. We'd all like to talk to you about it.”

  The second message sounded a little more urgent, more uptight: “Erin again. Grandma and Grandpa had to leave. They wanted me to come home with them and spend the night, but I told them I wanted to wait here for your call.”

  By the third message, she was in tears, mumbling, difficult to understand. “Detective Beaumont, please call me back no matter how late you get in. I've got to talk to you right away.”

  In the fourth, her voice was empty and hollow, “Me again,” and the fifth a desperate plea. “Please call me back. Please!”

  When I dialed the number, she answered before the end of the first ring. “Detective Beaumont?” She sounded frantic.

  “Yes, Erin, it's me. What's wrong?”

  “I've got to talk to you. Right now. Tonight. Where can I meet you?”

  “Erin, tell me what's wrong.”

  It was hard to connect that young, wretchedly distraught voice with the personality of a killer, but I couldn't afford to ignore Jason Ragsdale's eyewitness warning. In my own best interests--and in hers as well--I had to assume that Erin Kelsey was both dangerous and unpredictable.

  She paused, drawing a ragged breath. “Everything's wrong, Detective Beaumont. My life is wrong. My mother is dead, my father is in jail for killing her. I don't understand it. I want somebody to explain it to me. I want somebody to tell me what's going on. Maybe I'm going crazy. Is that possible?” She ended the series of questions with an uncontrollable sob.

  Unfortunately, if what Jason Ragsdale had told me was the truth, insanity was one of the few ideas that made absolute sense. While Erin continued to weep into the phone, I tried to strategize.

  I've learned a few hard lessons over the years. One of the toughest is that, for me personally, a damsel in distress usually proves to be a one way ticket to disaster. This time, for a change, I paid attention and refused to blunder in where angels fear to tread.

  “Erin,” I asked. “Do you have a car there at your house?”

  “A what?” she asked, sniffling.

  “A car. Transportation. Can you drive somewhere and meet me?”

  “No. My car's still in Eugene. The police towed Mom's Volvo away, and I haven't seen Daddy's Eagle anywhere. Can't you come here?”

  “No,” I told her firmly, “I can't,” although “won't” was a whole lot closer to the truth.

  “Call a cab then,” I continued. “Do you know the Doghouse Restaurant at Seventh and Bell?”

  “I think I can find it. I've been there before a couple of times, after football games.”

  “The cabbie will know where it is even if you don't. Meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

  “What if I can't get a taxi that fast?”

  “Get there as soon as you can. I'll wait.”

  For the second time that evening, I headed out into the night.

  Chapter 25

  I was seated halfway down the wall when Erin Kelsey rushed headlong into the restaurant. Once inside, she paused uncertainly and glanced around the room before catching sight of me and hurrying toward my booth.

  If anything, she looked far worse than she had sounded on the phone. Her hair was pulled back into a ragged, disheveled braid of some kind. The yellowish light in the restaurant is never flattering to anybody, but her face, contorted by emotion, looked downright ravaged.

  I made a quick strategic evaluation as she came closer.
She was wearing jeans and a bulky, sheepskin-lined jacket, which she made no move to take off. Over her shoulder dangled a good-sized purse. Both of those factors meant that concealed weapons were a definite possibility. I kept my guard up.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked as she slid into the booth opposite me. “Coffee, tea--a drink?”