The Killing: Uncommon Denominator

by Karen Dionne

  “While they knew nothing about him.” Goddard whistled.

  “Maybe,” Sarah said. Whether or not the Marsees knew they had a half-brother was still open to debate. But there was no doubt now that Campbell knew all about them. The sheer quantity of material set her nerves on edge. Sarah didn’t have this many mementos of her own son.

  “No wonder he used Tiffany to come on to Lance,” Goddard said. “He had to have known about Lance’s gambling problem. Tiffany worked at the Black Bear. It was the perfect setup.”

  “But why?” Sarah waved her arm at the clippings spread over the bed. “He already knew everything there was to know about them.”

  “Everything except the exact details of their ‘secret project.’”

  Sarah nodded. “Of course. Campbell finds out about the project through Rutz. He wants to know more, but he can’t approach the brothers openly without revealing himself. So he uses his girlfriend as a conduit.”

  “The undercover said Campbell was furious when she brought him home to live with her. Bet that wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.” Sarah picked up a handful of clippings and started packing them into the box. “Let’s get these back to the station.”

  As she followed Goddard back through the living room, Sarah glanced into the kitchen. The table had been knocked over in the blast; its surface was scorched and charred. Campbell had sat at that table, crushing the pseudoephedrine tablets, mixing the chemicals, shaking the soda bottle, and for what? A few grams of meth. The undercover told Goddard that Campbell had turned Tiffany on to meth after she brought Lance home to live with her in order to re-exert his control. But there were easier ways of obtaining the drug than making it yourself, especially in a place like Rainier Valley. Campbell was a smart man. He had to have known that cooking meth was a risky business. Again according the undercover, that was why he’d locked his boy in the car. So why was he doing it? It was possible he was cooking simply for the thrill of it. People did stranger things to get their adrenaline pumping. Or he might have been cooking out of hubris, thinking he was too smart to be the guy for whom things would go wrong. Or maybe he was cooking because he needed the cash—a great deal of it—for a certain “secret project.” He couldn’t have been taking such a risk just to supply one addict.

  She thought about the boy, Hugo, shivering in the car while his dad cooked up a batch of meth. Some father.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a sec,” she said to Goddard, and went back down the hallway to Hugo’s bedroom. She looked over the menagerie on the boy’s bed, selected a faded yellow rabbit that was flattened on one side and missing an eye, then hurried back out.

  She stuffed the rabbit into her jacket pocket and followed Goddard out to the car. The cardboard box of mementos was already on the back seat, along with Campbell’s laptop. She hoped the tech guys would be able to find some answers on it.

  Sarah put the key in the ignition and reached into her jacket for a cigarette, then looked over at Goddard watching her and thought better of it. He’d only recently quit smoking. She didn’t want to make it harder for him. Now that she was considering cutting back, it was becoming painfully clear just how much of an addiction she had. Never mind what it was doing to her lungs, she hated the idea of being dependent on a chemical. And at the end of the day, was she really all that different from Tiffany? Addiction was addiction. Just because her substance was legal didn’t make it right.

  “Got another of those Nicachews?”

  Goddard reached into his coat pocket and handed her two. Sarah unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth. Taking a final long look at the sad remains of Campbell’s trailer, she drove off.

  33

  Sarah dropped off Goddard next to his car in the station lot. She had an hour before it was time to pick up Jack from his after-school program. She thought about going inside and catching up on paperwork. Instead, she pulled back out of the lot and drove across town to a familiar two-story red-brick building. A building where Sarah had spent far too much time during her childhood. From the outside, the Child Protective Services Administration offices looked like a school. A fenced-in playground surrounded by trees—maples and oaks with thick, low branches that begged to be climbed. Bicycle racks and cement park benches, a garden bordered by rhododendrons and a grape arbor. A pleasant enough setting for the social workers who worked here and the children they looked out for during the spring, summer, and fall. But in winter, the bare branches reflected in the tiny panes of the metal-frame windows made the place look like the prison Sarah had often felt it was.

  She parked in one of the visitor slots, then took a deep breath and got out. So many memories. None of them good. She patted the stuffed rabbit in her pocket, then opened the building’s front door and went into the lobby. Instantly, she was nearly overwhelmed. The sounds. The smells. The same plastic chairs lined up around the edges of the room that she remembered from when she was a child. She crossed the room and knocked on a sliding glass panel. Waited until the receptionist behind the frosted glass pushed one of the panels to the side.

  “Hi, there,” Sarah said pleasantly. “I’m Detective Sarah Linden.” Whose name is somewhere in your computer files, she could have added. “I’m looking for information about a child who was brought in a couple of days ago. Hugo Campbell. He’s two or three years old. Blond. His custodial parent had to be hospitalized after he was burned in a house trailer fire.”

  Sarah deliberately left out the fact that Campbell was burned in a meth explosion. No doubt the details were in Hugo’s case file, and the caseworker would be well aware of the circumstances, but not everybody needed to know.

  The receptionist consulted her computer screen. “I’m sorry. Hugo’s caseworker is out in the field for the rest of the day. Can you come back tomorrow?”

  Sarah could. Except that tomorrow, she’d be busy following up on other aspects of the case. Who knew where the investigation would lead her, or when she’d have a chance to get out here again? She just wanted to find out where Hugo had been placed so she could bring him his favorite toy.

  “That’s okay. I don’t really need to speak with the caseworker. I just need to see Hugo. If you’ll give me the address…”

  Still smiling. The problem was, cop or no cop, it was entirely up to this woman whether she would cooperate with Sarah’s request or not. Legally, Sarah had a right to the information, even though she wasn’t actively involved with the case. But Child Protective Services and law enforcement didn’t always get along. Both agencies wanted the same thing in theory, and that was to do what was in the best interest of the child. But CPS saw their role as reuniting families wherever possible, while the cops wanted to see the bad guys put away. Visitation between the child in foster care and his or her parents was particularly tricky. CPS maintained that visitation was vital to the child’s sense of continuity and belonging even when removed from an abusive home. As bad as the child’s home life might have been, it was the only one they’d known. But law enforcement worried that parents would use the visitation time to coach the child, or pressure them to change their story. Often, they were right. “I’m sorry. I really can’t tell you more than that.”

  Sarah forced a smile. Breaking into Fort Knox was probably easier than extracting information from Child Protective Services. Waterboarding might help. She pulled the toy rabbit from her pocket and laid it on the counter. Her ace in the hole. “I just wanted to give him this. It’s his favorite.”

  The woman practically melted. “That’s so sweet of you!” She reached out and took the toy before Sarah could react. She was still smiling as she wrote Hugo’s name on a piece of paper and used a rubber band to fasten it around the rabbit’s neck. “I’ll make sure to give it to Hugo’s caseworker tomorrow. She’ll make sure it gets to him.”

  Sarah smiled through gritted teeth. There was nothing for her to do but let the woman have it her way. Sarah was profoundly disappointed. She was also angry. She re
cognized that her reaction was completely out of proportion to the offense. Even so, what was wrong with people? How hard would it have been for the woman to give Sarah Hugo’s address? All she’d wanted was to give the stuffed rabbit to Hugo herself. Make that one small connection. Let him know somebody cared.

  She was about to leave when she had an idea. “Could I please have a piece of paper? I’d like to write Hugo a note to go with it.”

  “Of course.” The receptionist tore off the top sheet from a pad of paper and handed it to Sarah, along with a pen.

  Your bunny’s been looking for you! Sarah wrote. Give him a big hug! Love,

  She hesitated.

  Daddy.

  * * *

  Sarah was running late by the time she got to Jack’s middle school. Everyone was driving slower than normal because of the icy roads. Jack got testy if she didn’t pick him up on time. Sarah couldn’t blame him. What kid wouldn’t rather be at home than hanging around at school a minute longer than necessary?

  She texted him to let him know she was outside, then lit a cigarette while she waited.

  He appeared a few minutes later. The scowl on his face was visible from the street. He opened the rear passenger door and tossed in his backpack, then slammed it shut and slid into the front seat. “God, Mom. I can’t believe you’re late again.”

  “Better late than never.” She smiled. Jack did not.

  “I bet you were at that stupid trailer park again.”

  Jack had her cop’s instincts, without a doubt. Sarah didn’t know whether to feel proud or annoyed. When he was littler, she used to be able to slide things past him. Now he was quick to call her to account.

  “Buckle up,” she said as she pulled away from the curb.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a baby.”

  “I know. It’s just that you’re growing up so fast, sometimes, I forget you don’t need me to tell you what to do. Listen, what do you say we grab some McDonald’s on the way?”

  “I’d rather have Wendy’s. Their fries are better. I haven’t liked McDonalds since I was like, ten.”

  Letting her know he couldn’t be so easily bought. His assertiveness didn’t bother her. Teens were supposed to push back. It was just part of the process. Where communication broke down was when parents took it all too seriously. You had to cut your kids some slack. Give them a chance to find their way. No reason to get bent out of shape over something that in ten or twenty years neither of you would even remember.

  “Wendy’s it is.” She reached out to ruffle his hair. Congratulated herself on her most excellent mothering skills when he didn’t pull away.

  “How was school today?” she asked.

  “It was okay.”

  Which was about all the conversation on that topic she was going to get.

  “I’m thinking Scrabble tonight. What do you say? We’ll turn on the fire, make some hot chocolate. It’ll be fun.”

  “Maybe.”

  By the time Sarah inched her way through the mile-long line at the drive-thru, the on-again, off-again sleet that had been threatening all day turned to snow. Jack didn’t seem to notice the treacherous road conditions as he bobbed his head to whatever music was playing on his headphones and munched his French fries.

  At last they pulled into their driveway. Sarah peeled her fingers from the steering wheel, suddenly aware how hard she’d been clenching. She picked up the nearly empty fast-food bag and got out of the car. Jack followed her, twirling like a little boy with his mouth open and his head tipped back to the sky as he caught the big, fat flakes. Sarah smiled and did the same. As soon as Jack saw her, he stopped.

  Sarah sighed. As she started up the steps, the motion sensor turned on the porch light. She looked down, and sighed again, then picked up the frozen bouquet of roses Rick had left on her front steps and carried it into the house.

  DAY FOUR

  JANUARY 27, 5:30 A.M.

  34

  The power was out when Sarah woke up. She went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, filled the reservoir with cold water, spooned the coffee into the filter, and only then did she notice that the microwave display was off.

  She walked over to the doorway and flipped the room’s light switch. Nothing. Given yesterday’s storm prediction, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Luckily, her stove was gas. She filled the kettle, then dug through the lower cabinets for the French press someone had given to her one year for Christmas. She carried it over to the window so she could see well enough to read the directions on the box and figure out how to use it.

  Rick’s roses lay on the counter. The leaves were curled and the petals had turned to mush. She felt bad about the wasted money and effort. The roses were too far gone to try to revive them, but it didn’t seem right to just throw them away. A dilemma which could have been a metaphor for their relationship, but she didn’t want to go there. She pictured Rick standing on her porch last night, knocking on her door, waiting who knew how long for an answer, getting none, and then leaving the roses thinking that surely she’d be along shortly to bring them inside.

  On the other hand, he didn’t have to leave them behind and risk their being ruined. He could have taken the roses home with him and come back again later—or called before he came over in the first place to make sure that she was home. Instead, he’d put her in a position where she’d been made to feel guilty. She gathered up the flowers and threw them in the trash.

  Outside, it was just starting to get light. Beneath the streetlights, the snow was falling in fat, wet flakes. The air had the thick, muted quality that came with a heavy snowfall. The light was softer. Sounds were muffled. She could hear a plow scraping pavement several streets over, but that was all. The crews would have worked through the night to keep the main roads open and the buses running, but side streets like the one she lived on didn’t get cleared. She craned her neck to see her driveway. Her car looked like a giant marshmallow. Too bad her condo didn’t have a garage. Even a carport would have helped. But those units were more expensive, and on her cop’s salary, this was all she could afford.

  The kettle whistled. Sarah read the instructions on the box again, then carefully followed them to the letter. As it turned out, making a cup of coffee with a French press was not as difficult as the directions made it seem. She carried the cup into the living room, feeling a pleasant sense of accomplishment, and sat down on the couch with a fleece throw wrapped around her shoulders and her bare feet tucked beneath her. She thought about the Marsee case as she sipped. She and Goddard had made good progress with their investigation yesterday, but today was going to be a bust. She’d badly wanted to bring in Rutz or Tiffany this morning for questioning. But now thanks to the storm, she’d be doing well if she managed to dig herself out and get to the station. Once she was there, it would be all hands on deck. Most likely, she was going to have to spend the day working accident assist or traffic control. At least with the city shut down by the storm, neither of her persons of interest were going anywhere.

  Her phone vibrated. She reached over to where it lay on the coffee table and picked it up. A text from Goddard: Wife had the baby last night. We got our boy! Bringing cigars. See you in a few.

  She smiled. She couldn’t remember exactly when Goddard had said the baby was due. It seemed early, but from the tone of his text, it sounded like everything was all right. She texted back her congrats, then called the station.

  “Linden here. I’ll be there in about an hour,” she told the front desk. It was going to take at least that long to clear the car, not to mention getting Jack up and dressed.

  “Thanks for checking in. I’ll let them know.” The officer sounded tired, like he was just coming off shift. Or maybe he was pulling a double. “Everyone’s in this morning, all leave cancelled. Seattle got socked.”

  What was she going to do with Jack? No schools would be open on a day like this, but she didn’t want him home alone, no matter how grownup he thought he was. She p
olished off her coffee and went to get dressed. Long underwear, jeans, a thermal undershirt, thick wool sweater, and two pairs of wool socks beneath her oiled-leather work boots. Wherever she ended up working today, it was practically guaranteed it would be outside.

  She went down the hall to wake up Jack. His room was as dark as a cave. She opened the mini blinds and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Jack. Wake up.” She shook his shoulder. “It’s time to get up.”

  He groaned and burrowed deeper into the covers. She pulled them off him. “Jack. You have to get up. You have to come with me to the station.”

  “What about school?”

  So now he suddenly cared about school? “School’s closed. We have a snow emergency.”

  He pulled the blankets over his head. “Then why can’t I stay here? There’s nothing to do at the station.”

  “Because the power is out. You’ll freeze. Besides, there’s nothing to do here, either. We’ll be warm at the station. I might even let you raid the vending machines.” She shook his shoulder again. “Come on. Get dressed.”

  Sarah waited in the hallway until she was sure she had heard him get out of bed, then went to the front closet. She buttoned her police jacket over her sweater, added a hat and a scarf, slipped her phone into her jacket pocket, pulled on a pair of gloves, and went outside.

  Seattle had indeed gotten “socked.” Six inches of snow had fallen while the city slept. Sarah knew from her white-knuckle drive home last night that there was a layer of ice underneath. No doubt the governor had already declared a state of emergency. It wasn’t just the treacherous roads that were the problem. The weight of all that wet snow was going to break tree branches, pull down power lines, collapse roofs. And the snow was still coming down.

  She waved to a neighbor across the street who, like Sarah, was also standing on her porch admiring the transformation and wondering where to start, then picked up a shovel and began clearing the steps.