More Perfect Union (9780061760228)

by Jance, Judith A.

  She must have noticed the puzzled expression on my face. She answered my question without my ever asking it. “I talked to Jimmy last night. He told me all about you, about how you’d been so nice to him and given him a ride to the center. He told me you had asked about me, but he couldn’t remember whether or not he’d given you my phone number. I guess we don’t have to wonder about that anymore, do we. If you were on the up and up, you would have picked up a telephone and called.”

  She jerked the gun in my direction and my heart went to my throat. “Empty your pants pockets,” she added. “Turn them inside out.”

  “Wait a minute…”

  “Do it!” she commanded. “Now!”

  I did. My car keys, change, and pocketknife ended up in a pitiful pile which I shoved under the grill.

  The little girl appeared at her mother’s side and clung to one leg, whining. “I’m scared, Mommie. What are we going to do with him? What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know yet, Allison. Go on outside and play with Jason. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Allison backed away from the door, watching me warily through the bars as she did so.

  “Now the ladder,” Linda Decker ordered.

  “The ladder!”

  “Go get it, bring it over here, and shove it under the bars. It’ll fit.”

  Linda Decker had evidently thought this whole scene through in some detail. She was leaving no stone unturned. I wouldn’t get out of there until she was damned good and ready and not a moment before.

  When the ladder had been shoved under the bars and moved safely out of reach across the kitchen, she sighed with relief.

  “Now what?” I demanded. “I suppose the next thing you’ll want me to take off my pants.”

  No matter how old I get, I’ll never learn to keep my big mouth shut. I doubt she would have thought of it on her own if I hadn’t been such a smart-ass and made the suggestion.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  And so the belt and pants came off, and my socks, and finally my dress shirt. I sat there in nothing but my shorts, feeling as naked as a plucked chicken. A trickle of blood was still running down my leg from the gash in my knee, but at least by then my nose had stopped bleeding.

  “Now put your hands behind your head and keep them there.”

  I did as I was told, but I tried once more to talk some sense into her head. “Will you please listen to reason?” I asked. It’s tough to sound reasonable when you’re down to nothing but your skivvies, when you’re talking to a total stranger who’s packing a pistol.

  I took a deep breath, searching for some scrap of dignity. “I’m a sworn police officer, Linda. Are you aware you can go to jail for this?”

  She waved the gun impatiently. She wasn’t listening to me, hadn’t heard a word I was saying. “Who sent you here?” she demanded.

  “Nobody sent me.”

  “You tell me who sent you and then I’ll figure out whether I should call the cops or plug you full of holes myself.”

  “I already told you, I came on my own,” I insisted.

  “You still expect me to believe that? Just how stupid do you think I am?”

  When I didn’t answer, she shrugged and turned away from me. She walked over to the counter long enough to pour herself a cup of coffee. Taking both the coffee and the gun with her, she sat down on a tall kitchen stool. She placed the gun on the counter beside her then sat there sipping coffee while she gazed at me speculatively. We had reached an impasse. Neither one of us said anything for some time.

  Having the gun out of her hand made me feel a little better. Not a whole lot better, but a little. A loaded gun in the hands of a frightened person can be a deadly combination. There are plenty of dead cops out there to prove it’s true. I didn’t want to join them.

  “Please listen to me. I’m a cop. A detective. I work for the Seattle P.D.”

  She laughed, but the sound was harsh and humorless. “Sure you are,” she responded. “Can’t you come up with something a little more original? We’ve been through that already and I’m not buying, remember?”

  I didn’t give up. “I came because I don’t think Logan Tyree’s death was an accident.”

  “Think?” she asked bitterly. “You think it wasn’t an accident, or you know. Which is it?”

  “You think I killed him?”

  “Didn’t you?” The countering question was quick and accompanied by a look of sheer hatred. “It doesn’t matter,” she added. “They’re not here, either. You won’t find them. They’re in a safe place.”

  “What’s not here?”

  “After what happened to Logan, do you think I’m dumb enough to have those tapes with me?”

  “What tapes?” I asked.

  “And if anything happens to me…”

  She was interrupted by a frantic pounding on the outside door leading into the kitchen. “Mommie, Mommie. Open the door quick. Somebody’s coming.”

  Linda Decker leaped to her feet. She was wearing a loose-fitting sweatshirt and Levis. She stuffed the gun under her shirt and raced to the kitchen door, frantically unlocking a series of dead bolts and pushing open the grill to let the breathless children inside just as the doorbell rang at the front of the house.

  “Who is it, Jason?” she hissed as she closed both the grill and the door and fastened all the locks.

  “It’s a policeman,” Jason answered, his voice a high-pitched squeak. “With blue lights on top of the car and everything.”

  My first reaction was one of relief. A policeman. An ally. Someone who would make Linda Decker listen to me, someone who would help me out of my predicament.

  The doorbell rang again, insistently. Wavering, Linda Decker glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the front door and then down at her two frightened children. Last of all she turned to me. Her face hardened. She reached under her shirt and tentatively touched the gun. For a moment I was afraid she was going to give it to Jason, but she evidently changed her mind. Quickly she retrieved my Smith and Wesson and shoved it under her shirt as well.

  Then she came over to the barred basement door, close enough for me to hear her harsh whisper, but far enough away to remain safely out of reach.

  “If you so much as make a sound, so help me God I’ll kill you!”

  With that, she slammed the door shut. The light went out. I was once more left in darkness, sitting almost naked on the wooden steps in Linda Decker’s damp basement, smelling the mouse crap and feeling like a load of shit.

  I didn’t doubt for one minute that she’d do exactly what she said. I couldn’t afford to doubt it. I was convinced she had balls enough and then some.

  She also had the gun.

  I waited. For a long time. I heard the sound of voices, and then the creak of footsteps as someone walked across a room, then the murmur of someone’s voice, only one voice this time—Linda talking, but no one answering. She must have been on the phone. Again there was the creak of footsteps followed by voices again and then a whole flurry of footsteps, but no one came near the kitchen. No one opened the door to the basement for probably ten minutes or maybe longer. I’m not sure.

  When the door did finally open, it was Linda Decker herself who flung it wide and hard, banging the doorknob into something metal, probably a stove.

  She was different, totally different. Something had happened. Something had changed, and not for the better.

  Before that, despite the trembling gun, she had been relatively calm, calculating, working a plan that she had laid out and rehearsed well in advance. Now as she stood staring at me through the barred door there was an icy fury behind her dangerously pale face. Her lips were pulled tight over clenched teeth.

  Thankfully, she wasn’t holding the gun. If she had been, I think she would have shot me on sight.

  “You son of a bitch!” She barely whispered the words, her voice shaking with rage while ragged tremors raced through her whole body. “You goddamned son of a bit
ch!”

  Jason hurried into the room, dragging the whimpering Allison with him. He stopped near his mother and looked up at her. What he saw must have frightened him. “Are you all right, Mommie?” he asked. The grave concern written on his face was far older than his years.

  She tore her eyes from me and glanced down at her son. For a brief moment, her face softened. Her throat worked furiously as she tried three times to choke out an answer. Finally she nodded.

  “I’m all right, Jason. Take Allison out to the car and fasten her seat belt. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “But the door is locked,” he said.

  Without a word, she walked to the door and unlocked the series of locks. I watched her hands. They were shaking so badly it was all she could do to control them. What had happened? What had made the difference? And where was the cop Jason had said was there?

  When the outside door closed behind the children, she swung around to face me again. For a moment, she leaned heavily against the door as though every bit of strength had been drained from her body, as though she needed the door to hold her up.

  “I’m sorry…” she began, then stopped as another violent tremor shook her body. By force of will she drew herself away from the door and started toward me.

  She had begun with the words “I’m sorry,” but there was no hint of apology in her body language. The gun was out of sight, but at that point she didn’t need a gun. She was a menacing cat ready to spring at my face and claw me apart. For the first time, I was grateful for the bars that separated us.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t shoot you when I had a chance,” she finished. She stopped only inches from the iron grill. Maybe I could have grabbed her through the bars, but I didn’t try it. I don’t believe in tackling wildcats with bare hands.

  “It’s up to them now,” she added, “but if they don’t take care of you, I will. That’s a promise!”

  With that she stepped back and slammed the wooden door shut. Once more Linda Decker’s basement was plunged into total darkness. I didn’t know I had been holding my breath until I let it out.

  I felt a sudden rush of gratitude. I was the lucky man who is aware of seeing a rattlesnake only after he’s already pulled his foot out of harm’s way.

  Linda Decker was gone, but in those last seconds before she turned away and slammed the door I looked into her eyes and knew what was different.

  Before she left the kitchen to answer the doorbell, she had been undecided about what to do with me. Now she wasn’t. Her mind was made up. And when I looked into her eyes, they were empty of everything but cold hatred. Hatred and a naked desire to kill me. I’ve seen it before. I know the danger.

  In that moment, my life had hung in the balance, and yet, inexplicably, she had closed the door and walked away. Someone or something had stayed her hand, had kept her from killing me. I had been reprieved.

  Almost sick with relief, I took a deep breath and settled down to wait.

  I suppose my mother would have been proud of me. At least I was wearing clean shorts.

  CHAPTER

  13

  I have no idea how long I waited. A half hour? Longer? It seemed forever, sitting there in the dark. There was no sound in the house. I knew Linda Decker had driven away. I had heard the door slam and the engine of a car turn over. What about the cop? Had he left along with them?

  If I was really alone, I knew I should crawl back down the stairs and try to find some kind of tool that might help me break out of my prison, but I was understandably reluctant to search around in the dark. My knee still hurt. So did my nose.

  I had started picking my way down the steps when I heard the distant wail of a siren. It was coming closer.

  Cops don’t believe in coincidences. They can’t afford to. If there was a siren outside the house, it was because of me, because I was locked up in Linda Decker’s basement.

  The siren came almost to the house and then wound down to silence as I listened. Several car doors slammed shut and I heard a series of shouted commands. I should have felt relief. Here were the reinforcements I had wanted riding to the rescue, but now that they were outside, I didn’t feel better. And I didn’t call out to them. Some instinctive warning system told me that although they were cops and I was a cop, this time we weren’t on the same side.

  Heavy footsteps mounted the outside steps and entered the kitchen, accompanied by a series of barked commands. “She’s got him locked up in the basement,” someone said. “That’s his car out there in the driveway. The red Porsche.”

  Whoever had come to the door hadn’t left when Linda did, but he was cautious. He had called for a backup and then waited outside until they showed.

  “Stay clear of that door,” another voice ordered. It was a much deeper voice than the first one, that of an older man, someone in authority. “Is he armed?”

  The first voice answered. “I don’t think so. She said she took his gun away. It’s right here.”

  Linda must have given him my Smith and Wesson. I listened as heavy footsteps creaked across the kitchen floor. There was a short silence, then the second voice, the older one, said:

  “Beaumont?” The way he said it made my name sound ominous, threatening. “We’ve got this place surrounded. You can’t get out.”

  “Surrounded?” I yelped the word. “Of course I can’t get out. She locked the door. Who the hell do you think I am? I’m not armed. She took my gun.”

  “We know who you are, Beaumont. On the count of three, we’re opening this door. I want to see you with both hands up behind your head or we’ll shoot first and ask questions later. One. Two. Three.”

  Hands behind my head? What was going on? I sat down as the door flew open. There was no one there, only a doorway full of brilliant daylight from the kitchen window shining down the stairs, hurting my eyes, and casting long shadows of bars down the stairway. Then a lone man stepped into the light. He was a big sucker. His burly silhouette filled the entire doorway.

  “Where the hell’s the light switch?” he demanded. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

  There was a quick shuffling of feet as someone searched for and found the switch to the basement light. It came on, leaving me exposed in all my bloody, nearly naked glory. The silence was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

  The heavyset man shook his head as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “I been to three barn dances, a county fair, and a goat ropin’, and I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this before. This what off-duty Seattle cops are wearing these days? On your feet, Beaumont. Come on up the stairs. Easy-like. No sudden moves.”

  I got to my feet and padded barefoot up the stairs with my hands behind my head.

  “Stop right there,” the man said, when I was almost at the top of the stairs. “Who has the key to this damn thing? Louis, did she give it to you?”

  “Yessir.”

  A much younger, shorter man came into view and handed something over. A key. The big man fumbled with it briefly before inserting it into the lock and shoving the gate open. I had to dodge backward to keep from being pushed back down the stairs.

  “Watch it, Beaumont. I said no sudden moves.” He wasn’t holding a weapon, but he spoke with the unquestioned authority of someone who doesn’t think he needs one.

  “What am I supposed to do, stand here while you knock me down the steps?”

  I was close enough to see the badge on his khaki uniform, but there was no name tag.

  “I’d keep a civil tongue in my mouth if I were you,” he replied. Beyond him someone else in a uniform was sifting through my pile of belongings. He came up holding my car keys.

  “Got ’em,” he said. “They’re right here. Want me to go search the car?”

  “Right. Know what to look for?”

  The younger man nodded.

  “Hey, wait a minute. You can’t search my car. You’ve gotta have a warrant.”

  “We’ve got one,” the olde
r man said, patting his breast pocket. He opened his jacket and drew out a long, slim envelope. “We’ve got ourselves one of those little hummers right here. It’s all in order. Come on up here now. All the way into the kitchen. Keep your hands on your head.”

  I walked through the kitchen doorway into a crowded room. All told, there probably weren’t that many people in the room—not more than six, me included—but it seemed like more. They were all cops, much younger ones except for the old guy who was in charge, all wearing versions of the same khaki uniform, all of them packing guns. If I’d made a break for it right then, they probably would have blown each other away, but I was in no mood for running.

  And they were in no mood for laughing, either. Despite my lack of clothing, nobody cracked a smile. This was serious stuff. Dead serious.

  Everyone waited on the older guy for direction. As soon as he spat out orders, they jumped to carry them out.

  “What the hell is this all about?” I demanded. The older man didn’t answer me. Instead, he turned to one of the younger ones.

  “Cuff him, Jamie. Make sure there isn’t a weapon concealed in his shorts. Shut up, Beaumont. You’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

  Jamie was a little shit with lifts in his shoes and a pencil-thin mustache. His search was enthusiastically thorough. “He’s clean, Sheriff Harding,” he reported.

  I wanted to punch Jamie’s lights out, but I didn’t. He had given me one important bit of information, told me I was dealing with W. Reed Harding, Sheriff of Lewis County. Reed Harding wasn’t a totally unknown quantity.

  Like so many small-town sheriffs, he had cut his law-enforcement teeth in the big city, in this case Tacoma, and then moved into small-town police work when he tired of the rat race. I had never met Harding personally, but I knew officers who had worked with him and for him. Word of mouth said he was both tough and fair. I could have done a hell of a lot worse.

  “Do you mind if I put my pants on?” I asked.