Hard Bitten

by M. K. York

  To each their own.

  His phone rang again—Lena, calling to tell him to get back to talk about the gas can.

  He hung up, wadded up the wax paper from his sandwich, crammed the soggy dill pickle into his mouth, and headed to the office. It wasn’t raining, but the lingering damp from the morning’s mist had seeped into the air.

  Lena was on the phone when he walked in; he paused by the door, but she gestured him to the chair across her desk, still talking.

  “—thanks again,” she said. “Appreciate it. I’ll talk with you later.”

  She was frowning when she set the phone in its cradle.

  “So what’s the story?” Mark asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

  “That bad?”

  “You saw the report?”

  He nodded. “Said there were signs of accelerant, didn’t specify what.”

  “Yeah. Well, the official police line is that we’ll have to wait for them to complete the analysis and then for them to process our discovery request on that.”

  “I’m guessing there’s an unofficial line?”

  “I know somebody who heard that they are dead certain accelerant was used and that it was gasoline.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s she saying about the gas can?”

  “Same as before. Yes, it’s hers, yes, of course her fingerprints are on it, she just keeps a little in the trunk in case she runs out.”

  “The cops say it was empty in the report.”

  “She says she doesn’t know whether it was empty or not.”

  Mark blew out a breath between his teeth. “She’s not making this easy.”

  “She’s not very bright, or she wouldn’t be in this mess.” Lena steepled her fingers. “Come on. Fucking her boss? Her married boss?”

  “How’s the investigation on the wife going?”

  “Not great.” Lena made a face like she’d bitten into something sour. “She’s got an alibi.”

  “A good one?” Mark raised his eyebrows. Everybody had an alibi. The question was always whether it was worth a damn.

  Lena shook her head. “Best friend says they were out shopping. Cops are checking the credit card receipts. Katie says she hasn’t turned up any witnesses yet.”

  “So it could still be her. Life insurance?”

  “Cops aren’t telling yet, wife told Katie to go to hell when she asked.”

  “Go figure. Let’s not count her out.”

  “Anything from your guy?”

  “Lukas? I think he’s going to turn in a report tomorrow.”

  “Good. Anticipating any surprises?”

  “Nah, he’s kept me updated on it.”

  “Let me know.”

  “Any other thoughts on the DUI?”

  She nodded. “You see the field blow anywhere in that report?”

  “No. Thought that was interesting.”

  “It is.”

  “Think the cops just didn’t want to tell us what she blew, or are they just incompetent?”

  She barked out a laugh. “Can’t it be both?”

  “Of course.”

  He frowned out at the window. “I’m going to file a specific discovery request.”

  “You really need to do that?”

  He blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. You think John doesn’t have it?”

  “Dauer? Of course he does.”

  “How’s your working relationship with him?”

  “We don’t have one. I’m always up against the junior ADAs for the cases I do.”

  “Yeah, look, he’s not bad. Give me a sec.” She picked up the phone, punching a number in. After a minute she said, “John. Hi. It’s Lena.” She listened in silence. “Yeah, no, it’s good over here. How’s Barb?” There were a few more moments of mundane small talk before she said, “So I’m calling about Carville. Yeah. Mmm-hmm. Well, it’s about the discovery report. You going to make us file a separate discovery for the field blow?”

  She paused for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, you bet your ass Mark put me up to this! He was all ready to actually file. You guys should meet sometime. Are you going to send it over? Great. Thanks.”

  She put the phone down with a click. “You guys do need to meet sometime. You’re going to have to communicate about this.”

  “I didn’t realize I could just call the DA.”

  “On this case? You sure can. He doesn’t want to spend any more time in front of a judge than he has to.”

  “Thanks for taking care of it. I appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, no problem. The DUI, who knows, but if we can get her off on the arson she’ll be done with time served and back out to her shitty life before we can say boo.”

  “You’re a real sweetheart.”

  “That’s me.” Lena grinned at him mirthlessly and waved him out of her office. “Now go do something productive.”

  “I always do!” Mark called back into her office, hanging on to the doorframe one-handed.

  She cackled in response.

  He stuck his head back in. “Hey, just a thought.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The wife didn’t like Katie?”

  “Not much.”

  “We could always try sending Lukas.”

  Lena contemplated that for a moment in silence while Mark watched her think through what had occurred to him. Sometimes people had a hard time talking to one investigator; sometimes their knee-jerk reaction was the main problem, and once they had time to think it over they settled down a little.

  A separate investigator with a separate set of questions—well. Lukas was kind of a gentle-giant type, tall, intimidating, but soft-spoken and calm, and handsome in his own way. A grieving widow with a chip on her shoulder might take more kindly to him.

  “Yeah, what the hell.” Lena sighed. “It’s not like this case isn’t already expensive as shit. Do it.”

  “Cool, thanks.”

  He had a motion he really needed to submit for one of his other clients, but as soon as he finished that, he’d call Lukas.

  Chapter Four

  Lukas was in the middle of trying to figure out where to fax his report when he got the message from Mark about interviewing the widow. He called back to briefly confirm that he could do it, and tried to ignore Mark’s voice—how the sound brought back the physical impressions of meeting him. Mark had thick, glossy black hair, and olive skin, and he was in constant motion, hands always moving as he talked. On the phone Mark was quick to laugh and quick to swear. It should have been exhausting, but it turned out to be pleasant. Not to have to carry the weight of a conversation.

  The job that afternoon was a quiet one, which suited him just fine. Insurance fraud again, and he’d seen on Facebook (it was amazing how many men would accept a friend request from a pretty woman they didn’t recognize) that the guy was planning a party. Sure enough, a few hours in to watching from his parked car down the alley, the guy emerged—toting hugely full trash bags, which he lifted and swung into the Dumpster with ease. Not the picture of someone with a dangerous spine condition.

  He lowered his camera after the guy went back inside. In the low light Lukas would be practically invisible. There wasn’t much else to do. He could stick around looking for more evidence, or take this to the insurance company. This would be plenty.

  He headed home. A hot shower and a beer later, he was feeling pretty well unwound, feet propped up on the couch, a true crime show blaring on the TV. He was hours ahead of schedule, home before it was even dark.

  His phone buzzed. He frowned at it. Mark again. If you get a chance ask if Gina gave him any trouble.

  Right, because he hadn’t planned on asking the most obvious questions. He texted back I have done this before.

  Not for murder though

  That was true. He shrugged, putting the phone aside. A second later it lit up again.

  Didn’t mean t
o impugn your professionalism

  good.

  I’m sure you interview like a boss

  probably better than you

  Hey I interview people all the time

  yeah but they think you’re on their side

  I am on their side

  so that makes it easier.

  He just got the tongue-out emoji for that one. A smile tugged at his mouth; he tried to will it away.

  *

  The next morning, Lukas got up early enough to shower, shave, and put on full business casual, right down to an ironed shirt, before he headed off to see the widow. He drove to spare his clothes.

  The house they were supposed to meet at was actually in Ballard, sort of—one of the nicer places, out on the west side, with a water view. As he pulled up to the driveway, he spotted a car he knew he’d seen before in the parking lot at West Cascades Shipping. Alarm bells were going off in his head even before he made his way up the tastefully landscaped stone stairs to the front door and, after knocking, found himself face-to-face with Mr. Williams.

  “Sir.” Lukas pasted on a bland smile.

  “Mr. Nystrom. Good to see you again.”

  “You as well.” He didn’t comment on the fact that apparently the CEO had decided to take the grieving widow under his wing, but Mr. Williams must have seen something in his face that he didn’t like.

  “I just thought, after how upset Melinda was last time, that it would be better if she had a friend here for this.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ron?” Melinda Kupfer came into view, behind him. She was wearing a black sweater over blue jeans. Her eyes had dark circles under them, her nose a little red.

  “Mrs. Kupfer.” Lukas went for a little bow toward her. Mr. Williams stepped back, gesturing Lukas into the house.

  It was the kind of place that screamed custom, that screamed money. Mr. Williams obviously wasn’t doing too badly for himself in the shipping and transport business. His house had the kind of artfully arranged furniture and rugs and sculptures that could only have been put together by an interior decorator.

  Mr. Williams showed him into the living room—a big, open space, with a nice view out over the water, the edge of the marina visible. The couch was enormous. Lukas settled onto it gingerly. Mr. Williams sat next to him, and Melinda sat in an armchair that looked less pillowy.

  “Thank you so much for meeting with me,” Lukas said to her gravely. “This must be a terrible time.”

  She gave a dry little bark of a laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

  “Melinda,” said Mr. Williams in a low, reproachful voice. “He just wants to know more about Gina.”

  “That bitch.” Melinda plucked at stray threads off a cushion. “I didn’t know. How crazy is that? I didn’t know she was trying to get her claws into Greg.”

  Lukas nodded, letting his head tilt slightly to one side in a sympathetic invitation.

  Melinda went on, “She, uh, he never really talked much about her. Like she didn’t make a big impression one way or the other.”

  “Did he ever mention whether they fought?”

  “No. I didn’t know—I knew things weren’t perfect with us, we were having some trouble. I thought maybe there was somebody. But somebody from work?” Her lips curled in distaste. “And I met her, you know. Holiday parties. Things like that. She was such a nobody.”

  It was easy, looking at Melinda, to understand why she would see a woman like Gina Carville as a nobody. Melinda’s face had good bone structure. She was the kind of woman who’d be pretty all her life, who’d work to keep her figure all her life. Age wouldn’t catch her by surprise; she was already entrenched on her side of the battle lines.

  “Can I ask what set off the trouble between you?” Lukas kept his voice soft, gentle. She still shot him a suspicious look before answering.

  “Just typical stuff. Money, you know, what we were spending it on.” She stared at her hands. “Family. Plans.” The words sounded like they were dragged out of her.

  “I see.” Lukas kept his body turned toward her, deliberately braced one elbow on his knee, leaning in. “Had Gina ever had drinking issues that you knew of?”

  “No? I mean, like I said, he didn’t talk about her much. But he never said anything about drinking.”

  “Had he ever had trouble with any other employees? It can be hard, being a manager.”

  She shook her head. “Really minor stuff. Like, some people who were late sometimes, and somebody got light-fingered with, I think it was a shipment of stuffed animals? Stupid stuff.”

  “He was never threatened by anyone?”

  “Stupid stuff! One guy said he was going to kick Greg’s ass. It was for, like, two hours of overtime. It didn’t amount to anything.”

  “Are you sure you need to be asking about this?” asked Mr. Williams.

  Lukas glanced back at him. “I want to be sure we have an accurate picture of what Mr. Kupfer’s life was like. He was clearly important to the company, and it was a big part of his life.”

  That was a sop for Melinda. It worked. She looked up, eyes watery again. “It was,” she said, almost defiantly, toward Mr. Williams. “I know you kept telling him to take some time off, Ron, but he loved that stupid place.”

  Mr. Williams sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done if he’d listened to me.”

  “Did he seem worried about anything lately?”

  Melinda shook her head. “No. Just...same as he’d been. Kind of distant with me. Maybe a little better, if anything.”

  And there were worlds contained in that, weren’t there. But she just met his eyes with a stony stare, still a little red, still teary around the edges.

  “He might not have wanted to worry you. Had he been making any kind of preparations? A new will, new life insurance, anything like that?”

  “Oh, God, no!” She looked appalled. “Just the same—same old stuff.”

  “It’s a community property state,” Mr. Williams interposed. “Legally, what was Greg’s was Melinda’s.”

  She shot him a brief glare. “Ron, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  Lukas kept trying to probe for more—maybe a few thoughts on what stuff, exactly, that had been Greg’s was now Melinda’s—but Melinda was getting progressively shorter in her answers, focusing more and more on picking at the throw pillow or hangnails.

  Finally, he said, “I think I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mrs. Kupfer.”

  She nodded briefly, not meeting his eyes.

  “I’ll show you out.” Mr. Williams stood, gesturing for Lukas to walk in front of him.

  When they got to the door, Mr. Williams added in a low voice, “She hasn’t really been herself since the fire. I’m sorry we couldn’t be more helpful.”

  “I appreciate your time.”

  Lukas made his way back down to his car. He had an appointment that afternoon to meet a new potential client; he ought to be getting downtown.

  He paused in his car and sent a brief text to Mark. Not a lot from the widow.

  Damn, Mark responded immediately.

  Met at the owner’s house though

  RW?

  Yes

  Weird

  Agreed

  His phone rang. Mark. “Hello?”

  “What do you think?” asked Mark without preamble. “Something weird going on? Owner and the widow fucking?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really get that feeling, but I don’t like the owner.”

  “Don’t like as in he seems like a lousy human being, or don’t like as in he might have something to do with this?”

  “A little of both, I guess. He’s sleazy. Smarmy.”

  “Well, if there was anything going on with the company that wasn’t aboveboard, the warehouse manager might know about it.”

  “Yeah. That thought had occurred to me.”

  “His alibi was pretty weak, right?”

  “His housekeeper. I d
idn’t talk to her. He has an ex-wife, Beatrice, but I couldn’t find her on a quick internet search—looks like she moved to Florida right after the divorce.”

  “How long were they married? Any chance she’d know if there was dirt on him?”

  “Like twenty years, so probably, but I’ve tried her maiden name and her married name and can’t find anything. Not even a marriage certificate to a new guy or a name change. So I don’t know where we go from here.”

  “You want to go back to the company? See if you can talk to anyone else? Excuse can be that we’re just looking to establish that Gina was a decent person, we’re looking for character witnesses.”

  “Okay. I can head back—it’s Friday, they won’t be there over the weekend. Monday?”

  “Sounds good. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do.”

  *

  Mark stepped into the bar, closing his umbrella and shaking the water off the end. Everything was a little dark, nice wood paneling everywhere—it had that lumberjack kind of appeal Seattle had been gunning for since grunge had softened into its yuppie years. Something smelled like wood smoke and chocolate.

  “Mark?” called Jennifer, sitting by the bar. He waved back and made his way over.

  “Gavin should be here in a minute.”

  “Good. Travis is coming too.”

  “Doesn’t he have kids?”

  “It’s only seven, it’s not like he’s staying out all night.”

  “All right.”

  She shot him a shifty glance. “And I invited someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Mary Lynn, from the county prosecutor’s office.”

  “Oh, thank God. For a minute I thought you were going to try to set me up with someone.”

  “What? No. God. No. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “I knew that, I wasn’t sure you did.” He leaned a hip against the bar. “Ordered yet?”

  “Just a glass of wine.” She nodded down to where the bartender was pouring.

  “Sounds good, think I’ll have one too.” He squinted up at the menu, drawn in fancy chalk writing with lots of flourishes. “They serve cake?”