Hit and run! The latent implications of the catastrophe struck her full force as she sped through the dark streets. Why had he been walking on that lonely stretch of road at night? Had the act been accidental, or—she shied away from the word—deliberate? Surely no one would have reason to want to hurt her father.
She pressed her fingers against her forehead and tried to think calmly. Would someone at the hospital make certain his clothing was bagged properly to preserve any evidence? She stopped at a phone booth, told the Crime Lab what had happened, and asked that someone alert the emergency room staff.
When she arrived at the hospital, she found the emergency room packed. A woman with a bruised face leaned against one wall, a couple of men with blackened eyes and split lips glared at passersby. A man with a bloody head wound had wedged himself in a corner and gone to sleep. Others, either waiting or with unseen problems, stood in groups of two or three, some wept noisily, some silently, some muttered angry words.
A couple of jeaned and booted young men with bands around their heads shoved her aside and strode toward the reception desk. In their wake staggered a sobbing girl wearing a black nailhead jacket, short skirt, and purple leotards. Her electric blue hair stuck straight up. Black eyeliner made teary spider tracks down her chalked face.
Amy observed the chaotic scene from where she stood beside the door. During the portion of her internship she'd spent here, Friday and Saturday nights had always been a zoo. Worst yet, a continual aroma of alcohol, vomit, and rank sweat seemed to pervade the atmosphere. Yet, offensive as the smell was, she'd found the constant air of hostility harder to bear.
Amy gradually worked her way to the desk, found someone she knew in charge and within a few minutes she was on her way to the surgery floor. As she hurried down a corridor, she caught sight of her aunt in the distance. Although only an inch separated them in height, she always felt a child beside the tall, erect woman who'd been a mother to her even in the years before her own mother had left her and her father.
Later, when she took pre-med, she'd read about the importance of bonding, and realized there'd been no such relationship between her and her mother. As a consequence, when she needed comfort, she'd always gone to Auntie Helen.
She loved her aunt's plain, ruddy face, the dusting of freckles on cheeks and nose, and her wavy cap of graying reddish blonde hair. Despite the woman's angular body, she had a wonderfully soft and ample bosom and Amy had lost track of the times she'd pillowed her head there.
Helen rushed to her and wrapped her in an embrace. “You're home, thank heavens for that.” A second generation Scot from Canada, she still rolled her r's.
The familiar soft burring sound brought tears to Amy's eyes, and she clung to her aunt. “I'm so glad you're here.”
Helen held her at arm's length and gasped. “What happened to your face, child?”
“I'll tell you later. How's Dad?”
“Both legs are fractured and he has a concussion. He's in surgery.” Helen led her to a thinly padded ivory Naugahyde settee.
As they huddled together, the details of Amy and Simon's visit to White Bird came out. Amy left the bits she'd learned while at the Lewistown newspaper office until last.
Helen's face became set and expressionless. “Elise helped people and wrote human interest stories?” She knotted her hands in her lap. “That's hard to be—”
Simon came through the door and she rose to greet him. He put out his hand to shake hers, but she ignored it and embraced him as she had Amy. “Sorry I missed you on Wednesday,” he said.
“My goodness,” she said, when she let him go. “You do look a sight. Sit down and tell me how you've been.”
He stayed standing. “Helen, I'm to blame for what happened to Amy.” He swung to face Amy. “And probably what's happened to B.J. too.”
Helen shook her head. “Simon, Simon, it's been four years since you stayed at our house while you wrote that piece on the Senator, but you're still trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Simon waved her remark aside and focused on Amy. “My editor liked the profile I did on B.J. He bumped another article and ran it in the November edition. The magazine hit the news stands this morning and the Times ran a blurb on the profile in the afternoon edition.”
He clumped the length of the room and turned. “I didn't mention Oren's case, but Elise's killer now knows the man viewing Lomitas Island's crime evidence is no ordinary medical examiner.” He came to stand in front of her. “Amy, I may have set up your father.”
Ten
Saturday, October 29
At 2 a.m., the nurse let Amy see her father for a few minutes. She tiptoed in and peered down at him. Bandages covered his head and both legs were in casts.
With his tremendous vitality stoppered, he looked fragile and as if he'd suddenly grown old. All her life, he'd been her anchor. How could she get along if he ... Fear tightened her chest until she could scarcely breathe.
She lay her hand over his. “How're you feeling, Dad?”
He opened his eyes, attempted a meager smile and failed. “I've been better.”
She leaned closer. “What happened?”
“Calder's new deputy called from the marina. Said a fishermen had found a body.” His voice faded out and he stopped to swallow.
“Don't tire yourself. You can tell me tomorrow.”
He grasped her hand and struggled to raise himself. “You have to know now.”
“All right but you mustn't overdo it.” She eased him back on the pillow.
“My car wouldn't start, tried to call the sheriff's office, but the car phone didn't work. Didn't want to fuss with the alarms to use the one in the house. Figured on a Friday night there'd be people headed for the harbor, so I decided to hoof it.”
“Did you see who hit you?”
He shook his bandaged head and groaned at the movement. “Happened about a quarter of a mile beyond Prescott's Byway. Damned thing came out of the darkness. No lights and going like hell.”
She hesitated to ask the next question. This case had enough complications already. “Do you think it was intentional?”
“Might have been. Phone Tom and find out if his deputy called me about a body.” He winced and closed his eyes.
She patted his shoulder. “I'll take care of everything.” She leaned down and kissed him. “Try to get some rest.”
When she returned to the waiting room, Simon rose and came toward her. “How is he?”
“Not too comfortable.” She glanced around. “Where's Helen?”
“She decided to spend what was left of the night at a friend's house.”
“Good. She looked awfully tired.”
“She said she'd see B.J. later in the day.”
Amy nodded and they started toward the elevator. On the way down, she repeated what her father had told her.
Simon's face became grim. “It's all my fault. I never should have written that article.”
She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake. “Will you stop blaming yourself for every thing that happens.”
When she and Simon exited from the building, half a dozen flash bulbs went off. “Good God,” Simon muttered. “This is all we need.”
She swore under her breath, remembered their bruised faces and swore again. Reporters and TV cameras closed in on them. Simon had said his article would give her visibility. It had certainly done that all right. She'd met a number of the media while working with the Crime Lab's mobile unit, but few of them had known her name—until now.
A TV anchorwoman thrust a microphone at her. “Is your father badly injured, Miss Prescott?”
As soon as she got that question answered, a dozen more were shouted at her from every direction. “That's all I can say,” she said and backed away.
“Were you with your father?” the woman persisted. “Is that where you got the bruises on your face?”
“No comment,” she said and kept repeating it, but still the wom
an kept prodding.
“Leave her alone.” Simon put his arm around Amy. “Can't you see she's worn out?” He tried to guide her to the edge of the pack.
“What's your interest in the Prescotts, Kittredge?” somebody yelled.
“Yeah, Simon,” chimed in another. “A friend of the lady's give you that shiner?”
“Get behind me and hang on,” Simon said, and began to work his way through me crowd.
When they were clear, she directed him to her car and they piled inside. She started the motor. “I'll take you home.”
“No, I'll call a taxi from the lobby of your apartment building.”
They didn't speak again until she pulled into her parking stall at the back of the apartment.
“Could we talk for a minute?” Simon asked.
“Might just as well, I'm too jittery to sleep.” She stretched and rubbed her eyes.
He leaned toward her, his face tense. “What if the body that was found is Elise's?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I'm trying not to think about that right now. First, I want to talk to Oren.”
“Ask him about Elise's car and whether or not she still had a bunch of expensive jewelry.”
“Right. Then, I'll get in touch with the sheriff and find out what's been going on.”
“Let me know what you learn.” He put his hand on the door latch, changed his mind, and turned to face her. “Do you mind if I call you around ten just to make sure you're all right?”
A smothering sensation came over her. “How would you feel if I checked up on you?”
A shocked expression spread over his face. “Don't be ridiculous, I can look after myself.”
“That's no more true for you than it is for me. Things can happen over which we have no control.” She sat silent for a moment, then went on. “When I chose my profession, I knew what to expect. Neither Dad nor I are content to do routine forensic work. We like the excitement of fitting pieces of a puzzle together. And when you unearth things people want to keep buried, you put yourself in danger. As an investigative reporter, you accept that—so do I.”
Simon glowered at her. “Well, be careful then, dammit.” He thrust out his chin. “Friends are hard to find.”
After several hours sleep, Amy contacted the detective who'd promised to check Dr. Tambor's account at Sibleys. “The pendant was solid gold with the inscription, ‘To my blue-eyed darling,'” the detective said with a chuckle. “The coat mentioned on the slip was cashmere.”
“What size?” she asked and crossed her fingers.
“Ten,” he said.
She let out a yell, thanked him, and dialed Oren. “Mom just called from the hospital,” Oren said. “She says B.J. is already talking about coming home.”
“Wouldn't you know it. Doctors are the world's worst patients.” After discussing her father's condition and her trip to White Bird, she asked him if he'd heard anything about the body that had been found.
He inhaled sharply. “Who—whose body? Where? When?”
His labored breathing blurred the sound of her own voice as she repeated what her father had said about the phone call he got.
“When Calder came by to tell Mom and I about B.J., he didn't mention anyone finding a ... a ... he didn't say a damned thing about ... about...” He fell silent.
Minutes passed and she grew worried. “Are you okay?”
Oren cleared his throat. “Does B.J. think it's ... Elise?”
Images of submerged bodies she'd seen in the past rose before her eyes. “Identification takes time,” she said quickly and changed the subject. “Did Elise have a car?”
“Sure. A red Mazda RX-7. License number OEK-199. I told the sheriff.”
“Has he located it?”
“Who knows? The man won't tell me anything.”
“Did she drive her car that day?”
“She must have, she was at the apartment when I got home.”
“She could have walked from the ferry dock.”
“Elise walk eight blocks in high heels—no way. Besides, there aren't any sidewalks and it was pouring rain. She had to have driven. Only thing is, I can't remember whether her car was parked in front of the apartment or not.”
Her stomach began to churn. “I should have stopped by when I got off the ferry.” She grimaced. “I hoped your problems might seem less serious to you in the daylight.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry I let you down.”
“Talking wouldn't have helped. I know that now.” He sighed. “The cracks in our relationship had grown too wide.” He sighed again. “Elise acted strange that whole damned week. She was home every evening, but during the day I couldn't reach her. She wasn't at work, or at our town house in Seattle, or at our apartment here on the island. Friday night, when I tried to pin her down, we really got into it.”
Amy took a breath and plunged in. “Simon and I have evidence that Dr. Tambor purchased an expensive coat and pendant. We're almost certain they were for Elise.”
“I don't believe it. She couldn't have. I'd have known it if she ... if she ... Oh, God ... Why, Amy?” He let out a low moan. “I've gone over and over the months we were together and I can't make any sense to her actions. Why did she do the things she did?”
“What kind of things?”
“They aren't important now.”
“You can't know that for certain. Whatever motivated her might provide a clue to her disappearance.”
“Simon and I have agreed not to discuss Elise unless we find there's no other recourse.”
“Oh, that's great. Just great. Dad and I are trying to unravel a mystery and all the while you and Simon may hold the key”
“It's my life I'm risking.”
“Like hell it is. What if the attempt on Dad is related?”
“Now you're being ridiculous. What does Simon think?”
“He's scared. Damned scared.”
“You're both off base. There's no way Elise's disappearance and B.J.'s accident could be connected.”
Amy curbed the impulse to argue with him. “Simon says Elise used to own some expensive jewelry. Does she still have it?”
“So far as I know. She ... she loved sparkly things. Some nights, she'd dress up and put on a regular style show with all her diamonds and emeralds.”
“Dad and I didn't find any expensive jewelry at your Lomitas apartment. Has the sheriff checked your town house?”
“I suppose so, he has the keys. But the stuff should have been here on the island. Elise always carried her jewelry with her when she traveled.”
“All of it?”
“She was funny about her possessions. Wanted everything right where she could see it. Wouldn't even consider a safety deposit box.”
Amy frowned. “Did she regard you as another of her possessions?”
“Butt out, Amy. You know all you need to know,” he said, and hung up.
She dreaded calling Tom Calder. His resentment of her father had probably doubled since Simon's article was published. She planned her strategy carefully.
When she reached him, she asked whether someone had tampered with her father's car.
“Doubt it,” Tom said. “I found a coil wire hangin’ loose, but that coulda happened by itself.”
“You dusted for prints, didn't you?”
“Nah, waste of time considerin’ the crowd millin’ around your yard. Hell, half the islanders had their fingers on B.J.'s Ford before the helicopter took off.”
“Dad says the person who ran him down was speeding and that he was driving without lights. Sounds to me like he didn't want Dad to see him. Did you find any tire tracks?”
“Good God, no. How could I? Westridge Avenue turned into a parking lot as soon as word got out about B.J.”
She clamped her jaw closed and counted to ten, then took a new tack. “A friend and I just returned from White Bird, Montana—the town where Elise Dorset lived before she came to Seattle.”
“What the hell you think you're pullin'? Yo
u and your big-town smarties better not mess things up for me. Ya hear? I already know who the killer is.”
She made a line through an item on the pad in front of her. With his closed mind, Tom would jeer at the meager bits they'd learned about Elise's background. “Oren says Elise drove a red sports car. Have you located it?”
“That punk's really got you and Doc snowed, hasn't he? It so happens the woman sold her car the week before he done her in.”
Elise sold her car. Amy stared at the words she'd scrawled and apprehension chilled her. Oren lied. Why? Why? Her mind clenched shut. “How'd Elise get to the island that Friday night?”
“By bus, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Didn't any of the drivers remember seeing her?”
“No, but that doesn't mean she wasn't on it.”
Feeling as if she were slogging through knee-deep mud, Amy inhaled and began again. “Elise owned some expensive jewelry. Dad and I didn't find any of it at their apartment.”
He drew in air and blew it out. “One of you tight-lipped Prescotts coulda told me. Wasn't a thing worth diddley damn at their place in Seattle.” She heard his fist smack the desk top. “Hell's bells now I gotta check the pawn shops. More damned time and money down the toilet. And for what?”
His voice lowered. “I know what goes on in them hotel rooms at political rallies. Your cousin could have used that jewelry to buy sex-u-al favors.” He mouthed the word as if it were a succulent piece of candy.
She glowered at the receiver. The horny old nincompoop would be drooling on his tie in a minute. “Speaking of affairs,” she said. “Dad and I think Elise and her employer were romantically involved.”
Calder made a sound of disgust. “You're off your trolley”
“Oh, yeah? He bought her...”
“Can it, Prescott. Smear tactics aren't gonna clear Oren. Now, I got work to...”
“Hold on, Tom,” she said before he could hang up on her. “The person who called Dad last night claimed to be your deputy. He said someone at the marina had found a body. You know anything about it?”
“Jee—sus! What you gonna come up with next? Musta been some joker tryin’ to pull BJ.'s leg. He shoulda known better'n to go off half-cocked.”
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