The Alpine Menace

by Mary Daheim

  “What do you think?” Vida asked in a musing tone.

  “I think we'd better get out of here,” I said, pulling back into the street. “If we call on the Addisons again, how are we going to explain our nocturnal desire to visit the damned zoo?”

  “Please, Emma, just because you're in the city doesn't mean you have to swear like the rest of these people.”

  “Sorry.” I sighed, maneuvering the car down the narrow street, which allowed parking on both sides. “But haven't we blown our cover?”

  Before Vida could respond, a small sports car came tearing around the corner. We both put on our brakes and must have missed a collision by inches. I let out a little cry, Vida emitted a gasp, and the sports car didn't budge.

  “You have the right-of-way,” Vida said in annoyance. “Why doesn't this silly fool back up so you can get by?”

  The “silly fool” appeared to be a young woman. I could see the outline of a curly head of hair and a pair of hands held up in a do-something gesture. I did some-thing—I honked four times. My adversary put her hands back on the wheel and emphatically shook her head.

  “Idiot,” I spat out. “She's just being stubborn. I'd have to back all the way to the Addisons’ to pull over. Which I refuse to do. We'll sit it out.”

  “Good for you,” Vida said, glaring at The Enemy. “Don't give in. She looks young and is probably spoiled. We'll teach her a lesson.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. There was no reason—at least that I could see from my boxed-in position—that the girl couldn't back around the corner. Vida and I were in no hurry; we could afford to wait.

  Or could have, until a car honked behind us. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the Honda with the bald man driving.

  “Great,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Now she's going to have to move or we'll spend the night on Ashworth.”

  To my surprise, the girl got out of the car. I braced for a tirade, but she squeezed between the Lexus and a van parked beside me. Quickly, I also rolled down my window. She had reached the Honda.

  “Dad?” the girl said. “Where do you think you're going?”

  We couldn't hear the answer.

  “Kendra?” Vida mouthed, her gray eyes wide behind the big glasses.

  “Maybe,” I said, craning my neck to get a better look at the argument that was going on behind us. I caught the words leaving her and end of my rope from the man I assumed to be Sam Addison.

  “This isn't a good time,” the girl said, her high-pitched voice carrying on the night air. “Calm down, Dad. Let's go inside and talk.”

  “I'm through talking,” Sam retorted. “Move your car, Kendra. Let these two nuts in front of me get by.”

  “Dad… Hey, Dad, open the damned window! Don't be such an ass!” Kendra was all but hopping up and down next to the Honda.

  “We're the nuts?” Vida breathed. “Really, now.”

  Kendra stomped past us without so much as a glance. She got into the sports car, which I'd finally identified as a Mazda Miata, and backed up. I offered her a halfhearted wave, then took a right to Green Lake Way, leaving the Addisons to their peril.

  “Most interesting,” Vida murmured as we headed for the Aurora Bridge. “What do you make of it?”

  “Something has brought things to a crisis in the Ad-dison household,” I said. “I wonder if it has something to do with Carol's murder.”

  “A catalyst, perhaps,” Vida said. “Drat. I shouldn't have asked about the zoo. Sam Addison will remember me.”

  I didn't mention that Vida was unforgettable, especially wearing a feathered hat that looked like it might have been one of Montezuma's ceremonial headdresses.

  It seemed too late to start pub crawling in search of witnesses. In fact, it was probably too early, but Good Friday didn't strike me as an appropriate time for hitting the bars. Still, neither Vida nor I go to bed early, so I gave her a quick tour of the two major neighborhoods that flanked the city center, Queen Anne Hill and Capitol Hill. Then we drove around downtown, through the canyons between skyscrapers, and finally returned to our motel around eleven.

  “So big.” She sighed, sitting on one of the twin beds and removing her shoes. “So many cars. So many people. How do they stand it?”

  “I like it,” I declared. “I miss it. Seattle energizes me.”

  “Twaddle. How can you stand driving around and not knowing who lives in all the houses? How can you possibly feel connected to half a million people?”

  “I don't need to,” I said. “When you grow up here, you know your neighbors. At least most of them. Being anonymous is what many people like about a big city.”

  “Twaddle,” Vida repeated. “It doesn't make sense.”

  It wouldn't to Vida, but it did to me.

  We had breakfast at a café in the lower Queen Anne district, then headed downtown to the jail. Vida complained about the traffic, which was unusually heavy for a Saturday morning.

  “It's the day before Easter,” I explained. “Everyone's out doing last-minute shopping. We'll be lucky to find a parking place close to the jail.”

  “Parking!” Vida exclaimed. “I cannot think when I haven't been able to find a parking space at the Alpine Mall.”

  There was no point in arguing. The mall was a collection of two dozen shops, none of them bigger than my modest log house. We were in luck, however. The city and county buildings are south of the larger stores, and since most office workers had the day off, we were able to find a meter a half block away.

  Vida griped all the way to the visitors’ area. People weren't friendly, the walls needed paint, the place didn't smell quite right. With her nose in the air she marched along beside me to the visitors’ area, where I asked the guard if we could both see Ronnie at the same time.

  We couldn't, so I went first, and was shocked to see my cousin. He wore a big bandage across his forehead, one eye was blackened, and his lower lip had been cut. He must have seen the sympathy in my expression because he insisted he was fine.

  “I can handle myself,” he asserted with a bravery I was sure he didn't feel.

  “It doesn't look like it,” I said. “Or is the other guy in worse shape?”

  Ronnie avoided the question. “I guess I said the wrong thing to Bubba,” he said with a pitiful smile. “Bubba rules.”

  “With his fists,” I retorted. “How do you really feel?”

  Ronnie's narrow shoulders went slack. “Crappy.” He took a cigarette from the pack I'd brought him—against Vida's advice—and lit up. “How's Budweiser?”

  “What?” I didn't think I'd heard him right.

  “Budweiser. My dog. Buddy, I call him. Or Bud.” Ronnie's beat-up face softened. “He's a mutt, but a real pal. I take him for walks around Green Lake sometimes. How is he?”

  “I don't know anything about him,” I confessed. “Where did you last see him?”

  “At the apartment.” Ronnie's face fell. “I took him outside before I hit the bars. Are you sure you ain't seen him?”

  I shook my head. “I'll ask around, though. I promise.”

  Ronnie brightened a bit. “Good. I can't lose Buddy. Not after losing Carol.” He paused, flicking his cigarette at a plastic ashtray. “What have you found out? Can I get out of here?”

  “Not yet,” I said with a feeble smile of my own. “We're just getting started.” I explained what we'd done so far, which didn't seem like much, especially to Ronnie.

  “What about my alibi?” he asked with a whine in his voice.

  “We'll check that tonight,” I replied, wincing at the thought of dragging Vida along to bars and taverns. “It'd help if you could remember where you were.”

  “It had to be one of four places,” Ronnie said. “Five, maybe, 'cept I don't go to Top's that often. You shoulda gone last night, 'cause it was a Friday.”

  Feeling guilty for sightseeing instead of sleuthing, I grimaced. “You mean the same crew hangs out on the same nights?”

  Ronnie yawned, then nod
ded. “Sure. Tonight might be different, though sometimes weekends draw all the regulars.”

  “We'll do it,” I promised. “Look, is there anything else you can tell us? Something you remember or thought wasn't important? What about suspects? Who might want to kill Carol?”

  Ronnie yawned so wide that I could see his tonsils. “Huh?”

  “Motive,” I persisted. “Had Carol quarreled with somebody? How did she get along with Kendra?”

  “Carol and I argued a lot,” Ronnie said, his eyelids drooping.

  I leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. “Ronnie, are you all right?”

  He nodded twice, his chin almost touching his chest. “I'm just tired. I don't sleep so good in here.”

  I didn't want to think why Ronnie couldn't get a decent night's rest in his cell. “Is it better during the day?”

  This time he nodded only once. “Sometimes.” The words were muffled, his eyes were almost closed.

  “Ronnie, try to tell me—” I stopped. His breathing had become shallow, he was slumped in his chair, and I heard what sounded like a snore.

  Ronnie was sound asleep.

  I CALLED FOR the guard and went back into the waiting room. Vida rose as soon as she saw me. “Shall I see him now?” She looked particularly imposing, no doubt an attempt at rising above her sordid surroundings.

  “No,” I said, irked. “Ronnie went to sleep on me. I guess I bore him.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Vida demanded.

  “What I said. Ronnie fell asleep. Nighttime in jail isn't easy for the Ronnies of this world. He needs a nap.”

  “Heaven helps those who help themselves,” Vida intoned, then made a face. “Unless they can't.”

  “Which is why we're here?” I remarked with a wry expression.

  “Your cousin's resources are limited in prison,” Vida replied.

  As we made our way to the elevator, I tried not to look at the arriving visitors. No matter what sex, color, age, or size, there was something forlorn about them. A little black girl about four was stumbling along beside her mother, who carried an infant. The mother's eyes were empty, devoid of hope. The little girl clung to a stuffed Curious George, with a yarn monkey's bright-eyed smile. The child stopped and looked up at me. She, too, smiled, more shyly than her toy. Maybe there was still hope for one so young. I smiled back. But there was nothing I could do for her. I walked on.

  Forlorn and forsaken, both the innocent and the guilty. I wondered if there was really anything I could do for Ronnie.

  Before leaving the motel, I'd called his lawyer at home. Alvin Sternoff lived in a condo in Belltown, a couple of miles away. His offices were in the Public Safety Building adjacent to the jail. Alvin was coming into work for a few hours, and had agreed to meet us at ten-thirty. We were early, but I didn't want to waste my good parking place.

  Alvin, however, was already struggling through a tall pile of beige folders. He looked harried, anxious, and incredibly young.

  “Excuse the mess,” he said, pulling out an extra chair and hitting his shin in the process. “My office isn't exactly fancy.”

  Alvin was right. It was austere, even drab, and the only personal, nonfunctional items were a figurine of Snoopy wearing a mortarboard and Alvin's law-school degree from the University of Washington.

  “I hope you don't think I'm not giving your cousin my full attention,” Alvin said after I'd made the introductions. “I'm not, but I want to. It's just that…” He waved a pudgy hand at the stacks of papers and folders on his desk, accidentally knocking a legal pad on the floor. “Sorry,” he said, ducking down to retrieve the pad.

  “You're overloaded,” I said.

  “Boy, am I,” Alvin replied, his dark eyes wide. He was a chunky young man with black hair and a dimple in his chin. His heavy black eyebrows grew upward, like little bird wings. “I've only been doing public-defender work for six months. I figure it'll help me decide what kind of practice I want to get into if I go off on my own or join a firm.” He jumped up, hands gripping the arms of his chair. “I forgot. Coffee? Tea?”

  “We're fine,” I said for both of us. “Can you go over the statement Ronnie made when he was arrested?”

  “Statement,” Alvin murmured, shuffling papers, some of which appeared to have food stains on them. “Statement, statement… Here it is. It's not very helpful.”

  Alvin was right. I shared the account with Vida, who leaned to one side and frowned.

  I came home about one or so, Ronnie had written in a clumsy hand, and there were the cops, with Carol dead. I'd been out drinking since nine or so. I think I was at Top's and the Satellite Room and maybe Freddy's, but I don't know where when. Carol and I had kind of a shouting match before I went out, but she was okay when I left and watching TV. I didn't hurt her, not at all. I ain't done nothing wrong, least of all kill Carol who I really loved.

  “The police didn't believe him,” I said, handing the statement back to Alvin.

  “Ronnie was drunk,” Alvin said, fiddling with a ballpoint pen. “He had some fresh bruises and scratches, as if he'd been in a fight. Carol was bruised, too, her shoulders, her face, and her chest. Whether or not Ronnie killed Carol, it's hard to believe that the two of them didn't come to blows.”

  “Do you think he strangled her?” Vida asked.

  Alvin grimaced. “I don't know. If she'd been beaten to death, I'd have to believe he did it. But this strangling business puts a different spin on it. Whoops!” He dropped the pen. “Sorry,” he said, making another dive under his desk. “Anyway, he swears he didn't, and that's all I need to know as a public defender.”

  “It was a drapery cord that was used?” I asked.

  Alvin nodded. “About two feet long. I can probably plea-bargain the homicide charge down to man two, but your cousin wants me to get him off because he insists he didn't kill Carol. Maybe you could help talk him into a plea.”

  I was dubious about that, and said so. “I tried to find out this morning if there were any other suspects,” I went on, “but Ronnie nodded off and I didn't get an answer. Do you know of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Carol?”

  Alvin let out a big sigh, his shoulders slumping. “There's the daughter, Kendra, who found her. Do you know anything about her?”

  Vida nodded. “Yes. She was illegitimate. Her adoptive parents seem to be involved in some domestic dispute. Not with her, but with each other.”

  “Really?” Alvin seemed interested. “How did you find that out?”

  The reaction further eroded my confidence in Alvin Sternoff. Vida, however, explained about the disturbance at the Addison home the previous night. “We just happened to drive by. It was most fortuitous.”

  “I guess,” Alvin said, regarding Vida with a trace of awe. “Anything else you've learned?”

  “Not yet,” Vida said smugly, “but we will.”

  “We met the neighbor, Maybeth Swafford,” I said. “She's convinced Ronnie did it, but her story doesn't ring quite true.”

  “Really?” Again, Alvin seemed surprised. “In what way?”

  “Have you interviewed her?” I asked, wondering exactly what Alvin had done on Ronnie's behalf.

  “Yes. Of course,” Alvin said hastily, giving his knuckles a painful whack on the desk. “Ouch. Excuse me. May-beth said she heard them fighting and then Ronnie left and there wasn't another sound out of the apartment until Kendra arrived and found the body.”

  “Is Maybeth a credible witness?” I queried, wondering if Alvin would survive our meeting, let alone the trial.

  He shook his head. “She won't hold up very well under my cross-examination.”

  “That's good,” I said. “Who have you got for character witnesses?”

  “Um…” Alvin riffled some more papers, losing a few in the process. “A couple of Ronnie's drinking buddies.”

  “But not able to give him alibis?” I asked.

  With regret, Alvin shook his head. “One of them, Bobby Markovich, was out of to
wn the night of the murder. The other, Rick Dietz, was home with his girlfriend. Ronnie's boss will testify for him under duress.”

  “So Ronnie was employed,” Vida put in. “What did he do?”

  “He drives truck for a roofer named Garvey Lang out in Lynnwood,” Alvin replied. “Lang has a wood yard, too. Ronnie mostly makes deliveries.”

  “Why is Mr. Lang reluctant to be a character witness?” Vida inquired.

  Alvin looked apologetic. “I guess Ronnie isn't the most reliable employee. He actually works part-time, but Lang said that he didn't always show up when he was supposed to. He would have let him go, but he said he felt sorry for Ronnie. He seemed like such a… loser.”

  “That,” I said, “is my impression.”

  “Sorry,” Alvin said. “I mean, he's your cousin. I don't want to disrespect him.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I said. “As I explained to you on the phone when I was still in Alpine, Ronnie's side of the family and my side weren't close. If he weren't so pathetic—and such a loser—I wouldn't be here.”

  “Right.” Alvin grabbed a pencil and jiggled it up and down. “I see plenty of losers in this job, and I've only just begun. It's kind of discouraging. Yikes!”

  Somehow, he'd managed to impale his left hand with the pencil. Alvin checked to see if he'd drawn blood, then apologized once more. I asked him about priors, having gotten the impression from Ronnie that this wasn't his first arrest.

  “Little stuff,” Alvin replied, sucking on his hand.

  “One assault, five years ago. He and some guy got into it in a tavern. Then he got picked up last year for smoking.”

  “For smoking?” I asked.

  Alvin nodded. “It was in a bar down by the old Post-Intelligencer building. They had a big sign outside saying ‘Smoke-Free Lounge.’ Ronnie thought it meant he could go in and smoke free cigarettes. He lit up his own and they tried to throw him out. He put up a big fuss, and they called the cops. Oops!” Alvin knocked over Snoopy.

  I was beginning to wonder if Ronnie was the only loser in this scenario.

  For the first time since leaving Alpine, I remembered to check the voice messaging on my cell phone. Finally surrendering to the modern age in December, I'd bought the cell phone and spent the first month trying to figure out how it worked. Three months later I still hadn't gotten in the groove of checking it out on a regular basis.