“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you’re about to ask me?”
“It’s an easy one. Would you mind if I spilled the beans about the manner of your father’s passing to the press?”
“I see. Arrow Bay PD doing something to displease you?”
“Let’s just say I understand a lot more of where you’re coming from this afternoon than I did a week ago.”
“Ah ha. Well then. Yes, tell away. Give Mr. Brauer my best and tell him he can confirm it with me if he wishes.”
“I will do just that,” said Jake.
“And be careful, Jake,” Alex said. “While I know your intent is good, don’t forget you’re not playing with someone carrying a full deck.”
“Dorval may be a bit of an idiot, but I wouldn’t say—”
“No, Jake. Whoever has taken their fairytales a little too much to heart. If they think you are getting too close, they may come after you next.”
“Not worried. I’m playing this as ‘anonymous source.’”
“Good call. And I’m holding you to that dinner.”
“You’re on,” said Jake. “Thank you.”
Sam was looking at him again as he rang off. Evelyn and the Reverend Crawford were in an animated conversation that Jake didn’t get the gist of. The rest of the crowd had long ago made their way up the hill and away from the gazebo. Barnaby was tugging restlessly at his leash, wanting to go as well. Jake shrugged, interrupted Evelyn long enough to give her a hug and say good-bye to the Reverend Crawford, and then started back up to the Cruiser with Sam after he had done the same.
“I don’t like it, Jake.”
“I don’t either, Sam, but if I am going to be accused of meddling in a police investigation, I might as well actually do it.”
“Do you have any idea of who it is?”
“No, dammit. I keep thinking I missed something. Something in the way the murders were committed, something in the way something was said or done. Of course maybe Haggerty is doing it all to bolster his career.”
“Ha, not a chance. That only happens in books,” said Sam, pausing for a moment to allow Barnaby to mark another tree. “Not to mention Haggerty isn’t the murdering type. And it violates Spievens Rule number nine.”
“Cherchez la femme?” Jake asked, confused.
“I thought that was rule thirteen.”
“Uh uh. Thirteen is people who have something to hide aren’t necessarily guilty.”
“Right. I always thought number nine was rather sexist.”
“It is. But in the 1920’s when Spievens was writing some of those books, it was more often than not Lady Penelope bashing someone’s head in with a bust of Paris. That was right after Margot Lefftington jilted Spievens at the altar.”
“Bitter much?” Sam asked.
“A tad. Can you blame him? Half the royal family was there.” He shook his head. “In any event, Haggerty being the killer would violate rule fourteen, which is the most obvious suspect likely isn’t.”
“Huh. This cat isn’t obvious at all.”
“I know that and you know that. Whoever is doing this is careful, methodical, but bonkers,” he said, sighing. “He’s made a mistake somewhere, though. I just have to figure out what it is.”
“You will.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, my handsome man, you never, ever back away from a challenge.”
“Thank you,” said Jake, giving Sam a quick kiss.
“And you never let anything go, either.”
“You just couldn’t let that slip past, could you?”
“’Fraid not.”
“And you were so close to getting to take me home and have your way with me,” said Jake, opening the car.
“Ha, like you can resist me,” said Sam. “I know you’ve got a weak spot for husky guys who look like Kevin Smith. You’re putty in my hands.”
“Well Mr. Smith, unless you come up with some creative ideas for lunch, it’s tuna fish.”
“I’ve got a creative idea,” said Sam.
“Hmm?”
“Drop Barnaby off and go to the Bitter End.”
“May not be creative, but it is certainly appealing.”
Driving out of the iron gates of Bedford Park, Jake was once again assailed by the thought that he had missed something critical. His mind tried to grasp it, but it flitted away. He tried to push everything out of his head. After dropping Barnaby off, they went down to the Bitter End and remained there most of the afternoon until Caleb came on shift so that Sam could gloat over his latest chess move. Jake couldn’t help but feel that he’d made his own move on the chessboard, and somewhere in Arrow Bay, the murderer was about to move the next piece.
* * *
Adam Haggerty had been fighting off a cold for a week, but as he struggled to get up from bed, he knew it had finally reached him. Once out of bed, he made a quick phone call to Sharon to let her know he wouldn’t be in for the day before making his way downstairs for his morning cup of coffee.
Head still swimming, he made coffee. As the room filled with the aroma of Starbucks, Haggerty scratched his goatee thinking, what have I overlooked?
He poured himself a cup as soon as the coffeemaker had made enough to fill his mug. He went into his study, where the crime scene photos and other materials related to the Concerned Citizen Killer lay sprawled across his desk.
He looked at a copy of the note left for Reverend Crawford. For fighting the goode fight. What was it about this particular note that was bothering him? It was manufactured the same way as the other two, still it seemed genuine to him. It didn’t fit the pattern, and that was part of the reason it was niggling at him. Why send it to Crawford? It wasn’t something the press could get hold of, and it wasn’t something that would bring to light anything on the killings.
He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the photos again, when the colors began to swim. Glancing down at the cobalt blue mug, Haggerty knew immediately something was wrong. Suddenly feeling as if he were on a raft, he struggled to get up from the chair.
“Sharon,” he said to himself, knowing he had to call for help.
Halfway back to the kitchen where he left his cell phone, Haggerty collapsed to the floor. The light flashed and sparked in front him. It hadn’t been a cold coming on. He’d been progressively drugged. Unable to move, he only hoped the drugs would wear off before anything happened…
Behind him, the back door swung open.
Adam managed to roll himself over, but only just, consciousness fleeting. Before he blacked out completely, he saw the face leaning down before him and thought to himself, I wouldn’t have guessed it was you…
* * *
HAS KILLER CLAIMED THIRD VICTIM?
The headlines were less dramatic than anticipated, because Jake had decided following Sam’s advice was probably best. Jake didn’t want to antagonize either the police or the killer. Having gone down that particular path previously, he decided discretion was the better part of valor despite the fact that the cliché grated on his nerves.
Derek Brauer did not seem at all enthused to be back on the subject. He took notes dutifully, calling Alex Blackburn to confirm the nature of his father’s death, and then, after fifteen minutes of going over his notes while Sam, Jason, and Jake talked about other things entirely, he looked up at them and asked, “What aren’t you telling me, Jake?”
“I don’t get you,” said Jake. He cursed his inability to even tell the smallest lie.
“I understand your need to make the Arrow Bay PD look bad. They’re doing a terrible job.”
“No, no. Not at all. Just maybe got their one-track minds derailed.”
“What makes you think they’re on the wrong track?”
“Talk to Haggerty for five minutes,” Jake said irritably. “Look, I can’t name names, but someone down at ABPD is convinced Alex had something to do with his father’s death. This same person now probably thinks I had something to do with it, even though I’
ve got an alibi.”
“I hate anonymous sources. Who is causing the problems with Arrow Bay PD?”
“Someone who wants everything wrapped up neatly,” Sam said, voice somber. “I think if you asked the right questions, you’d find out who quick enough.”
“This person is so busy working on trying to pin this on someone who’s not guilty that he’s not looking to see who else might be, and from what I understand interfering with Haggerty and Trumbo’s investigation.”
“And you can confirm this how?”
“Talking to the other suspects, like Burrows, Blackburn and Kennedy for one,” said Jake. “Personal experience for another.”
“So this was his doing? The unknown person at Arrow Bay PD? But why suppress this? Why keep it from the public?”
“Haggerty doesn’t want the case taken away from him,” said Jason. “And that you know. You did the complete background check on him.”
The spotlight suddenly shifted onto Derek, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He shot Jason an I’ll get you for that later look.
“Not Haggerty,” Jake said again, but stopped. “You did a background check on Haggerty?”
“Jake,” Sam warned. “Don’t be a snoop.”
“He did a background check on us.”
“Well that’s fair, I guess. Okay, Woodward, spill it.”
“Born 26 April 1976, San Francisco, California, older brother Tom, older sister Jan, younger brother John, younger sister Emily. Moved from San Francisco in 1978 to Willapa Bay, then to Arrow Bay in ’85. Family is all law enforcement. Mother worked for San Francisco police as a meter maid, father was a detective. Father later worked and retired from Kulshan County Sherriff’s department. Oldest brother is an agent for the FBI, older sister is the first woman police chief in the city of Concrete’s history, younger brother works for the San Diego police department, and the youngest sister married a cop.”
“No pressure to succeed there,” said Jake. “Go on.”
“At twenty-seven he became Arrow Bay’s youngest detective. Helped bust up the big meth ring in town that was such a problem a few years back. His young looks have been a hindrance for him, which is why he keeps the goatee. All his work has been letter perfect and airtight.” He looked up at Jake. “He has worked almost exclusively outside the box, which has really helped him nab some truly awful people.”
“Which is probably why he realized all the murder victims met the fate of characters in Grimm’s Fairytales about the same time I did.”
Derek looked thunderstruck. He shook his head and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Of course,” he said tiredly. “The apple, the wolf and now Alexander Blackburn Junior, roasted in his own oven.”
“Wolfhound,” Jason corrected again.
“The common thread being the ‘Concerned Citizen’ seeing each as a threat somehow to Arrow Bay. Weinberg and Longhoffer were easy, given what they wanted to do to Wilde Park, but what about Blackburn? He was bankrolling Longhoffer, but really, was that enough?” asked Sam.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Derek.
“Okay, what?”
“Blackburn was in the process of buying up all the farm land on Dormer Window Road to plow under and build more exclusive eyesores like that faux Victorian monstrosity he built. More gated communities and fancy retirement homes for the upper crust of Seattle to come into and drive up home values.”
“Wait a minute,” said Jake, rushing out of the room. He returned moments later, flopping open the phonebook to look at the map of Arrow Bay. “Longhoffer here, Weinberg here, Blackburn Junior here,” said Jake, indicating various points on the map. “What do they have in common?”
“Nothing that I can see,” said Jason. “You’ve got Weinberg next door, Longhoffer out on Sky Heights and Blackburn clear across town on Dormer Window Road.”
“Exactly!” said Jake, grabbing a pen. He drew a line circling Arrow Bay, making points at McDougal Lake, Barnes Bay, Smith’s Pond, Palmer Lake, Orange Lake, Cultus Mountain, Castle Lake, down again the length of Dormer Window Road, out to Panama Hat Park, over to Wilde Park, then over to Jefferson Park, finally connecting the line back up to Barnes Bay.
“I don’t get it,” said Jason, looking at the map and frowning.
“I do,” said Derek, looking at Sam and Jake. “Sky to Sea.”
“Exactly. Everyone who has been killed has been a potential opponent to the inter-park trail system the city is trying to link up, a spur of which runs right behind our house here.”
“Yeah, but Leona didn’t oppose that,” said Jason. “She may have fenced off her backyard from the trail, but it was already there long before Sky to Sea.”
“Right. However, she did oppose Wilde Park. That would have broken the chain of trails,” he said, then tapped at Dormer Window Road. “Blackburn developing that hillside and making gated communities would have completely chopped the trail off at the knees. The rest of the town could have been completely hooked up, but developing that property would put an irreversible hole in it.”
“Are you really suggesting that someone has been killing these people off because of a bike trail?” Jason said.
“Ha, how long did you work in San Francisco, J.D.?” Derek said. “People kill for a lot less. People have murdered others throughout history for land, and who they think ought to live there and ought not to.”
“We’re not talking about a plot of land that two or three different cultures think of as holy ground and that God gives them a right to claim, Derek,” said Jason.
“How about this country then? Didn’t our government actively endorse a genocidal policy against the indigenous people of this country in order to take their land?”
“I don’t disagree with either thing you’re saying, Derek, I just don’t think you can quite equate the two. We’re talking about a bike trail, for Chrissakes.”
“It pains me to say this, J.D., but despite all my claims over the years to the contrary, you’re sane,” Jake pointed out.
“Exactly,” Derek said.
“So we’ve got some sort of crackpot environmentalist knocking off people via Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” said Sam, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “This cat is really warped.”
“Doesn’t the wolfhound contradict any environmental angle?” Jason asked. “I mean, training the dog to attack someone doesn’t exactly sound like the guy would get an award from the people at PETA.”
“That was a mistake,” said Jake, though not the mistake he was looking for. “I don’t think that they intended for that wolfhound to die. Reed Longhoffer was tougher and more resourceful than the killer anticipated.”
“It’s all about the symbols,” said Derek. “The evil queen killed by her own apple. The financial wolf killed by his own ilk. The evil witch in the gingerbread palace cooked in his own oven.”
“Technically, that’s a warlock,” said Jason.
“What difference does it make?”
“Well, you want to be completely correct.”
“Guys, can we rope it in a bit?” Sam said. “Semantics aside, this cat is playing fast and loose with gender roles anyway. It was granny who got eaten by the wolf, and the witch who was pushed into her own oven.”
“I wonder if that caused any consideration for method,” Jason said.
“If it did, it doesn’t matter much to Longhoffer and Blackburn, does it?” Derek pointed out. “I doubt very much they had much say in the issue. I can’t imagine Alex Blackburn Junior was too concerned about being the wrong gender as he was being pushed head first into his oven.”
The conversation had pretty much died away after that. They’d eaten, and then Derek had outlined how he was going to approach the story.
“I’ll say that Alex neither confirmed nor denied the rumor,” said Derek, eating a bite of salad. “I’ll state my anonymous source speculated that there was a definite method to the manner of the killings, but I won’t say what. It’ll either shake up another note, o
r possibly…” he stopped, not wanting to think about what might happen.
“I think that’s the best way to approach it,” said Sam.
And they’d left it at that. Derek hadn’t even pressed the point into a special edition. The Examiner was printing their usual Friday before Thanksgiving edition, so the story appeared there.
Chapter Thirty-four
Outside her office, Sharon Trumbo watched over the wall of George Culpepper’s cubicle at the mirror on the wall facing her office.
“Just what are you waiting for?”
“Quiet, George. You’re sure he’s here?” she asked him again.
“Of course I’m sure,” Culpepper said. “You should have heard him ranting when he found out Adam called in sick.”
Sharon resumed watching the door of her office reflected in the mirror. Someone had been going through all their paperwork and reports at night. Sharon was positive it had been Nelson Dorval, and she wanted to catch him in the act. Dorval was not their direct superior and had no need to be poking around in their office. She knew he had an ax to grind with Haggerty, but she would be damned before she’d let him ruin Adam’s career.
“What did you tell him when he called about me?” she asked.
“I told him you were out looking over the Blackburn house again. That you wouldn’t be back for hours, that—”
“Shh!” she hissed. “Here he comes.”
“Oh, I gotta see this,” said Culpepper, turning to face the mirror.
Sharon knew she was taking a risk. She could easily be fired if what was about to happen actually transpired. She was, however, tired of having him submarine her work and interfere with both her and Adam Haggerty’s careers. She should have slapped him with an accusation of sexual harassment, too, but doing so would require a lot of proof, and Dorval was slippery when it came to being caught.
The balding man walked down the hall, looking in each direction furtively. Making sure no one was around, he ducked into the Haggerty-Trumbo office.
“You’re sure he’ll take it?” Culpepper asked.
“As sure as I am that Imelda Marcos had a lot of shoes.”
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