Fixed in Fear: A Justice Novel

by T. E. Woods

  “You heading back down to Enumclaw?” he asked.

  She turned toward him, her dark eyes intent. “Is there something you need?”

  Mort pulled into the police station lot. He parked a few spaces down from the squad car Chief Willers had used to bring herself into the city before dawn that morning. “No. I’m going to meet with Larry later this afternoon. We’re heading over to Carlton’s house. He’s going to help close it up and I said I’d join him. Maybe something there might point us in the right direction.”

  “Would it help if I was along?”

  Mort hesitated. He didn’t want her to feel he was sidestepping her role in the investigation. “This is more of a personal thing. I want to be there for my friend as he sifts through Helen’s uncle’s things. If we run across anything that could help, I’ll let you know, of course.”

  Rita Willers nodded. Mort walked with her to her car. He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little past ten. Wednesday morning. Stores will be open if you feel like taking in some big-city shopping.”

  She opened the door to her squad car. “I’m the chief of police. My town pays me and I work. Despite all the shiny distractions the big city might offer.”

  Mort shook his head. He’d offended her again. “I just meant what with you already up here. That’s all.”

  She stepped one leg into the car and turned to him with a smile. “Relax, Mort. I was just messing with you. Like you said, we might as well be friendly. Keep me posted and I’ll do the same. My team’s trying to grab a lead on the two men from the sweat lodge not accounted for. They’re our killers.”

  Mort watched her drive off, pleased she’d called him by his first name at long last. He made it all the way into the station before he realized she hadn’t invited him to use hers.

  —

  Mort spent the balance of the morning finishing his department’s budget projections. Poring over line items and dollar signs wasn’t why he’d entered the force, and juggling personnel issues and policies wasn’t the reason he’d worked so hard to get promoted to chief detective. So when he hit the SEND button and shipped the budgets off to whatever bureaucrat would feel honor bound to start cutting away at his monetary requests, he felt he deserved a reward for a morning spent swimming in red tape. He called down to Forensics to see who was up for lunch.

  “No can do, buddy,” Jimmy DeVilla told him. “Bruiser’s got an appointment for his annual physical at one o’clock. Then I’m dragging my butt back here to finish these damned budgets. Where you stand on yours?”

  “Finished mine about five minutes ago. I was feeling the need for a little celebratory repast.”

  Jimmy grunted. “Tell you what, give me a few hours to get mine done and we’ll indulge in a liquid celebration down at the Crystal tonight.”

  “Let me get back to you. I’ve got something this afternoon. Don’t know how long it’ll take.” Mort wasn’t ready to give up on his reward. “What’s Mick up to?”

  “Ha! She’s got it worse than us. I’ll take budget reports over testimony any day of the week.”

  Mort remembered. Micki Petty had done the forensics on a brutal rape case two years ago. She’d nailed the perp with fingerprints, bite marks, and DNA. There was no way in hell the middle-aged, church deacon, father-of-three real-estate agent identified by the rape victim wasn’t the assailant, and a jury of his peers agreed. He was facing up to thirty years in prison, so naturally he was wasting the court’s resources and continuing his torture of the victim by exhausting his right to appeal. Micki would be stuck in the courthouse all day explaining yet again how she’d collected and analyzed the evidence that would, in all likelihood, assure the guy’s incarceration until his still-unborn grandchildren were old enough to vote.

  He asked Jimmy to call him with the results of Bruiser’s physical and hung up. It was almost noon. He looked at the stack of staff evaluations on his desk. He was scheduled to meet Larry at three, when they’d drive to Carlton’s house together.

  Mort pulled out his cell and called Robbie.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Mort could hear shouts and traffic in the background.

  “Where are you? How about I buy you lunch?”

  “Only if it’s a picnic,” Robbie answered. “Claire and I are down at the girls’ school. Big soccer tournament for field day. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen forty-some six-year-olds scrambling to find their team.”

  Mort remembered Robbie and Allie’s soccer days. He’d been their coach. It felt more like trying to lasso a swarm of bumblebees than anything resembling organized sports. “Game almost over?”

  “Hasn’t started yet. There’s a team ahead of ’em. I’ve been here since ten this morning.”

  Mort laughed. “I feel your pain. How about I grab some sandwiches and help cheer my girls on?”

  “We’ll be here. And if you camouflage a couple of beers in a Starbucks cup, Claire and I will give naming rights of our next born exclusively to you.”

  Mort said he’d see what he could do and hung up. He liked having Robbie and his family back in Seattle. His stomach tightened and he pushed away the dream of having Allie here, too.

  I’ll probably never see my daughter again, he thought. And if I do, she’ll either be dead or in a jail cell.

  The bedlam in the fields behind Seattle Urban Day was even more chaotic than Robbie had described. Mort parked in front of the private school Robbie and Claire had chosen for the twins when they relocated from Denver and could hear the noise before he saw the frenzy. The school operated an all-girls kindergarten through grade six curriculum and, despite an annual tuition he and Edie would never have been able to afford when their kids were school age, had a waiting list of parents eager to enroll their daughters in the school that consistently led the state in scholastic achievement. Mort came around the corner of Seattle Urban Day’s cedar and glass main building and saw at least three hundred children, ages five through twelve, trying to make their voices heard above the rest. Four regulation soccer fields were bordered by parents and grandparents rooting on their particular student. Mort balanced a cardboard tray holding three Styrofoam cups filled with Guinness in one hand and carried a white paper bag holding three Italian grinders in the other as he made his way through the festive crowd looking for his son and daughter-in-law.

  “Papa!” The delighted squeal came from behind him. Mort turned to see his granddaughter running toward him. She wore red shorts and a white shirt. Padded socks covered her tiny legs up to her knees. The front of her shirt proclaimed she was number seven and the back added HAYDEN above the same number. Her thick blond curls were pushed off her face by a red headband. She wrapped her arms around his legs, and Mort was glad he’d snapped plastic covers over the cups of beer. “Are you ten-ten?” Hayden used the code signifying “off duty–home.”

  “Your dad told me there was a big matchup today. I wouldn’t miss this for love or money.” He lifted his hands as best he could. “I brought him and your mom something to eat. Any idea where I’d find ’em?”

  “I’m playing wing today. Hadley is, too.” Hayden released him to point one field over. “We’re next on that field there. Mom and Dad are over there already. In those red chairs. See ’em?”

  Mort looked down the sidelines and caught sight of them. Claire was laughing and shouting encouragement to the players on the field. Robbie looked like he’d rather be sitting in an endodontist’s lobby waiting for a root canal.

  “I’m staying on this field,” Hayden informed him. “My friend Talon is playing now and I’m cheering for her. She’s not as good as me, but pretty close. You want to meet her after she’s done?”

  Mort looked down at the little moppet in soccer gear. What he really wanted to do was pick her up, hug her close, and make her swear she’d never grow a day older than she was right that very minute. That she’d stay six years old on a brilliant September afternoon, cheering for her best friend and showing off her mastery of police scanner codes for t
he rest of her life.

  He smiled at her and when she returned the favor he saw Edie’s grin. Wide across the cheeks with just a hint of teeth.

  “I better get this stuff to your folks.” He hoped she wouldn’t hear the melancholy catch in his voice. “I’m ten-nineteen in about an hour and I want to see as much of your game before I do.”

  Hayden jumped. “Ten-nineteen. Back to station. I know that one. I’ll wave to you from the field.” She pivoted on one foot and took off running, yelling her best friend’s name all the way.

  Mort called Robbie’s name when he got within shouting distance. His son jumped up and trotted over, relieving him of the tray as they walked over to where Claire sat.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Robbie asked.

  “Just keep the lid on, kiddo. This is school property, after all.”

  Robbie lifted the tray of cups in his wife’s direction. Claire clapped and waved them over. When the three of them were together, Robbie distributed the beers while Mort handed out the sandwiches.

  Claire took a long sip and closed her eyes. “Oh, beau-père, promise me when my ’usband leaves me for the Las Vegas showgirl I can still keep you.”

  Mort bent over and kissed the top of his daughter-in-law’s head. “If my boy’s ever stupid enough to leave you, I promise I’ll be the first witness at his commitment hearing. We’ll lock him away for good, how’s that?” He scanned the field. “Where’s Hadley? I’ve already run into Hayden. Where’s that other good-looking Grant twin?”

  Robbie swallowed a giant bite of his grinder and waved his hand in a circle. “Look around you, Dad. It’s kid central here. Hadley’s off frolicking in the wild with her own kind. It’s their coaches’ jobs to ride herd on them. We’re the parents. Our job is to sit here for five hours and shriek with glee as they kick the ball like some two-year-old yellow lab pimping for a treat.”

  Claire ruffled her fingers through her husband’s hair. “Do not listen to the grizzly bear. He is excited to be here to watch his girls. I think he is jealous he cannot be out there running up and down the field himself.”

  Mort loved the easy banter the two of them shared. And Claire’s French accent made it all the more endearing. He scanned the fields, looking for his granddaughters in a sea of hyped-up little girls. He had a general idea where Hayden would be and, sure enough, he was able to zero in on her. She was talking to two other girls while keeping her eyes on the game. Mort wondered which player was Talon and made a promise to himself to meet her before he headed back to the station. He noticed Hayden snap her attention off to her left. Mort tracked the direction his granddaughter was looking and there, about fifty feet east of her, stood Hadley, wearing a uniform identical to her sister’s, but bearing her own number, nine. She had her hands cupped to the side of her mouth as though yelling her sister’s name. Hadley then waved Hayden over. Mort saw Hayden shake her head and point to the field where Talon was playing. But Hadley called out to her again, stomped her feet, waved her over, and pointed to her left. Hayden turned to say something to the girls next to her before jogging over to her twin.

  Mort relished the freedom Hayden must have felt running on young legs over green grass to meet her sister. He watched Hadley and Hayden embrace upon meeting and smiled. He’d remind them of that the next time one of them was dead set on terrorizing the other. His granddaughters were raised in a family dedicated to cherishing one another and the girls did…no matter what they may say when one thought the other was getting more of Claire’s attention than they deemed fair. He watched Hadley take her sister’s hand and walk five steps to the left. A woman stood there, wearing a rust-colored dress with a skirt that rippled in the soft September breeze. A navy blue scarf was draped over her hair, falling close to her face and trailing over her shoulders. They were about sixty yards away, on the opposite side of the field. Mort had a sudden urge to be closer. The woman held out her hand and Hayden took it, shaking it politely like her parents had taught. The woman held Hayden’s hand and took Hadley’s hand in the other. Then she knelt down and embraced the girls.

  “Robbie.” Mort nodded toward the scene. “Who’s that?”

  Mort handed Claire his beer. His gut told him he needed his hands free.

  Robbie glanced over from his seated position. “Beats me. Some teacher maybe?”

  Claire looked over. “If that is a teacher, she has someone else buying her clothes. Look at that dress. Couture to a children’s field day? No. That is no teacher.”

  At that moment the woman released the girls from her embrace. Hadley held on to the woman’s scarf, pulling it from her head as she stood.

  “No,” Mort whispered before he yelled. “No!”

  His alarm brought Robbie to his feet. Mort ran a direct line to where Hadley and Hayden stood, charging through the still-active game, dodging young girls chasing a soccer ball and ignoring two referees and scores of parents screeching at him to get off the field. Robbie was five feet behind him.

  “Hadley! Hayden!” Mort roared as he ran. “Stand still. Stay right there.”

  The woman looked Mort’s way. She kept a gentle hand on each girl’s shoulder. Mort watched her hands, hoping he wouldn’t need to reach for his service revolver but ready if he needed to.

  “Papa! You ran across the game!” Hayden laughed. “You can’t do that.”

  Hadley pointed to her father. “Yeah, Dad. You can’t do that, either.”

  Mort came to a stop in front of the three of them, wheezing. He kept his focus on the woman’s eyes as he steadied his breath. Blue eyes. As lovely as her mother’s. He recalled the first time he’d seen them. She was newly born, squirming and still slippery from her voyage into the world. She’d opened those eyes for the first time and Mort fell in love.

  “Hello, Dad.” Allie’s smile betrayed no emotion. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Allie!” Robbie gasped as he caught up with them. “What the hell?” He grabbed his daughters’ arms and yanked them toward him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hey!” Hadley twisted herself free from her father. “That hurts. And you said a bad word. Two times.”

  “This is our aunt Allie!” Hayden jumped and clapped. “We’ve seen the pictures. You said she lived far away and here she is! Standing right next to us!”

  Mort pulled Hayden closer, keeping his hand on her shoulder.

  “Isn’t it something, Papa?” Hadley skipped over to her grandfather and held his other hand. “Hey, Dad. Did you know it was Aunt Allie who sent us those pretty necklaces? Mom said they were trash, but I knew they weren’t. Maybe if Mom knew Aunt Allie sent them she—”

  “Girls, go stand by Mom.” Robbie kept his gaze riveted on his sister. “Stay there until I get back.”

  “But I want to talk to Aunt Allie.” Hadley tugged on Mort’s hand. “Tell him it’s okay, Papa.”

  “Girls!” Robbie’s bark caused each of the girls to flinch. “Do as I say. Go stand by your mother.”

  “Don’t yell like that, Dad.” Hadley’s brow furrowed. “It’s not nice and I don’t like it. You’re scaring me.”

  Mort tightened his hold on each girl’s hand. They looked up at him and he did his best to give them a calming smile. “Do as your dad says, okay, you two? We need to talk to Aunt Allie alone for a few minutes.”

  “Isn’t she pretty?” Hadley was looking up toward her aunt. “You’re so prettier than your pictures.”

  “Yeah,” Hayden agreed. “How’d you get so pretty related to grumpy old Dad?”

  “Girls.” Robbie’s tone was softer this time. “Go.”

  “No!” the two protested in unison.

  Allie’s smile didn’t change as she addressed her smitten nieces. “I thank you for the compliment, but I can already see you’re going to be the most beautiful girls the world has ever seen.”

  “Really?” Hadley gushed.

  “Not me,” Hayden insisted, but the look on her face signaled a desire for Allie to tell
her it was true.

  Mort tugged the girls’ hands. “Scoot now. Back to Mom.” He looked down at Hayden. “This is a ten-zero, sweetie. Now take Hadley’s hand and run back to Mom.”

  Hayden’s widened eyes and dropped smile told him she understood the code. Dangerous situation. Proceed with caution. She set her tiny jaw firm and nodded.

  “Come on, Hadley. Gotta go.” She pulled her twin’s arm, dragging her away as Hadley shouted her protests. Mort watched them as they ran down the side of the field. He didn’t turn back until he saw Claire gather each of them up onto her lap.

  “Stay away from my girls.” Robbie took a menacing step toward his sister. Mort grabbed his arm.

  “They’re beautiful. And I like the school you’ve chosen.” Allie’s voice was calm, her demeanor as cool as if she’d just spoken to her brother yesterday. “If the money I’m sending for tuition isn’t enough, let me know. It’s important they have an excellent education. It’s the foundation for everything.”

  Robbie sputtered before speaking, as though he couldn’t comprehend his sister’s audacity. “The money you send us is drenched in blood. Claire and I wouldn’t touch it if we were starving. The only reason we allow you to continue depositing the checks is to keep at least that money out of the hands of all those very bad people you associate with.”

  “Robbie.” Mort’s tone was a warning. He didn’t need to provoke Allie. He needed to understand why she was there.

  “Your boyfriend’s a drug czar, Allie. A murdering, life-ruining, Russian gangster.” Robbie shook his head in disgust. “Stay away from my family.”

  “My boyfriend?” Allie turned a quizzical face to Mort before answering her brother. “Do you mean Vadim Tokarev? The man who kidnapped me and flew me to a Moscow hellhole? Beat and raped me just because he could? Is that the man you’re calling my boyfriend?”

  Robbie’s face softened. Mort knew his son was torn. Like Hadley and Hayden, Robbie and Allie had been inseparable as they grew up. Allie had protected her younger brother. In return, Robbie adored her, screening every boy she dated in high school as though he were being vetted for a cabinet position. In his mind, no one was good enough for his sister. But Robbie understood the path Allie had chosen. Vadim Tokarev did, indeed, take Allie away at gunpoint in retaliation for Allie’s lover’s murdering Tokarev’s mistress. It chipped away at Mort’s sanity to think about how the Russian might have exacted his ruthless revenge from his daughter. But both Mort and Robbie knew Allie had turned the situation around. She became Tokarev’s confidante and lover. She ruled over his international criminal enterprise as a true equal. Robbie couldn’t come to grips with the fact that his sister enjoyed the unspeakable wealth Tokarev gained through the misery and death of others.