by Boo Walker
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” she replied. She had to be pushing sixty and wore pajamas and slippers that were way too big. Were they his?
“And are you Mrs. Taylor?”
“Are you a cop?”
I smiled. “Absolutely not. I’m trying to find out some answers about an old friend…not Jameson…but someone he knows. I think.” I tried to be as nonchalant as possible. “You’re Mrs. Taylor?”
“I was. Am, maybe. We were married for a long time. Haven’t signed any papers making the big D final, but we haven’t seen each other in months.”
“I’m sorry about that. I only need a few moments of your time. I’m trying to help a close friend. Like I said, Jameson is no way in any trouble, but he just might know him. That’s all.”
She had very warm, calming eyes. The eyes of someone who’d been through a lot but still knew what love was. The eyes I might have had once. “I can try to help you,” she said. “Not sure that I can, though. Come on in.”
I thanked her and followed her inside. She had cute, cottage-style taste. Five panel doors. Hand-painted white furniture. Lots of wood all over the place. Well-made stuff. I took a seat on a nice comfy chair by the window, which looked out toward the shed out back. She sat in the matching one. “That was where he spent most of his time,” she said, looking out at the shed. “Carving, cutting, nailing wood. He can build anything.”
I tossed out my best smile, showing teeth, like I had just stepped off a photo shoot for Colgate.
“So what’s he done now?” she asked.
She really hadn’t listened to me, had she? I thought I better get on her page and open up.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. Other than the fact that he was arrested yesterday.” She hung her head and sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Why’s that?”
“ 'Cause he’s rewritten the book on the midlife crisis. What’d he do?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but he was part of the police round-up surrounding the Singularity Summit yesterday.”
“Yeah, I’ve been following it. Doesn’t surprise me a darn bit.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.
“Let me think.” She looked up into the air. “It’s been months. He came by to get some things.”
“So why would he have been at the Summit yesterday? Please tell me a little about him. What’s this midlife crisis all about? Believe me, I’m not out to get him in trouble. Only trying to find some answers to what happened to a friend of mine yesterday.”
“You seem like a nice person.”
“I am, ma’am.” At least someone thinks so.
“Then I’m going to trust you.”
“Thank you. You can. Please help me.”
“Why the midlife crisis?” she said, pondering the question with her eyes closed. “Why the separation?”
She opened her eyes. I gave her another Colgate moment, but just a quickie. “That would be a great place to start.”
“Well, to be frank, I think he’s lost his mind. I couldn’t stand being around him anymore. You know that saying, ‘a little knowledge can be dangerous?’”
“Sure.”
“That’s what I think of with him. Nothing against Jesus at all. I’m Christian through and through. But he started getting into things a little too much.” As the words poured out of her mouth, it became pretty clear I was on the right path. “He started acting like I wasn’t even worthy, quoting passages and such, telling me how to live my life. He started going to some new church and I didn’t want to go. It sounded a little too aggressive for my taste. Three-hour services! Like I said, I’m fully religious, but I have things to do. I can’t sit in a pew for three hours. I’d go crazy. My back couldn’t take it anyway.”
“Where was the church?”
“Somewhere in town, I think. In Renton or nearby. I honestly don’t know. I think he said something about Hillside something or ‘nother. Evangelical. Something like that. We were already having problems, so I think it was his way of escaping from home.” She looked at me with a smile. “Would you like some mint tea? I should have offered.”
“No, thank you. I just need a little more of your time. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Not really. But go ahead.”
“How could I find him? Other than trying to find this church. Do you think he’s still involved over there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He changes churches like I change shoes.”
“Any other way I could track him down? Family or anything?”
“There’s not much family to speak of. None that he keeps in touch with. He’s not exactly loved by all.” She tapped her fingers against the armrest. “There might be one way. If I was looking for him, I tell you what I’d do. I told you he loves working with wood. Building furniture and even carving smaller pieces. Like religious pieces. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been going up to this store called Jake’s Woodworks up in the U District. I bet they could help you.”
“Perfect.” I stood and she did, too. We shook hands and she escorted me out.
Back in the car, I sent a text to Francesca, just to check in. It was ten o’clock. She’d be right in the thick of it by now. It was obviously too late to go by the woodshop or the church—I’d have to do that in the morning—so I decided to call it a night.
As the wheels of my mind turned, I glanced in my rearview. The oh-so familiar sight of police lights flashing. Damn it. This could get in the way.
CHAPTER 23
They had me locked in a cell within the hour. No explanation. No nothing. The cop had come to the driver side window. Asked me to get out. Slammed me up against the side, cuffed me, and tossed me into the back of his car, leaving the Range Rover on the side of the road.
Then he took me downtown to Virginia and Eighth, two blocks from the Pan Pacific. I had no explanation, but I did have a pretty good idea of what was going on. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when someone came to get me, set me up in an interrogation room, and Detective Jacobs came strolling in. He had way too much confidence. I didn’t like it.
“Mr. Knox,” he started, plopping down in the seat on the other side of the table. A fluorescent light beamed down from above and highlighted Jacob’s fat cheeks and double chin. “Harper Knox. Ex-Green Beret. Born in Benton City, Washington. Now a contractor and a farmer. A winemaker! A wannabe Renaissance man. He thinks his shit don’t stink.” He looked me in the eyes. “You think you’re so smooth that you can outmaneuver my team. Stay a few steps ahead. Oh, I don’t think so. What you’ve done is caused a whole lot of trouble for all of us. Remember what I told you? Stay out of it or the next time we met would be at the jailhouse. You remember those words?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Why didn’t you listen to me? Did you think I was joking?”
“You’re going to have to slow down if you want me to answer all these questions. I can’t keep up.”
He raised his voice. “Your friend is dead, Mr. Knox. Isn’t that enough to shut your fucking sarcasm up for one goddamn second?”
I didn’t say anything, but I sure as hell didn’t like him bringing Ted into this.
“This is your fault. You’re the reason she’s dead.”
“She? What are you talking about?” My heart stopped.
“Francesca Daly. We just found her dressed like a hooker with her throat slit on Third. Probably where you sent her.”
I glared at him. “You’re fucking lying.”
He squinted his eyebrows and lowered his voice. “I’m not lying. I thought they’d already told you.”
I gritted my teeth. “What happened? Where is she?”
“At the morgue. She was dead long before we got there.”
“You have to let me out of here. Right now!” I tried to stand and pulled at the cuffs that were locked to a ring on the table.
“Don’t get so excited. You’re not going anywhere right now. I don’t need you tryi
ng to solve any more murders. Don’t worry…we’re on it.”
I sat, trying to slow my pulse down so that I could think. “Who did it?”
“We don’t know. Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. But I can’t have you out there right now. I got an assassination attempt and three dead at the Summit, a car exploding downtown, a dead hooker shot with a sniper rifle, and a dead doctor. Now, a dead private contractor. I don’t need some rogue Green Beret running around clouding up the water any more than you already have. I hope you understand.”
Silence. The tunnel vision was coming back.
“I need you to tell me what you know. I need your help, and the sooner you start talking, the sooner you’ll walk out the front door.”
“You can’t keep me in here.”
“Watch me.”
“I’ll be out of here by the end of the day, and I’m going to have your ass outside of Nordstrom shining shoes. If I let you live.”
“Nice, Mr. Knox. I can see you’re coming around. I’m asking for your help. You don’t need me to tell you that you have two dead friends that haven’t even begun to decompose. I can’t imagine you have that many more friends to lose, but if you want to keep more people from dying, then talk to me. If you want to sit in here for a few days, then do it. Fucking do it. Be a prick.”
I looked at him like I was going to rip his throat out with my eyes.
He stood and said, “I’m going to give you a few minutes. Then I’ll be back. I suggest you calm yourself down and get ready to help me out. I don’t know what you have or know, but from looking into who you are, it wouldn’t surprise me if you are getting somewhere. But now it’s my turn. This is my investigation. So get ready to start coughing it up.”
He walked out and I stayed cuffed to the table. Wanting to kill him. The door shut and I was stuck in the white room. I turned to my right and tried to look through the one-way mirror. Then put my head down and closed my eyes.
Francesca. Dead.
Francesca Daly. Dead.
I could still taste her. I could still feel her touch.
How had this happened? It was exactly why I couldn’t fight alongside a woman. A man dies and it hurts. The closer you are to him, the more it hurts. But a woman…the hurt isn’t the same. It reaches right into your heart, even those of us who barely have one. Like it’s someone’s sweet little daughter. You can almost see them in pigtails tied with pink ribbon, even when they’re firing their RPK in the field. And if that woman happens to be someone you’ve exchanged some touches with, it gets even more complicated. Not that I could really zip it all up like that. It wasn’t that easy. All I knew was that I’d just lost someone who I’d grown really close to in an extremely short amount of time. Maybe even fallen in—no, don’t say it, Harp. Not now.
Being with her the past few days had felt really nice. Like, maybe we had something. She was a good kid. A good woman. In a life like mine, covered with blankets and blankets of darkness, she’d been a little warmth and light. Now, she was gone. As quick as she came. Come to think of it, just like any light in my life.
You get close to me, you die. I wanted so badly to wake my dead friends up and tell them how sorry I was.
My desire to find out who was behind this reached a new level of meaning. He who put a knife to her throat, whoever took her life, would pay with his own. In a very painful, slow way. Advice to those who’ve just met me: never, ever get on the other end of my appetite for revenge.
I stood and pulled at the cuffs bound to the table, yanking them back and forth. With fury, I screamed for Jacobs to let me out of there.
Nothing.
I sat back down and took some deep breaths. If my tear ducts had not dried up years ago, I might have cried. I couldn’t even remember what that was like. There’s something so powerful about all the pain and emotion of your life culminating in a burst of tears, each drop a concentrated bead of infinite release. How nice would it be to be able to shed a few?
And who the hell did Jacobs think he was, coming in there and slinging her death off his tongue like a jab against me? Like some sort of slight. He would pay for that, too.
***
I had my head on the table, trying to make some sense of life, when Jacobs finally came back in. It must have been thirty minutes. “You ready to talk?”
“Why’d they kill her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m hoping you can help me answer that. I’m guessing whoever it was didn’t like her on their trail.” He seemed less cocky and more sensitive now.
After a few moments, I said, “We found someone who knew them. Well, a couple people. Both prostitutes. We found one last night, named Lana. Then she introduced us to Jess. The one that was shot.”
“Were you there?”
“Yeah. Yes, I was.”
“Thanks for telling me. I know you had nothing to do with this whole shitstorm, and I’m sure I’d be doing the same as you if I was in your shoes, but…you know, I have a job to do and you aren’t helping it. Believe me. I am capable and I want this. It’s what I do. So did she say anything? Did you get anywhere?”
“Not much. Lana took us to Jess. We introduced ourselves. She told us that Erica and Lucy sold themselves as a package sometimes. And then she ate a bullet.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m telling you everything,” I lied, hoping they hadn’t also been following me when I went to Jameson’s house. “That’s all I know. She knew something but didn’t have time to get it out. Now I need out of here. I need to see Francesca. I want to see her body.”
“You’ll get out soon enough. I need your word. You will not continue this running-around cowboy shit.”
“You have it.”
He stood. I was wondering how they had found me. Had there been an APB out on me and some random uniformed cop saw Francesca’s plates? Or had they been watching Jameson’s wife?
As he reached the door, Jacobs said, “I’m going to need to keep you long enough to get what you know about Jess’s murder. I’ll send someone in.”
I nodded.
“By the way,” he said, “she’s not dead.”
I looked up at him. “What’d you say?”
“Your friend is fine. I don’t know where she is but she’s fine. We were onto her and tried to arrest her. She got away. Sorry I lied to you. I needed some answers. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I stood again. “You’re telling me she’s alive? And you lied about it?”
“Francesca Daly is out there somewhere, quite alive. Tell her that I’m letting you both slide this time. I will not, however, the next time. If I see either one of you again, I will do whatever I can to make your lives miserable. And you can see…I don’t play nice. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re better at police work than I am. Don’t waste your time. Have a good day. I hope I got your attention.”
With that, he shut the door.
CHAPTER 24
She’s alive. That mattered more than anything. Still, I didn’t believe it until the knock on my door at 2 a.m. I smiled through and through. Man, I was turning into a softie.
When I’d gotten back to the hotel earlier, it hadn’t taken me much time on the computer to find the woodshop Mrs. Taylor had mentioned, and not much longer to find the church. Riverside Church of the Woods. Not Hillside, like she had said. But it had to be the same place. Guess who the preacher was…the woman, Wendy Harrill, who I’d been seeing all over the tube preaching against the Singularity. How had I missed that? But I was certainly onto something.
Deciding I’d visit both places in the morning, I had crawled into bed and waited, passing the time watching the latest developments on the local news. They had barely mentioned Jess. All anyone was talking about was Dr. Kramer’s murder. Prostitutes didn’t rank as high as doctors on the sympathy scale. No details had been released regarding how, but the sheriff’s office had confirmed that Kramer had been murdered. They had absolutely no suspects, which wasn’t surpr
ising at all. Of course, we all knew that whoever had been responsible for the chaos at the Summit was behind this as well.
Finally, Francesca arrived.
I looked through the peephole first. She was still dressed like she sold herself for a living.
And she was holding up her middle finger. I twisted the knob and let her in. A big smile on her face. Of course, she hadn’t been the one fooled into thinking their partner was dead. She had no idea what I’d just been through, and truthfully, I was embarrassed to tell her. Probably because I had some feelings for her that I wasn’t comfortable with expressing. I resisted the urge to put my arms around her.
“Come in,” I said. “Glad you’re okay.” Very matter-of-fact.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you sleeping?”
“Not yet.”
“You look like hell.”
“It’s been a long day. I think I got something. One of the men from the arrest sheets. You know the description Jess gave us? White beard, glasses. He was arrested yesterday.”
“Nice work, Harper. I’m impressed.”
“I went by his home. That is, his last-known. His wife said she hadn’t seen him in months. Guy’s name is Jameson Taylor. She put me onto a couple places where we can find him. We’ll throw it on the agenda for tomorrow.” I told her more details.
“You sound completely done.”
“I’m okay. Did you have any luck?”
As she started speaking, I felt so thankful to hear her voice again. I could have listened to that Italian accent for hours. “Not a whole lot.” She opened up the minibar. “I’m going to order some room service. You want some?”
“Sure. A veggie burger and fries, please.”
“How did you make it through boot camp eating vegetables?”
“Not easily.”
Shaking her head, she dialed room service. After ordering, she sat down at the table. “I heard they almost got you,” I said.
“How’d you hear?”
“They picked me up. I just got out of a holding cell. Walked here. Your Range Rover is locked up somewhere. Detective Jacobs was all over me. He told me you were dead.”