You Can't Escape (9781420134650)

by Bush, Nancy

  “Life’s here to teach us all lessons, though, huh?” Martin mused. “Nate ended up with Pru, and I guess they’re happy. She’s sweet and simple, and he sneaks out and plays poker with us now and again. Took over the family business, but then so did I.”

  Martin finally shifted position, and Jordanna managed to edge around him. “Nice to see you again,” she said belatedly, holding out her hand.

  “Oh, we’ll see each other again.” A short bark of laughter. “Pru’ll find a way to make that happen, if I know her.”

  “She mentioned something about that to me,” Jordanna admitted.

  “Sunday potluck?” He made a sound of disgust. “Hope you don’t think I came over here to hit on you. She just said one of the Winters girls was in town, the one who was a reporter, and when I saw you sitting here with your laptop, it just seemed like you might be the one.”

  He surprised her then, by suddenly grabbing her arm, and Jordanna sucked in a breath. She’d pretty much decided Martin Lourde, whom Rusty had labeled a putz, was harmless, but now she could feel herself tighten. Sensing her tension, he loosened his grip a bit. He looked like he was going to say something serious, but all that came out after a long moment was, “Don’t be a stranger.” Then he dropped her arm and turned away.

  “Huh . . .” September said aloud, staring at her computer screen intently.

  “What?” George asked, sitting back and swiveling in his chair to face her.

  “Well, I’m looking at a copy of the Danzigers’ divorce decree. Finalized three months ago.”

  “Finalized?”

  “That’s what it says here.”

  “She never mentioned that, and you and Auggie both called Danziger her husband.”

  “Yes, we did,” September said reflectively. “So, maybe this woman who was pretending to be Carmen was actually Danziger’s girlfriend? That might explain why he didn’t tell us who she was.” She yanked out her cell, started to text, then made an annoyed sound and hit the “favorite” button to place a call to her brother. Sometimes texting just pissed her off. While she was waiting to be connected, she said, “I gotta remind myself that I can still use a phone instead of texting.”

  “I never text,” George said, swinging back to his desk to face his computer screen.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s the answer . . . like now . . . that I’m getting Auggie’s voice mail.” Uttering a sound of frustration, she clipped out, “Call me. I’ve just been looking at the Danzigers’ divorce decree. They haven’t been legally married for three months.”

  She clicked off just as Gretchen came into the station. “Good news,” her ex-partner said. “D’Annibal’s putting you with me on my case. I had to kiss some ass, which I’m not suited for in any way, shape, or form, but at least I got us together again.”

  “Good.” September was pleased to hear that their lieutenant had finally partnered her with Gretchen again. “Auggie can get someone else to do follow-up for him. Maybe George.”

  “I live to serve,” George muttered, not looking up from the screen.

  “Well, since you never get off your ass, you’re perfect for the job,” Gretchen said pointedly. Then, to September, “Come on. You gotta see this.”

  “What?” September pushed her chair back.

  “The little domestic dispute I was called to help settle has turned into something more interesting.”

  “Like what?”

  “Skeletons in the closet.” She smiled her feral smile and her slanted turquoise eyes glittered. “And I mean that literally. The wife and husband were screaming at each other and wifey suddenly yells, ‘Look in the basement closet!’ so I did. A whole lot of bones and some human skulls. I arrested ’em both, and hustled ’em out of there. Techs are there now.”

  “Holy God,” September said.

  “Yeah, c’mon. You just never know what you’re going to find.”

  September picked up her gun from her desk drawer and carried it to the break room, where she opened her locker and snatched her messenger bag from the hook on the back of the locker door. She placed the gun inside, slammed her locker shut, then came back for the jacket she’d slung over her chair. She followed her partner down the short hall to reception, slid a look toward Guy Urlacher, then nearly ran smack into Pauline Kirby from Channel Seven.

  “Detective Rafferty,” Pauline greeted her with a fake smile. “I’ve been calling you.”

  “Oh, right . . .” September tried to ease past her, but it was Gretchen who came to her rescue.

  “You need to talk to Detective August Rafferty,” she said coolly to the reporter. “He’s on the Saldano bombing.”

  “I understood it was you,” Pauline said to September.

  September shook her head. “No.”

  “Where are you going?” Pauline asked, craning her head around as September swept by her.

  “Lunch,” September said.

  “None of your business,” Gretchen said at the same time, shooting September a look as it was after 3:00 PM and lunch was long over.

  “You’re on a case together,” Pauline said, correctly reading their haste to leave together. “Is this your first since the shooting?”

  “Check with August Rafferty,” Gretchen reminded her. “He’s your man.” They were on the outside steps when September’s cell rang. “Don’t answer it,” Gretchen warned. “It’s probably Kirby. She’s got your number and she won’t give up.”

  “It’s Auggie.” September put the phone to her ear. “Hey, you get my message?”

  “Yeah, funny Carmen didn’t mention the divorce. But that mystery woman? Maybe Danziger’s girlfriend? She’s also the woman on the videotape from the camera on the building opposite Saldano Industries.”

  “What? She was there? At the bombing? Oh, God, that’s suspicious.” September slowed her steps, but Gretchen made hurry-up motions, so she climbed into the passenger seat of the department-issued Jeep, her cell glued to her ear.

  “Yep. And it’s the same woman who helped Danziger into a black RAV—no plates—at Laurelton General and drove him away.”

  “What the hell.”

  “I checked at the Oregonian. Danziger’s not working on anything specific for them right now. A coworker said he’s taken a leave of absence. I’m going to dive deeper into his friendships there. Somebody knows something.”

  “Mystery woman has moved from the back burner to the forefront,” September observed.

  “And the bomb?” Auggie went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “It was operated by remote control. Coulda been from across the street, or further.”

  “Okay . . . but Danziger wasn’t afraid of this woman at the hospital, if you think she set the bomb. He wanted to go with her.”

  “It doesn’t look like she had anything in her hands, any kind of detonator. But it puts her in the forefront of this investigation. Where are you? You sound like you’re outside?”

  “I’m with Gretchen. We’re on a case together.”

  “Tell Sanders to try not to shoot anybody today.”

  September relayed the information to her partner, who smiled and said, “Piss off,” which September relayed back to Auggie. “You’re turning this information over to the feds, right?” she added.

  “Yeeessss . . .” Auggie answered at the same moment Gretchen said loudly, “Don’t do it. Keep it from the feds as long as you can. I hate it when they take over.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Auggie said with a smile in his voice. “But I may need some help.”

  “George is at his desk,” September told him. “I’m busy.”

  “What about Pelligree? Or, that guy from Robbery who helped you out last fall?”

  “Wes is out in the field, reinterviewing witnesses on that shooting at the Tri-Met station that’s about to go to trial, and Maharis is back on Robbery, but he’d help you if it helped him. He wants to move permanently to Homicide. But playing fast and loose with the feds . . .” She trailed off dubiously.
>
  Auggie grunted. “Okay. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jordanna parked across the street from City Hall, a three-story building on the south side of town near the falls that took function over form to a new level. Composed of cinder blocks painted white sometime during the past millennium, it was now a dusty gray, squatting beside the park that led down to the river, a blight on one of the nicest city views, an eyesore amongst the rebuilt Victorians that backed up to the river.

  She pushed through the front door and made her way to the back office that housed the police. It had been a department of five when she’d been a Rock Springs resident and it didn’t look much larger now.

  The officer wore a crisp blue uniform and sat behind a high counter. She smiled a greeting at Jordanna that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Hello, I’d like to talk to Officer Drummond,” Jordanna said. She didn’t know exactly what Peter Drummond’s title was, but she figured “officer” would cover it.

  It seemed to do the trick. “He’s in the field” was the unhelpful answer. “Could someone else help you?”

  “Maybe I could just leave my name and number?”

  The woman nodded and handed Jordanna a memo slip. She wrote her name, her number, and then a quick note saying she’d spoken to Rusty Long, who’d suggested she contact Drummond about the “homeless” victim who’d been found on government property, on the side of Summit Ridge Road.

  Jordanna had just finished writing the note when she heard voices behind her, two men entering through the front door. “All I’m saying is don’t work so hard to ticket every law-abiding citizen,” a gravelly and familiar voice was saying.

  She felt a shiver start at her nape and dance down to her lower back as she recognized Chief Greer Markum’s distinctive tones.

  “I don’t mean to argue, Chief, but speeding is breaking the law,” the younger man with the nasal voice said earnestly. He, too, wore the blue uniform and he was following Chief Markum like a puppy, nearly stepping on his feet he was so anxious to please. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to give special treatment to.”

  “It’s not special treatment,” Markum said hastily, throwing a glance around the station, looking to see who might overhear. “I’m talking goodwill for the community, you understand?”

  Jordanna had turned to look, then quickly shifted her attention away, hoping she wasn’t recognized. Her heart was thumping. As Markum and his anxious acolyte moved into her peripheral line of sight, she said, “Thanks,” to the receptionist, handing her the slip of paper before turning away from the new arrivals. She’d known there was a chance she might see Markum, but now that the moment was here, she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

  “Excuse me, ma’ am,” he said, and though she kept walking toward the exit, she knew he was addressing her. “Ma’am?” he called again, more loudly.

  Caught. Damn. Gritting her teeth, Jordanna slowly turned back around.

  He’d aged over the years and not well. His hair was steel gray and there were deep lines cut into his forehead above a pair of beetling, bushy brows. “Can I help you?” he asked, his expression stern. She could tell he was trying to place her.

  “I was looking for Officer Drummond,” she said.

  “Lord above, Jordanna?” he said in wonder.

  She couldn’t very well deny it, so she nodded briefly.

  “Well, what finally brings you back to Rock Springs? We expected to see you at the wedding.”

  Jordanna let the rebuke slide off her. “Couldn’t make it. I did run into Jennie yesterday.”

  “I haven’t talked to her for a few days. Huh. Well, what do you know.” He came back to himself and asked, “You know Pete?”

  “Not really. I’m . . . exploring a story,” she admitted.

  “Ahhh . . .” He wagged a finger at her. “That’s right. I’ve seen some of your work. What kind of story you on? I can probably help you as much as Pete. Come on back.” He turned toward the half-door at the end of the counter and swung it open, waiting for her. Jordanna reluctantly followed after him, past the reception desk and down a short hall to the office at the back. Markum sank down into the leather chair with a huge sigh, throwing a dark glance at the papers strewn across the desktop.

  “You about broke your daddy’s heart, not showing up,” he remarked.

  Jordanna forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Well, it’s not the first time.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Still chippy, huh, gal?”

  “Still chippy,” she agreed, fighting not to snap his head off. Rash behavior had not worked for her in the past. She might not love the police, but there was no reason to let Markum know it and end up in some kind of wrangle. She recalled he was a man who insisted on having the last word.

  “Sit down, sit down.” He waved in the general direction of one of the two plain wooden chairs opposite his desk.

  She perched gingerly on the edge of one. “I’m interested in the male victim who was found near my father’s property about three years ago, the body that was never identified.”

  “It was found on government land,” he clarified.

  “That’s what I heard, but a lot of that property adjacent to Bureau of Land Management property was owned, at least at one time, by the Benchley family. In fact, the boy who found the body is listed as Zach Benchley.”

  Markum squeaked back in his chair. “So, what’re you gettin’ at?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought it was a story I wanted to explore.”

  “And you thought Pete would help you?” A smile played at the corners of his mouth, as if he knew a secret.

  “I also heard the body was branded. A point you wanted kept under wraps.”

  His face froze for a moment before he recovered himself. “Who told you that?”

  “A number of people. So, it’s not much of a secret, from what I can tell.”

  He touched his fingertips together, giving himself time to think. “Bad publicity for our town. Didn’t want Rock Springs splashed all over the news because some nut was defiling corpses.”

  “So, the branding was done after the man died,” Jordanna said. She wanted to reach for her notepad to jot down notes but sensed it wouldn’t be wise just yet. She didn’t want to inflame him, and she was pretty sure she would unless she trod very carefully.

  “Well, of course it was. I would know if somebody was branding live people in my town. And anyway, that’s what the ME said when he took the body. Don’t start stirring up something scandalous when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Death was from exposure?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes narrowed. “Seen your dad yet?”

  “Not yet. Could you tell me what the brand looked like?”

  “Dayton’s probably waiting for you to call,” he surmised. “Since you saw Jennie already.”

  Jordanna thought about Dance, waiting at the house, and suddenly wanted to run to him, throw herself at him, beg to be part of his world and not this one. But in many ways, they were the same world. She had a story to follow, and just because she was uncomfortable in Rock Springs didn’t mean she should back away. She’d told Dance she was going to learn what she could about the branded man and she wasn’t going to back out now. Switching gears, she asked Markum, “What about Bernadette Fread? I heard she was missing. Are you looking for her? I heard there was a question of possible abuse.”

  The chief sprang to his feet as if zapped by a cattle prod, his face florid. “Who’ve you been talking to? It’s that kind of rumor that starts real trouble. I don’t appreciate you making up stories about upstanding citizens.”

  “So, Bernadette’s father is an upstanding citizen.” Jordanna stood, too.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said tautly.

  “Not a chance of abuse.”

  “If you want to find out who the dead man is, be my guest. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can. But do
n’t think you can come back here and smear reputations. That’s not how it works in Rock Springs.”

  “Especially for members of Green Pastures Church.”

  She hadn’t believed his face could get any redder, but it turned a mottled magenta that made her worry about possible popping blood vessels. “Now you listen. You leave the Freads alone. Bernadette’s taken off before and she’ll come back begging for mercy, just like always. She’s a good kid, but a bit of a trial to her family. That’s all you need to know. Go talk to the ME in Malone, if you want to know about the homeless vic. That’s all I’ve got to say for now.”

  Jordanna’s pulse was pounding, but she met his gaze squarely. “I’d still like to speak to Officer Drummond.”

  The chief slowly got himself under control, and that whisper of a smile was back. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

  She left, wondering why he seemed so amused by that idea.

  The house on Aurora Lane was on the outskirts of Laurelton, barely inside the city limits. Beyond its backyard was a green space with a copse of firs, pines, and oak trees that September knew eventually opened to a small lake that had once had summer cabins ringed around it like a necklace. Over the years, the whole property had devolved into an abandoned outpost, the lake itself having pulled back from its banks into little more than a large, algae-choked pond. She knew this because the Raffertys had once owned property there, which her father had sold when things started going south. Recently, however, September had read that there had been renewed interest in the area, with developers tearing down the rotted cabins and building new ones as the lake waters had returned, fed by underground springs.

  But Aurora Lane was not seeing the same rejuvenation. It was a long street with few houses, each residence on a five-plus-acre lot so that your nearest neighbor wasn’t within shouting distance. They were in a kind of zoning no-man’s-land, not quite farmland, yet not like anything inside the rest of the Laurelton city limits, either. September was well acquainted with the street because she’d had a high school friend who’d lived for a while in her grandparents’ house, the first one on the left as you turned onto the broken asphalt road.