by Doc Macomber
“I was actually at your crib when you called. Your landlord’s an interesting old flirt. He offered me a drink and a personal tour of his hot tub. When I said I didn’t have the time, he offered me a rain check.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Colefield said, and then moved in closer, catching a whiff of her perfume. Something behind her eyes seemed untamed and he liked it very much.
“Did you happen to mention you were the daughter of a decorated admiral? That would have really impressed him.”
“He didn’t need any more encouragement.”
She glanced at his computer where he was writing an email to Bart and Weaver relaying when they would be meeting at the office on Sunday.
“If you’re wondering why I went to such efforts to find you, I got a call from my boss. You’ve been assigned to the case.”
“I know. I’ve been reading the files sent over by Homicide. Three teens all died on the same day one year apart, which doesn’t fit with Timmy’s case. He’s out of sync with the others, and his death can’t really be mistaken for an accident.”
“There are other things that could tie them together.”
“You’re talking about the symbol on his back?”
“Yes. Look I can bring you up to speed over dinner. You interested?”
“Sure. I haven’t eaten all day.”
She poked her head inside the Lieutenant’s office. “Truthfully, eating alone sucks. It’s the one thing that I can’t seem to get used to.”
Colefield marched over and took her by the arm, pulled her out of the Lieutenant’s office and closed the door.
She took no offense and began to read items on the bulletin board. Tamara Costa graduated at the top of her class for a reason.
“So can I trust you to behave for a minute while I go hit the head,” he said. “Then I’ll change out of this sweatshirt and be ready to go.”
“Yeah, sure,” she grinned.
He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was glad she had shown up. Catching the scent of her intoxicating perfume triggered a few great memories – a happier time in his life, even if he hadn’t been equipped to appreciate it back then.
As he squeezed by her their shoulders brushed and their eyes met. Looking into her sable eyes was like a big shove back into the past.
On his way to the restroom he started to have doubts about what he was feeling. Was this attraction some deluded fantasy that he was holding onto from a time long gone?
A few minutes later, while he was in the locker room changing out of his shirt, the door opened behind him. Bare-chested, he turned. Costa stared at him from across the room.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said.
Her face blushed. “You can’t blame me for sneaking a peek. I haven’t seen your body in years, even if it is kinda beat up.”
He glanced down at his black and blue torso as the overhead lights flickered on and off. Her smile disappeared into darkness.
“Looks like they’re setting the mood for us,” he said.
When the lights flickered again, it was like one of those strobe dance floors where the person is in one location and then a second later in another. She had moved in beside him, her fingertips grazing his bruised ribs. As the lights flickered off again and didn’t return, they slipped into silence.
The building’s electricity had gone off.
Colefield went over to the small window and peered out. The streetlights were off. So were the lights in the buildings in the neighborhood. Everything was black. Probably a downed power line or blown transformer somewhere.
“It looks like we’re going to have to camp out here for a bit…”
When Colefield turned around Costa pressed him against the wall and planted her lips on his. Lightning unleashed inside him and he lost control. She unzipped his pants and ran her warm hand down inside the front of his jeans. He slid his hand up under her dress to the small of her back and down over her butt, hooked the corner of her panties and slid them down. Then he kissed her hard.
She breathed heavily into his ear. “I so missed this Jason…”
Her breasts pressed against him. He leaned down and kissed her neck, down her chest to her erect nipples. He bit one and then the other. She let out a moan.
He backed her against the locker, slid down his jeans, and then lifted her right leg off the ground and held it there for a moment before she braced her heel on the bench, opening herself up wider for him. The rain thundered against the rooftop and lashed the windows as the storm intensified.
He caught a glimpse of the hunger in her eyes as a passing motorist’s headlights spilled into the room.
She released a loud cry and dug her nails deep into his bare back as years of pent up emotion flooded through him. He kissed her softly before they dropped down on the bench sweaty and panting.
The room abruptly burst into glaring light, revealing the reality of what they’d done, and the mystery of their conjoining escaped.
Colefield stood up and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. Costa ran a hand through her tousled hair and smoothed out the front of her dress. They exchanged awkward smiles.
Colefield could still taste her on his lips. He started to say something when the lights blinked off again.
“I’ll get a flashlight,” he uttered instead.
He dug around until he found one in his locker and then turned it on. He turned around and shined the light toward where he had left her sitting on the bench. She was no longer there. He pointed the light across the room. The beam caught her shadowy figure slipping into the outer office.
There was a lantern in the storage locker in the hallway. He retrieved it and carried it over to his desk. She was standing by the window, looking out.
“Where’s that noise coming from?” Costa asked. The mood was gone.
He listened. She was right. It sounded like the storm had knocked a gutter loose. The metal banging against the siding made a horrible racket.
“I’ll go take a look.”
“Leave me the lantern, please.”
Colefield carried it over and handed it to her. She moved over to his desk and sat down.
“I’ll be right back.”
Colefield shined the flashlight beam along the wet pavement. He held one hand over his eyes as the lashing rain blew in on the tail of the storm. The rain slapped him in the face as he rounded the corner to the source of the noise. Colefield held the flashlight up and pointed the beam toward the roof. A section of gutter had fallen loose – eight feet of aluminum dangling down, slamming back and forth against the wooden siding.
I can’t do anything with that tonight, he thought.
When he reentered the building the electricity was back on. Colefield pushed the door closed against the heavy wind. Costa looked up from the email regarding tomorrow’s return to the island.
“Were you going to send me this?”
“I didn’t know you were involved when I started that email. Consider this your official invitation.”
“OK. Good.”
“Do you remember in high school when you tried to hide under the bleacher seats during a blackout?”
“Don’t remind me. I spent a weekend picking chewing gum out of my hair.”
“Don’t you miss those days?”
“Are you crazy? I hated high school.”
“I was referring to something else. When I found you under there I distracted you much the way we did tonight.”
“Oh – well, don’t make too much out of this. I guess the separation is messing me up more than I thought.”
Colefield felt deflated by her comment.
“I’ve got to get a towel and dry off, and then you can bring me up-to-date on where the FBI is on this. What are they calling it, again?”
“The Scoutmaster Killer.”
“Right.” Colefield stepped into a side room and was removing a towel from his locker, when he heard the front door slam shut.
He hustled over to t
he window and slid back the curtain. He just caught a glimpse of the taillights of Agent Costa’s sedan as she left the parking lot and headed west on Marine Drive.
Tam was unexpected, unpredictable, uninhibited and unavailable. Again.
Chapter 12
The next morning Colefield was back at work by eight. He stood on the dock giving the patrol boat the once over, climbed inside and glanced at the engine compartment. He flipped on a switch inside the cabin and checked the running lights. He stuck his head back outside and caught a brief glimpse of the sun poking its faint face through the scattered clouds, relieved the sky didn’t promise rain.
The river still had a strong current from last night’s storm. Mud and flotsam would clog the river in spots but at least there were no white caps forming. The ride to Sauvie Island would be calmer than it had been on the day they’d found Timmy’s riddled body.
According to the Sunday weather report, the severe weather pattern from the previous night had blown over and was now dumping twelve inches of snow in the Cascades. Half of the city had been without electricity the previous evening due to downed power lines. The Eastside had only experienced a brief power outage which he had no trouble remembering. Had it been more than just a wild unpredictable moment with Tam?
As he began to disembark from the boat, heavy footsteps started down the ramp toward him. He turned as Bart and Weaver appeared. They were dressed head to foot in standard black tactical gear. Ready for a day on the river.
Bart was the first to speak. “Hey, Colefield, you change your cologne again? Office smells like a whorehouse.” Bart had a big grin on his face. “You know anything about that?”
Tam’s perfume!
“I must have spilled some of my aftershave in the locker room.” Colefield tried to brush it off but no one was buying it.
“Tell Jill she needs to cut back on the sweet stuff,” Weaver said. “Or the Lieutenant will have your ass in a sling.”
A twinge of guilt crept in but he kept a straight face.
“I went through the pre-check. Everything looks shipshape. Someone throw me my gear.”
Bart reached for it just as Agent Costa came bobbing down the ramp, dressed for a day on the water. Even in foul weather gear, she could turn heads. All smiles and eager to help she reached for Colefield’s bag.
“I’ll get it,” she said cheerfully, full of spunk. “Hello, deputies. Mind if I tag along?”
Bart and Weaver glanced back at Colefield. He was as surprised as they were to see Tam after last night’s exit. Bart spoke up first. “Good to see you again, Ma’am. Deputy Colefield didn’t mention you’d be joining us.”
“He didn’t?” she said smiling. “We discussed it last night.”
The men worked to control their expressions as they put two and two together.
“Toss me your gear and climb aboard Agent Costa.”
She passed her bag of equipment over the transom, grabbed Colefield’s outstretched hand and climbed aboard. Colefield set her tote down by his leg and then helped the deputies with their equipment. Once the boat was loaded, Colefield took the helm. He fired up the engine allowing it to idle for a few minutes.
“Did someone think to carry down an extra air tank?” he asked the men.
Bart pointed toward a forward storage locker. “Stowed. Along with the evidence kit and tow line. I also threw in a spare dive suit should you need it.”
Weaver took the stern line, Bart the bowline. Costa stowed the remaining gear in a dry location inside one of the compartments astern. When it came to water or boats she acted like an old deckhand.
Bart gave the nose a push-off and climbed aboard. Colefield rolled back the throttle and the boat’s engine came to life, pushing the bow through the stiff current.
While the two deputies stowed the lines and starboard bumpers, Costa slipped inside the cabin and stood beside Colefield. She remained quiet, looking out through the misty windshield toward the expanse of water.
Colefield turned and looked at her. “Why’d you run off last night?”
“I think right now our energies would be better spent finding Timmy’s murderer.”
Colefield looked her in the eye. “OK. Since we’re moving on we are searching Anita’s place to see if they returned yesterday. On the way there I want to check out possible beaches where the killer could have come ashore. Bart and I found a second trail from the crime scene which we are also revisiting today.”
“Leading where?”
“Back down to the river. I believe the boy came ashore by boat.”
Costa nodded. “We’re on the same page. I hiked around a bit yesterday and I believe the boy could have arrived by boat.”
“There was a boat at the house yesterday, and I’d like to check it out for hull marks or anything that would indicate it was used to drop him off.” Colefield said. “He could have been shot by whoever delivered him. I figure if we can find that boat, we might be one step closer to finding the killer. But I’d like to take another look around the riverbank to be sure.”
Costa switched gears. “Bart told me this is his first homicide investigation.”
“Yeah. He’s a little green, but he’ll do fine.”
“I hope so.” Costa hesitated a moment and then took a deep breath. “You’ve read the files. As you know, I’ve been working a series of cases over the last three years, all involving children between the ages of ten and fifteen. At first they were thought to be accidental deaths. But a pattern emerged…”
“There was a case in Astoria three years ago involving a boy found crushed under a log along the beach. They found a single letter “C” inscribed in the sand next to his hand. I thought he was trying to write something – leave a clue. Because of the placement of the body and the incoming tide, it is possible there was more to the message before he was found. Or it could have just been a coincidence. That’s what everyone figured at the time. Local authorities interviewed his friend who was playing on the beach with him earlier, thinking he put it there. He denied it. Still, they didn’t suspect foul play. The death was ruled accidental. Beachcombing that day was heavy because of an International Scout convention in town which at the time didn’t mean anything.
A year later on the same day, a girl’s body was found just north of here on the railroad tracks. She’d been struck by a freight train. The engineer didn’t know he’d run over her until we traced the evidence back to one of his rail cars. Her body had been drug along the tracks for miles before it finally dislodged. She has never been identified. The interesting thing was that we found the letter “U” written on a piece of paper pinned to her backpack when it was recovered where we believe she planned to jump the train. The ME’s Office ruled it an accidental death. The thirteen year old was a runaway, and she had no identification on her or in her backpack. The theory was she made a miscalculation as she tried jumping onto an open boxcar.”
“And no one ever listed her as a missing person?”
“No.”
“And no connection to a Scout Master?”
“The girl was wearing a Girl Scout shirt, so I filed it away as a piece of information that needed to be revisited.”
“Look, kids dress up in uniforms all the time.”
“That’s what the press said.” Costa glanced at her notebook. “Did you know that Scarbough used to be a Scout Master?”
“Yes. You’re not trying to tie him to these killings are you?”
“I do believe he is involved somehow,” she said. “Look I wasn’t certain how I felt about either death until this summer when they discovered the hiker.”
“I remember that.”
“His death occurred on the same day. A fourteen-year-old Boy Scout. Supposedly, he fell off a rocky embankment while on a hiking outing with his troop. Nothing out of the ordinary there, other than we found the letter “L” written on the palm of his right hand.”
“He could have written it himself.”
“He was right ha
nded, so he would have written it on his left palm.”
“So you think somebody else put it there?”
“That’s the theory.”
“Could mean anything. Or nothing.”
“In all three of these cases there was a time lapse between when the death occurred and when the body was actually reported to the police. In the hiking incident they thought the boy had gone ahead. So it was almost an hour before the Scout Master turned back to look for him. I thought the Scout Master was guilty. I grilled him over and over.”
“Scarbough?”
“No.” Costa furrowed her brow. “We didn’t have enough evidence to make an arrest.” She heaved a long sigh before continuing. “Now we’re to present day and Timmy’s case. Bear with me for a moment. The boy, also a boy scout, was shot while supposedly hunting. Without the symbol written on his vest, I wouldn’t have made a direct connection. There was a lag between the death and discovery, but the day is different. The perpetrator could be upping the tempo.”
Colefield thought about it. “So the killer is leaving some kind of message with each body?”
Costa nodded. “Or clue. Serial killers tend to gloat over their skill.”
As the patrol boat reached speed and noisily banged through the rough water, further conversation became impossible. Costa moved onto the bow just as the boat roared under the I-5 Bridge, spooking a gaggle of birds from the rusted steel beams.
Up ahead the narrow railroad bridge came into view. Costa turned and pointed out the retired naval ship moored next to the former luxurious Thunderbird Hotel, which was now just a vacant shell – one of endless abandoned buildings left to decay by the river’s edge. At least the Sea Scouts were restoring the old naval ship. A few of them were aboard in white uniforms, painting the upper deck. Colefield had seen a group of them working on the boat off and on since the spring. A couple of the boys stopped painting and waved. The Admiral’s daughter saluted back.
Colefield kept his hands on the wheel and tried to remain focused on the open river. From time to time his eyes drifted toward the woman who stood at watch, enjoying the way her long chestnut hair caught the breeze.