The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “What did they remember?” She could feel her pulse start to race.

  “That he . . . was cheeky. Impertinent. Flirtatious. Maybe a little entitled.”

  September thought about Davinia Singleton’s supposed affair with a teen. “Did they think he was flirtatious with one of the Singletons in particular?”

  “I took it to mean that was his overall attitude. They didn’t mention anyone’s name.”

  “Did he live on Aurora Lane?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “Or that he may have had an addiction problem?”

  “I just told you all they said. I thought I’d pass it along.” She was starting to sound impatient again.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. If you have a chance, would you ask your parents if they remember the Patten family? They rented from Mr. Mamet, just down the street. The Pattens had a son named Lance, and they had a horse Lance used to ride in the fields behind their house.”

  “I’ll ask them,” she said dubiously.

  September hung up and Jake looked at her. “Well?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to Lance Patten, so I’m going to Hood River tomorrow to drop in on his parents.”

  * * *

  The sound of an approaching vehicle caught Andi’s attention. She was standing in the kitchen in her bathrobe, pouring a glass of red wine for both herself and Luke, who was in his boxers and nothing else when she heard the engine. She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly nine p.m.

  “Late visitors,” Luke observed, walking toward the bedroom, where he’d left his clothes.

  Andi followed after him but heard a car door slam and then hurried steps to her front door. The imperious rapping caught her breath, but then she heard, “Andi, it’s me! Open the door.”

  Jarrett.

  She quickly hurried to the front door to turn the lock and allow him entry. “God, Jarrett, I’ve been calling and calling you!”

  “I know.” His face was white as chalk. “I had to talk to that detective.” He strode inside and sank onto the couch. “What a nightmare.” He shoved stiff fingers through his hair before another thought struck him. “Whose truck is that? The one parked outside.”

  “It’s a friend’s. Luke Denton.”

  “Where is he?” Peering around, he eyed the sleeping bag rolled up on the couch beside him.

  “Right here,” Luke said, entering the room. He was dressed, but his feet were bare. Jarrett barely seemed to notice.

  “What did you say to the detective?” Andi asked. “Jarrett, were you with Trini on Friday night?”

  “God, Andi, I’m just sick.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah, I was there. I met her at a bar down the street. I met her purposely, and I walked home with her. She was making dinner....” He broke off and swallowed hard. “Oh Jesus. I would never hurt her.” When he lifted his eyes they were swimming with tears, his fists balled. “Never! You gotta believe me. I didn’t realize I’d left my wallet till yesterday afternoon. I tried texting her, calling her, but . . . she didn’t answer.” His voice cracked and he threw his head backward, staring at the ceiling.

  “Andi said Trini was meeting her boyfriend Friday,” Luke said.

  Jarrett said, “He stood her up. But maybe he came back later. I don’t know.” His face twisted at the thought. “That’s what I told the detective.”

  “What did he ask you?” Luke questioned.

  Jarret finally seemed to focus on Luke. Andi could tell he was wondering what the deal was, so she explained, “Luke’s an investigator. I hired him to help me with the Carreras.”

  Jarrett’s eyes slid toward the bedroom, but what he said was, “He asked me if I’d bought her an energy bar. I said, ‘No, I bought her a drink.’ Energy bar? What did he mean?”

  Andi started to say something, but Luke caught her eye and shook his head. She felt a flash of anger, aware that Luke wasn’t completely trusting Jarrett’s story. But she clamped her mouth shut.

  Luke asked, “Is Thompkins looking at it as a homicide?”

  “He wouldn’t give me my wallet back. Does that answer your question?”

  Luke shrugged and shook his head.

  Jarrett looked at Andi, and his white face finally flushed with color. “Who was this boyfriend anyway? She said he drove her to drink.”

  “She called him Bobby,” Andi said. “She met him in one of her classes.”

  “Well, my money’s on him,” Jarrett said, his jaw tightening. “And if I find out he had anything to do with this,” he added with a cold calm, “I’ll kill the bastard myself.”

  * * *

  Jarrett stayed for another hour, but he was inconsolable and had trouble tracking any conversation. Andi ached for him, and Trini, but somehow knowing Jarrett cared as much as he did made the situation more bearable. When he left, he was still awash in misery. After she closed the door behind him, she turned to Luke and said, “He didn’t have anything to do with Trini’s death.”

  “I just didn’t want to give anything away.”

  “He’s still in love with her.”

  He nodded but didn’t seem totally convinced.

  “Trust me, I know my brother,” Andi insisted. “He’s closed off and careful, but he’s no actor. He loved her.”

  “Okay.” Luke half smiled.

  “You believe me?”

  “I believe somebody wiped his wallet clean of fingerprints, which seems to indicate another player. And from what you’ve said about her, I don’t think Trini just missed the information about cricket flour in the energy bar. I think it’s a homicide.” His expression grew dark. “And I think we’d better start looking for Bobby.”

  * * *

  I’ve let circumstances affect the game and I’ve had to take care of loose ends. But it’s time to ramp up. I have momentum and I won’t let others get in my way any longer. There is one final piece to my puzzle and it’s taking place tonight. While I wait for my next little bird, I’ll compose my note to Andi about her lover in my head.

  I look down the rails of the tracks at my feet, imagining how the night will develop. I get hard just thinking about it.

  Time to fade back and wait for the train.

  So many little birds . . .

  * * *

  The Portland MAX station was damn near empty at this late hour. Christine Brandewaite waited impatiently for the eastbound train that would take her to Gresham. She really wanted a cigarette but she’d run out at work and wasn’t supposed to smoke on the job anyway, though she did sometimes, locking herself in her office at Nachatz Trucking, which was sometimes sniggered at as No Chance Trucking, and well, their reputation for delivery kinda proved that right. It was Sunday night, but she worked weekends mostly, and no one paid too much attention to her.

  Christine shivered, but it wasn’t a shiver of cold. It was anticipation. She probably shouldn’t smoke now anyway, before she saw Robert. OMG the man did things to her that were scarcely legal!

  She laughed silently to herself. She’d spent way too many hours searching dating web sites with no success. Losers. Fucking losers, every one. But then Robert had asked to be her friend on Facebook, and she’d thought who the hell is this guy? but she’d seen his picture . . . okay, it wasn’t strictly his, but that was part of the joke, wasn’t it? And anyway, he’d turned out even better, so no harm, no foul. And well, she was closing in on forty, and that fucking bastard Gerald had told her she looked like a gristly, dried-up sixty-year-old . . . Heaven Sent Matchmaking, my ass . . . so it had been so nice to have someone like Robert appear.

  The light-rail car rattled into the station and Christine climbed on. Hardly a soul on board. She’d had to damn near stay till eleven to get all the work done. Work she’d put off because she just couldn’t keep her mind on it. Woo-wee! She’d had her share of partners, but Robert had simply screwed her brains out, making her forget them all.

  There was a heavyset woman a few seats up, sweating in a cotton twinset even though the
temperature was cool. She turned and looked soberly at Christine. Christine almost stuck her tongue out at her, she felt that sassy. She managed to contain herself but not the shit-eating grin she couldn’t control. She thought about Robert’s tongue, and his probing fingers, and the way he’d slammed into her that had gotten her screaming so loudly that he’d covered her mouth with his hand and held it until she could scarcely breathe. She’d been gasping when he finally released her, and then they were both laughing.

  “Shhh,” he said, licking her earlobe a few moments later. He’d been ready to go again and Christine had been right with him.

  She was still sore and that had been days ago. She’d been thinking of him constantly. E-mailing him because, well, the sad part was he was married and he couldn’t receive phone calls or texts. He was getting a divorce, though, and yes, she knew they all said that, but Robert was sincere. And such a damn good lay!

  She looked out the window. The lights of the city flashed by, interspersed with lengths of darkness. She lived way out of town. She was lucky Robert was willing to come all the way to see her. Sometimes she wondered what he saw in her, but then she practically slapped herself. She was still an attractive woman, with a lot to offer a man. She wasn’t beautiful by magazine standards, sure, but really, how many people were? And she had a thin body, not an ounce of fat on her, and maybe that allowed for a few more wrinkles, but gristle? That was just rude. And untrue.

  The heavyset woman got off three stops before Christine and then she was alone. By the time the train deposited her on the platform she was in a fever of need and then had a moment of terror when she saw the man in the dark hoodie standing beside her car until he said, “Psst,” and she realized it was Robert.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked, relieved and delighted.

  “Thought I’d meet you. I came on an earlier train. We can go in your car.”

  “Pull that thing back so I can see you,” she said, reaching up to yank the cowl from his face.

  He caught her hand and kissed it. “C’mon, get in. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Christine happily climbed behind the wheel and Robert got in the passenger side. She wanted to touch him and couldn’t help running her hand across his broad shoulders.

  “Where’re we going?” she asked.

  “Marine Drive.”

  “What for?”

  Marine Drive ran alongside the Columbia River, and at this time of night, given where they were, nothing would be open and there would be only long stretches of unlit road.

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “Should I—”

  “Shhh,” he said, and then he put his hand between her legs and started massaging her in a way that made her go all wet and limp.

  “I can’t drive!” she panted.

  His soft laughter drove her mad. “Yes, you can. Be careful. Don’t want to go off the road too soon.”

  “Too soon?”

  “We’ll be parking,” he said, rubbing harder.

  It was all she could do to keep the car at a decent speed as they headed east on the two-lane highway. She moaned and arched, wanting to kill him for the sweet torture.

  “Over there,” he whispered in her ear, his own breath coming hard and fast.

  “Robert . . .”

  “C’mon, turn the wheel.”

  As she bumped onto the narrow shoulder, she saw the dark water of the Columbia River gliding by down below the slight cliff they were parked on.

  “I—” Her words ended in something between a grunt and a shriek as he suddenly tased her. A crackle of light and an electric smell filled the car. She couldn’t move. Was locked in pain like she’d never known. She tried to talk, couldn’t, and then he tased her again. Dimly she heard his laughter.

  And then he was out of the car and on her side, opening the driver’s door and pulling her to the stubbly hard ground. Her head banged hard, but that didn’t stop him. He dragged her across the ground by her feet and all she was filled with was disbelief and confusion, too frozen to do anything about it as he rolled her down the steep slope, where she got hung up on a snag, dazed, her feet in the cold water.

  She came to enough to see the stars above, a billion lights flung into a black sky. Then he was on her. Yanking off her jeans and panties, unzipping his trousers, his prick already encased in a condom. Then he was thrusting inside her and yelling, “Oh, oh, oh!” in a way she’d never heard before, then groaning in ecstasy at the pinnacle of desire. She realized dimly that he’d been playacting till now. He hadn’t cared about her. He’d been waiting for this moment all along. He’d been an illusion.

  “Lovely,” he said and kissed her softly on the lips. “Little bird,” he whispered, then tased her once more and rolled her into the water. She sank beneath the surface but bobbed up in time to see him climbing back up the bank to her car. The interior light flashed on and she saw he was by the driver’s side door. He was pushing her car toward the edge, she realized, getting rid of the evidence. Then she heard the vehicle’s fast descent to the water, the wrench and scrape of metal on rocks and branches, the splash as her Jetta dived into the river.

  She couldn’t breathe, was choking on water.

  Suddenly she heard a loud engine from the road. Oh God. Rescue! A motorcycle maybe?

  She tried to scream, to do anything. A moment later she realized the motorcycle was Robert’s. He’d hidden it at this particular site, knowing what he was going to do to her. But why? Why? Why her? Was it something on her Facebook page? But there was nothing there! Why Christine Tern Brandewaite? She was nobody. Nobody! So why had he picked her? Why . . . why . . . ww . . . hhh . . . yyy . . . !

  She struggled hard, but her throat filled with water. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She gurgled fluid, her lungs filling. Her eyes closed and she lost consciousness. Unaware, her head lolled on her shoulders and she sank back beneath the flowing water.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Early Monday morning September took off for Hood River. The drive along the shores of the Columbia took longer than expected due to a delay on I-84, but September arrived at the Pattens’ home only five minutes late.

  She’d called ahead to make certain Lance’s parents would be home and the wife, Raquel, had been a bit baffled by the call but had assured her that, now retired, they would be tending to their farm, ten acres just outside Hood River. Raquel’s directions and the GPS route were spot-on, and as September wound her way along a rutted gravel lane guarded by fir trees, she caught glimpses of a snowcapped Mount Hood piercing a thin layer of clouds. Not a bad place to retire, she thought, and a huge step up from the rental they’d lived in during their years in Laurelton.

  An older SUV peeked from an open garage that was separate from the main house, an A-frame built sometime in the late seventies. September pulled to a stop beside it, scooped up her messenger bag, and headed toward a sagging front porch. A few outbuildings were scattered around the fields where a couple of goats scampered and a clutch of brightly feathered chickens pecked at the ground, clucking softly as she passed. Further off, three horses grazed, and September was reminded of the one Lance had supposedly ridden in the fields behind the rental house.

  Before she reached the first step the screen door opened with a clatter. A man and a woman, both somewhere in their sixties, greeted her together. A small dog, a spotted terrier of some kind, dashed out, jumping up on her despite the woman’s shouts of, “Down, Precious! You get down!” She finally scooped up the excited dog and whispered into one pointed ear, “Troublemaker!” then she set her back down and shooed her inside. The dog launched itself at the screen door, so Mrs. Patten took the time to yank the heavy door shut. “Sorry,” she apologized as the dog’s barks became muffled and frustrated. “You must be Detective Rafferty.” She dusted her hands on worn jeans and managed a worried smile.

  “Yes, I am. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” she said, showing her ID.


  “What’s it about?” the man asked.

  The woman jumped in. “I’m Raquel and this is Maury.”

  They shook hands all around, though Maury was more reluctant than his wife. September was about to respond, but Maury cut her off. “Something about our boy? Don’t suppose you found him.” He was a tall man with a buzz cut of gray hair and a trimmed beard that didn’t hide his jowls. His jeans were belted below a stomach covered by a T-shirt that had seen better days, and though he was supposedly retired, his whole demeanor suggested he was too busy to be bothered with any interruptions, even—or maybe especially—the police.

  “Is it Lance?” Raquel asked anxiously. Behind rimless glasses, her eyes swam with worry. “Do you have news about him after . . . after all this time?”

  There was no way to sugarcoat this. “We’ve located some bones in a house on Aurora Lane and we’re trying to identify them. All we know is that the body was of a male, approximately eighteen years old.”

  Raquel grabbed her husband’s meaty hand to squeeze it. “Lance? Oh God.” She dropped into a once orange plastic chair.

  “What house?” Maury asked.

  “The Singletons’,” September answered. “At the north end of the lane toward the lake.”

  “Think I saw something about that on the news.” He swallowed hard, but his face set in a scowl.

  “We’re trying to ID the body,” September said.

  “Boy was always trouble,” Maury stated flatly.

  His wife protested, “But he had a good heart.”

  Snorting his disagreement, Maury lowered himself into the chair next to his wife’s and waved September onto a stool placed against the porch railing. His jaw worked as he let Raquel cling to one hand. “What is it you want to know? It’s been a long time.”

  “He would be thirty-two now,” Raquel whispered.

  “You don’t know what happened to him?”

  “No,” Raquel whispered hoarsely. “We haven’t seen him since before he graduated from high school.” Her throat clogged, but she managed to get hold of herself.

  Maury’s crusty exterior melted a little as he patted his wife’s knee. “He just up and disappeared when we were living in Laurelton in that rental. The one that skinflint Mamet owned.”