“I told a few people. Spread the word that he’s a killer. I was going to do more of that. Make sure everyone knew who Karl Roach was and what he’d done.”
“Someone was helping you,” Jen said. She held between her fingers a long splinter of gray wood. “Someone must have helped you put up that sign.”
Quayle looked at the floor, his hands, and the ceiling in succession. He stared at Nadine and Jen. He looked into the now-empty coffee mug. Then finally nodded and said, “Andrew helped me.”
“Andrew Gordon?”
He nodded. “And that’s how I know that Karl Roach killed him.”
Chapter 38
As Quayle explained, on December 30th, he had been having his usual post-shift drink at the Traveler’s Lounge. He liked to have a few beers and converse with the wait staff or the people in the bar. If Karl Roach was on his mind, which was frequently, the conversation might veer towards topics of injustice. How was it that a murderer could live among them, expecting the same treatment as decent, law-abiding people? It was obscene.
Usually his proclamations were met with smiles of embarrassment and outright indifference. That was okay. For Peter Quayle, the allure of the small town tavern was as a place to get something off your chest, the frustrations and half-baked theories that built up at work, that you didn’t want to take home. Just because he wanted it off his chest didn’t mean anyone else had to take it to theirs.
That evening, though, he’d noticed a young man seated near the entrance. The man spent most of his time looking out towards the parking lot, and sometimes glancing through the side door at the registration desk. After a while the man nodded and raised a glass to Quayle, and then changed tables.
They each bought a round, becoming better friends. The third round they flipped for, and Andrew Gordon won the right to pay. He said he’d been listening to Quayle, and that the thought of someone getting away with murder made him sick.
“I have a family,” he said. “If anyone tried to hurt them I would do what was necessary.”
They drank to that.
Quayle confided in Andrew. He explained who Karl Roach was, and what the man had got away with. Andrew was horrified and sickened at the details of the Cover Model Killings. Quayle was happy. Finally he’d found someone who agreed with him.
They made a pact. First as idle drunken chatter, then getting more and more enthusiastic about the idea. Talking themselves into action. The least they could do for their town was to run Karl Roach out of Castle Rock.
Quayle had made up the sign, scoring the letters into the plank. He and Andrew had transported it to the east bank of the Cowlitz, driven it into the earth so that it could be seen from Roach’s favorite fishing spot. A constant reminder to the killer that the citizens of Castle Rock were watching him, that they knew his terrible secret, and that his peaceful days were over.
“That’s as far as we went,” Quayle said. “One drunken evening, the two of us doing this. I’ll admit it was ninety percent my idea, my execution. I don’t know why Andrew went along with it. Maybe I had him convinced, but then he sobered up. Or maybe it was just something to do. Either way, we never talked again.”
Jen had let him tell the story on his own this far, and now resumed questioning. “When you first heard he was dead, you suspected Roach?”
“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,” Quayle said. “Least not right away. Andrew drank like someone who wasn’t used to it. People like that, in my experience, are the type that end up in the drunk tank most of the time. I thought he must’ve gone home drunk and made a mistake with the generator. But when you found that the CO detector had been monkeyed with, I knew it had to be Roach. He’d targeted Andrew.”
“But why?” Jen asked. “Surely if it was about revenge, you would be the better target?”
Quayle nodded as if the point was irrefutable.
“Honestly, I think he likes to torment me. All these years and I’ve never been able to do anything about him. The one time I lost my temper as a beat cop, I struck him, and I was the one that paid for it. I bother Roach, but I don’t scare him. But Andrew? He was someone new. A family man. And hurting him probably made that sick bastard happy.”
Jen gave Nadine a sideways glance, letting her take over the questioning. Nadine thought about the possibility that made the most sense to her, and what Quayle seemed reluctant to admit.
“Let’s talk about the shooting,” she said. “You’ve never seen that rifle before in your life?”
“Never,” Quayle said. “Swear.”
“Let’s take it on a balance of probability, then. One possibility is that Karl Roach planted that gun in your house, to incriminate you, and to punish you for your continued harassment.”
Quayle seemed ready to contest the last word, but stopped himself. He nodded.
“A second possibility,” Nadine said, “is that you’re lying.”
She cut off Quayle before the man could respond.
“There are other possibilities, for sure, but let’s take these as the two most likely. The evidence for option one is that Roach has motive, means, and opportunity to frame you. Your record of service also supports that side.”
Quayle nodded. “Other than my service weapon, I don’t own a gun.”
“There’s that, then, too. On the other side—“ here Nadine smiled—“there’s the lies and omissions you’ve made so far in covering up your knowledge of Andrew Gordon. I’m not saying I feel this way, Peter, but someone who didn’t know you might say you were obsessed, and discount your claim not to have done this.”
“I swear on my parents’ lives,” Quayle said. “Ask me anything.”
“Who was the target of the shooting?”
“But I told you I didn’t do it,” Quayle said.
“You did, but knowing Kelly and Ingrid, and knowing Roach, what was the goal?”
Quayle grew sullen. “I dunno. That night in the Lounge, Andrew kept looking at the door. Maybe he was looking for Kelly. Maybe he had a thing for her.”
“Maybe,” Nadine said, “but we know that wasn’t the aim of the shooting.”
“Ingrid,” the officer said after a long pause.
“What about her?”
“I really don’t want to cause her more grief than she’s feeling, or get her in trouble.”
“Tell us the truth,” Jen said. “Let us worry about her.”
“Ingrid knows about Karl. I’ve brought him up a few times. He even showed up at her café after the murder. Maybe Andrew told her he was helping me put a scare into Roach.”
“So he’s targeted Ingrid before,” Nadine said. “That supports your version of events. Tell me, what was the next step going to be? If Roach didn’t get the message and leave, were you going to hurt him?”
“I can’t deny I’ve thought of it,” Quayle said. “Running him over. Burning down that house. I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Anything else to add, Peter?” Jen had the look of someone trying for professionalism after being deeply hurt.
“Just that I’m sorry, Chief.”
“You should be,” Jen said, “and not just because it’s wrong to harass someone who’s innocent until proven guilty. If Roach is Andrew and Susan’s killer, then you’ve made it all the more difficult for us to prove it. Think of that for a while.”
Quayle lowered his head and sobbed.
Chapter 39
Jen wanted to go straight from the station to Ingrid’s, confront her on her lies, and strong-arm the truth out of the woman. Nadine convinced her to hold off, at least for the moment. It would be easier to get the entire story out of the grieving mother if they knew as much of it as possible. The chief relented.
The first thing Nadine wanted to find was a copy of the Gordons’ wills. One hadn’t been found in the house, and a call to the county clerk established that it hadn’t been filed there. Ingrid might be holding onto it, which would be one more item of contention when they braced her. Nadine phoned Castle Rock Truck-N-Tow a
nd asked Gary if the will might be somewhere in the office.
“Not that I know,” he said. “Andrew didn’t keep a lot of his personal stuff here. I can look around, though.”
“Thanks,” Nadine said. Then thought she might as well get a head start on the next fact she wanted to establish. “Gary, when did your brother’s car go in the shop?”
“The Accord? That would be…let me check.” Nadine heard papers scatter. “The 28th or 29th of December. I wrote it down on the 29th but I might have been busy the day before.”
“But no later than the 29th,” Nadine said.
“No.”
“It couldn’t have been borrowed from the shop and replaced?”
“The transmission is messed up,” Gary said. “You could take it out and putter around, but who’d do that in the snow? It would stall on you within a few minutes.”
Nadine thanked him and hung up. She asked the chief for Susan Gordon’s keys. Jen removed them from the evidence bag. “What for?”
Nadine looked them over and held up a small silver key with a black plastic housing. “A safe deposit box,” she said. “We can probably guess which bank.”
Darlene Yap seemed thoroughly impressed by the second visit from Chief Eng, and allowed them into the safety deposit room. She explained that a few months after getting the job, Susan had used her employee discount to rent the box. Jen inserted the key and together they slid the box out, placed it down on the table.
Inside were passports for Susan and Andrew, a few silver coins and bars, a tarnished, broken watch that must have held sentimental value. Jen extracted a packet of papers and unstrung the rubber band. Land registry, home insurance, a few hundred dollars in Canadian currency. At the bottom, two envelopes, marked Andrew and Susan.
Andrew’s will was one page long, giving their home and joint property to Susan in the event of his death. Bobby would inherit if Susan died first. Castle Rock Truck-N-Tow would go to Gary, though thirty percent of the profits would be held for Andrew’s son.
Susan’s envelope was stuffed with papers, though the top page was similar to Andrew’s. They had each witnessed for each other. Below that was an amendment, witnessed and notarized, that left $13,000 in bank shares and bonds to Timothy Miller. The financial paperwork was included in the envelope, along with a short note.
Son,
This is difficult for me. Of course it would be. What can you say to your child that will hold meaning after you’re gone? How could words possibly right the dreadful situation we find ourselves in?
I love you, despite what your father might have told you. He had reasons for what he said, and you shouldn’t think less of him. But I do hope you realize how much I’ve missed you, how broken my heart was after losing contact with you.
You should know I have a good life, or had, as the situation may be. My husband and son brought me much happiness. I hope some day you’ll meet them.
There was so much more I wish to say, but I’m no writer. I haven’t even gotten close to describing the love I feel for you, which is everlasting, and never left you.
Forgive me,
Susan Moody Gordon
Nadine folded the sheet. It had been notarized more than a year after the original will. She imagined Andrew and Susan writing out their wills together. Then, once Susan was a bank employee, she’d decided to modify her estate to make things right with the child she’d lost. Nadine doubted that Andrew had even known about it.
Jen flipped between both of Susan Gordon’s documents. “Ingrid isn’t mentioned in either,” she said. “I guess Susan expected on outliving her.”
They replaced everything in the box and locked up. Outside the bank, Jen said, “I assume we’re ready to speak to Ingrid now?”
“Almost,” Nadine said. “Can we swing by the Gordon house on our way?”
The snow had erased the tracks in the driveway and added a white crust to the top of the Jeep. Nadine unlocked the vehicle and examined the back seat and trunk space. Satisfied, she rejoined Jen in the car.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the chief asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Now to Ingrid’s place?”
“Yes. But circle the house once before we stop.”
“Do you know what you’re doing, Nadine?” Jen asked.
“Possibly.”
The prowler rolled past Ingrid’s house and make a turn into the lane. Snow was piled thick here and the car juddered and shook. The back tires kicked out sprays of snow.
At the rear of Ingrid’s property, Nadine told Jen to stop. She had to use her shoulder to force the door open against the snowdrift. Behind Ingrid’s house was a standalone garage, its double doors locked. Nadine climbed over the fence and tried the handle of the side door to the garage. It opened inward with a lurch.
Inside was a Ford station wagon, maybe twenty years old. The garage smelled like faded gasoline. Nadine looked through the windows of the car.
“There we are,” she said.
Through the glass of the hatchback, she could see specks of silver and ruddy brown against the blue interior. Wood splinters. The sign Quayle and Andrew had put up to intimidate Karl Roach had been transported in Ingrid’s vehicle.
Chapter 40
A swift knock on the door was met with the sound of padding feet. Ingrid answered the door wearing a robe and boots, her hair still wet from the shower. She greeted the chief and Nadine with a nod.
“Have a seat,” she said, ushering them into the living room. A few moments later she returned wearing jeans and an oversized black sweater, her hair held back in a ponytail.
“I’ve been busy setting up Susan’s old room for Bobby,” she said. “I’m going to collect him in a few hours.”
“Any more interactions with Karl Roach?” Jen asked.
The question gave Ingrid pause. “Haven’t seen him since—I’m not even sure I know who that is.”
“Ingrid, please. We know about the sign.”
“Which sign would that be?”
“The one that left shards of wood all over the back seat of your station wagon.”
Jen and Nadine had both taken seats on the couch, across from the love seat. But Ingrid remained standing, one hand gripping her elbow, giving the impression she would leave the room when it suited her.
“I leant the car to someone,” she finally said.
“To Andrew,” Nadine said. “We know.”
Ingrid nodded. “What he did with it I haven’t the foggiest.”
“We need you to go through the afternoon and evening of January 1st one more time,” Jen said. “You woke up early, did dishes, made breakfast for Susan and Bobby. Then what?”
“They hung around the house. Then around seven they went home.”
“How?” Nadine asked. “Did Susan drive?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You told us she did.”
“If that’s what I said, then that’s what I said.”
“This is important,” Jen said. “Catching the person that did this hinges on the details, Ingrid. Be honest with us. For Susan’s sake.”
The older woman recoiled slightly. “Everything I do is for her,” she said.
“Susan didn’t drive Bobby home, did she?” Nadine said.
Ingrid shook her head no.
“She went for a walk with a friend.”
A nod.
“Did you know who it was at the time?”
“Not immediately,” Ingrid said. “When I saw Gary the next morning, I figured it out.”
“Did you see Gary that night?”
“No, just Susan.”
Nadine took out paper and pen and asked her to recite the timeline.
“Susan got a call from someone around seven,” Ingrid said. “She said it was a friend and they were going to talk. ‘He needs me,’ is what she said. I was upset because it was dinner time, and here she was, not eating, and leaving me with Bobby. But I didn’t think anything of
it. Susan was the type of person, if you asked her for help, she’d give you as much time as she could.”
“What time did she leave?”
“She left shortly after the call, maybe a quarter past seven.”
“Was her car in your driveway at that time?”
“It was at their house,” Ingrid said. “Andrew had taken it when he stormed out the night before.”
“Even though it was technically his wife’s.”
“I think he took it because it was hers. Hoping she’d phone and ask for a ride.”
“So how was Bobby supposed to get home?”
“I wondered the same thing,” she said. “Ingrid needed time with her friend, so I phoned Andrew and told him to collect his son.”
“Did he ask about Susan?”
“All I could say was she was out for a walk. It was true, so far as I knew.”
“So what happened?”
“Maybe five or ten minutes after I phoned, Andrew came and picked up Bobby.”
“Did he stay?”
“Not for long. Maybe ten minutes. Bobby had to dress and pack up his things. Andrew did look a bit chagrinned. He told me to let Susan know he would pick her up whenever she wanted.”
“What time did Susan come back?”
“Close to eight.”
“She found her son gone. And then what?”
“She was tired so I drove her home.”
“Why lie to us, Ingrid?” Nadine asked.
“Because they’re my family,” the older woman said. “This is a small town, and I didn’t want to invite people to gossip about my daughter.”
Jen nodded sympathetically. “Andrew borrowed your car on the 30th?”
“That’s right. He mentioned something about a favor for a friend.”
“Did you know that friend was Peter Quayle? That they were putting up a sign to harass Karl Roach?”
“I didn’t,” Ingrid said. She’d been fighting, but now sagged into the chair, exhausted. “He must have murdered Andrew and Susan,” she said.
The Long Dark January: A Nadine Kelso Mystery Page 16