Buffalo Bill's Defunct (9781564747112) (31 page)

Rob strode up to the desk and showed the clerk his identification. The kid—he had a stud in one nostril and spiky puce hair— came around and used his card to let them into the right corridor. Rob walked straight down the long, long hall and banged on the door of Room 123. Meg had to scurry to keep up.

As if she had been expecting someone, Carol opened the door at once and not on the chain. Alarm chased disappointment across her well-preserved features. She fixed on Meg. “What the hell?”

Meg smiled but said nothing.

“I need to ask some more questions,” Rob announced, stepping toward Carol.

She held her ground. “It isn’t convenient.”

“Neither is your family’s obstruction. Let us in, Ms. Tichnor.”

“What about her?”

“Meg is here because I want a witness. She’s a reserve deputy.”

“Scared of me, Robbie?”

“Cautious,” Rob said coldly. “Very, very cautious.”

Carol shrugged. “Come in. I have nothing to hide.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. Meg?” He indicated an armchair by a handsome cherrywood table. The room was large and well appointed as motel rooms went.

Meg sat and set up the recorder. “Now?”

“Yes.”

She pressed Record and Rob rattled off the requisite information.

Carol sank onto the foot of the bed. She wore a robe of some plush fabric, blue with stylized flowers embroidered at the yoke and wristbands. Her slippers had matching flowers. A scent, vaguely familiar, hung on the air. It made Meg want to sneeze, but a lot of perfumes did that.

Rob remained standing, though there were three other chairs. “We retrieved Dennis Wheeler’s keys.”

“Keys again.” Carol pouted in an exaggerated way but Meg thought she was worried. “Keys to Grandpa’s house?”

“My house,” Meg said. “I’m a little peeved, Carol. First there was the secret cache in the garage. No disclosure. Now I find that a man I don’t know has a complete set of keys to my house and garage. Still no disclosure. How would you feel?”

Carol blinked. “Oh, come on.”

“You come on. I am suffering acute mental distress.” Meg didn’t look at Rob and kept her face straight with an effort. God did not mean her to sound like a lawyer, and she would sooner embrace a cobra than sue anyone. Carol didn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” Carol muttered. “I forgot Dennis had a set of keys.”

Rob took over. “Short-term memory problems, Ms. Tichnor? Wheeler said you borrowed those keys the first week of August.”

Carol’s hands clenched on her plush lap. “He’s lying.”

“I don’t think so. And he was off in California when the murder occurred. He’s not a suspect.”

“I am?”

“Yes.
You’ve
lied to me repeatedly.” The implication was that Dennis hadn’t. But Rob didn’t say that, probably because it wasn’t true.

Silence. Carol ran a hand through her artfully tumbled curls. “Well, okay, I borrowed the keys, but I gave them back right away.”

“Except for the key to the back door of the garage.”

“I lost it and made a copy.”

“No, Ms. Tichnor. The key you gave Dennis doesn’t work in the lock. I tried it.”

“Maybe it’s a bad copy.”

“It’s not a copy.” Rob was pacing. “Where are the two missing keys? The back door key is also missing from the set the realtor gave Ms. McLean. A little puzzle. An intriguing little puzzle.”

“What can I say?”

He stopped in front of her and stood looking down. “The truth would be refreshing.”

“I don’t know what happened to them. And I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.” She was whining.

Rob turned his back, fetched a chair, and sat facing her. “Don’t pretend to be stupid. The body of a murder victim was found in the garage. The doors were locked. Neither lock was forced. Not in August, not ever. Whoever locked the garage knew what was in it.”

“Well, I don’t have either key. Why don’t you go away? I’ve told you everything I know.”

He leaned forward, fists on his knees. “Where’s your brother?”

“On duty at the Vancouver hospital, the Southwest Washington whatever-they-call-it. Used to be Saint Joseph.”

“Your brother Vance.”

“At home with his wife?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know.”

“Have you seen Vance or talked to him since Saturday?”

“Uh, he called me Sunday after you interviewed him, said he was going out to look at his lodge.”

“Has he called you from there?”

“No. He hasn’t called me since Sunday.”

Rob leaned back, skepticism in every lineament. “Why did you come down from Seattle, Ms. Tichnor?”

“My mother told me to.” Carol jumped to her feet and went to the chest of drawers that doubled as a sideboard. An ice bucket, a bottle of lime mixer, and a fifth of gin reposed on the shiny surface beside a plastic tray of paper-wrapped tumblers. She ripped the paper off one glass, threw in an ice cube, and poured herself a drink. Gin and a splash of mixer. She took a swallow and tossed her hair back. “When Mother says jump, I jump.”

Rob let that ride. “Going back to Vance. We’re looking for him. We’ve been looking for him since Monday in connection with another death. If he calls you again, tell him to come in voluntarily.”

“Another death? But that was…” She bit her lip.

“Was what?”

“Do you mean the suicide out at that campground? What could that possibly have to do with my brother Vance?”

“That’s what we’d like to ask him,” Rob said blandly. “Now, about your own movements in August.”

“I came down to check out the house and take some papers back to Seattle for my mother.” She gave dates in early August with the air of one repeating herself. “You can’t imagine
I
had anything to do with the killing.”

“Why not?” He cocked his head, eyes measuring. “You look fairly fit. I imagine you play tennis or golf. It doesn’t take a lot of strength to bash a man’s head in with a metal rod.”

She took a gulp of gin. “Except that I don’t go around doing that kind of thing. Metal rod?”

“A crowbar, maybe. A tire iron. Some kind of prying tool. What you might use to open the cache in the garage.”

She clutched her drink with both hands. “I did not enter Grandpa’s garage after the house sold.”

Rob went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, “It was a panic killing, probably. The body was left there in the garage a good twelve hours, then stuffed into the cavity with dirt shoveled over it. I don’t see you doing that. But panicking? Sure. That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d do, Ms. Tichnor. Panic and call your brother for help. Where was he? At home? Did you call him to rescue you?”

“No, no. You’ve got it…I didn’t enter the garage.” She finished her drink and went to the phone. “I’m calling my lawyer. Get out.”

“You
didn’t enter the garage. Did Vance? Maybe it was Vance who panicked.”

“Get out,” she screamed. “Now. Both of you.”

“Or you’ll call the cops?” Rob walked over to the cherrywood table. “Interview terminated at ten thirty-eight.” He hit the Stop button. “Maybe you’re wise to call a lawyer, Ms. Tichnor. You were keeping something in the garage, something you had to protect. Edward Redfern was killed because he found out what it was. If your brother calls, tell him to come in to my office. If he won’t, tell him from me we’ll bring him in.”

He looked at Meg and jerked his head. Let’s go. She stood up, expelling a long breath.

Carol was tapping out a phone number. She listened impatiently, pressed another. “This is Carol Tichnor. I need to talk to Oliver right now. It’s ten-thirty Tuesday night. He knows where I am.” She hung up.

Someone scratched at the door.

Rob, with Meg at his heels, swung the door wide. “Well, I’m damned, it’s Mike Calhoun. How you doing, Mike?”

A chunky man in full resort regalia gaped at him. “Neill? What the hell? Carol, honey, you okay?”

“Get out,” Carol said through her teeth. “All of you. Get out. Leave me alone.”

The chunky man beat a fast retreat down the hall.

When Rob and Meg got back into the Accord, she said, “Weren’t you a little hard on Carol?”

He fastened the seat belt. “Hard? No. She’s an accessory to murder. I should have taken her down to the courthouse for a six-hour session without the drink tray handy. I’m too tired for that tonight. Tomorrow.”

Meg started the engine and the inevitable windshield wipers. When she had backed around and driven from the lot, she said, “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“To question me? Nonsense.” He sounded preoccupied.

She drove for a while, mind turning over the three interviews.

Rob said, “I’m a maverick, as it happens, doing short interviews. It’s standard procedure to go over everything at least twice. You almost always catch something the second time around.”

“I see. Did they help?”

“The interviews? Of course. With Carol, you know, I was just stirring the sludge with a long stick. I want her to have nightmares.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet we gave old Mike a nightmare or two.”

“Who is he?”

“Local Romeo. He’s married to a nice grade-school teacher, but he’s been romancing guests at the Red Hat since it opened.”

“Just worked his way around to Carol?”

“Or vice versa. They seem well suited.”

“Is that a catty remark?” She glanced at him.

He was grinning. “Probably. Mike was president of my senior class in high school. Most likely to succeed. Dated the cheerleaders.”

“It’s been downhill from there?”

“Something like that.”

“Maybe children should be protected from social success in high school.”

“Willow is doomed.” He touched her hand, the gear-shifting one. “How are you, Meg?”

“Full of energy and confusion. Thanks for trusting me with the tape recorder.” She pulled into his driveway, backed around, and drove forward to her usual parking spot. “You ought to go home and get some sleep. I saved your Scotch, by the way.”

He was silent for a moment. She was afraid she’d offended him by suggesting he needed rest more than sex, but he turned, smiling in the dim light. “Why don’t I come in, drink a toast to your bright eyes, and then go home?”

“Okay. But you’ll have to let me know what’s happening tomorrow or I’ll perish of anxiety. I take it we’re not going to winterize your cabin at Tyee Lake.”

“We’ll see. First thing in the morning, I’m going to pry a search warrant out of Judge Meyer.”

Meg led him into the kitchen and took the glasses out of the cupboard without turning on the overhead light. It was too bright. She removed the plastic wrap.

Rob took his glass. “At least you didn’t stick it in the refrigerator.”

“I’m not a barbarian.
Sláinte.”
She raised her glass.

He touched it with his. “Cheers.”

“What about Todd?” The whisky went down hot.

He grimaced and took another swallow. “I can’t call Chief Thomas at this hour.” It was after eleven.

“Do you think she knows where he is?” She set her glass on the counter.

“She’d better not,” he said grimly and finished his drink. He took her face in his hands, which were cold from the chill outside and from the glass, and kissed her with slow deliberation, tasting of Scotch. “To be continued?”

Meg nodded. Her mouth tingled. She didn’t smile at him, but she saw him out.

A
T nine Wednesday morning, Rob walked to his office. He had taken muffins and lattes to Meg’s around six-thirty—and apologized again. She was a forgiving woman.

When he called Jake from home after seven, the deputy told him Todd was still missing. That triggered a round of fruitless phone calls to Todd’s friends and relatives. His mother sounded worried. Rob couldn’t reassure her. He called Judge Meyer’s office, too, and left a message on the machine that he’d be asking for a search warrant.

He called Vance Tichnor’s cell phones and left messages. He called Ethan Tichnor’s numbers and rejected calling Carol. Moira Tichnor wasn’t answering. Neither was Phyllis Holton. Rob began to feel as if his phone were attached to his ear, so he took a hike to the courthouse.

The walk lasted about twenty minutes. Time to reflect. Time to figure out a strategy for dealing with the principal chief of the Klalos. When Rob reached the department, his mind was so focused on Madeline Thomas, he almost walked past her husband, Jack Redfern, without seeing him.

Jack sat in one of the plastic chairs outside the bullpen with Sergeant Howell looking down on him from the booking desk. When Rob appeared, Jack got up in stages like a much older man and started the ceremonial warm-up.

Rob greeted him gravely and with relief. Given a choice of dealing with Jack or Jack’s formidable wife, he would take three Jacks any day. They shook hands. Rob stopped only to ask Reese to hold his calls and send in some coffee. Then he led Jack into his office.

They spent time, as was polite, discussing the weather and the steelhead run. At last, Rob thought it was safe to venture a question.

“I have a missing deputy, Jack. Your nephew, Todd Welch. Does Maddie know where he is?”

Jack looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, hey, she talked to him.”

“Yes. I told him to call her after William Meek’s body was discovered.”