Closet Confidential (39 page)

The beefy young man behind the desk half smiled a weary welcome. I thought the smile faded a bit when he took in my drowned rat look. “How can I help you?”

“You can tell me if this man is a guest here,” I said, placing the photo on the counter. The print was now damp around the edges, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that. I could tell by the look on his face that he did recognize Nick, although I figured our boy was holed up in this spot under some other name.

“Is he here now?”

“I can’t tell you that. Or even if he’s a guest,” he said, nervously loosening the collar of his shirt.

“I know you recognized him. This is a life-and-death matter. I need to talk to him.”

“I can check with his room and see if he wants to speak to—who shall I say?”

“Charlotte.” I waited to see if Nick would pick up.

He shook his head and his chin wobbled. “No answer in that room. Sorry.”

I slumped against the counter. What now?

“Thank you,” I said as a new plan formed. Nick might choose not to answer the phone if he was in as much trouble as I thought he was. But there was a good chance I had his spare door key. I thanked the young man and headed out, got in the car, and drove around to the back of the motel. I stared at the cars parked in the lot. There was a classic Mustang parked by room 116, precisely the type of car that Nick might want to buy, borrow, or possibly steal. The plates were strategically obscured by mud. I walked confidently up to the door and tried the key. Would it still work? But that didn’t matter because the door wasn’t even closed. I stood to the side and pushed it all the way open with my foot, one of the benefits of watching cop shows. I bent low and peeked. The room was obviously empty. The bathroom door was clearly visible from the entrance. It too was open and also empty. There was a jumble of take-out containers and some clothing that I thought I recognized as Nick’s. Little Nick’s monkey lay on the carpet. I gazed at the overturned furniture: a chair upside down, a spilt can of Bud, with a slow drip down the bedside table.

Where had Nick gone? What had he done with the baby? I got into the car as the desk clerk came around the corner with a person I figured must be the manager. I stepped out into the rain again. Truffle and Sweet Marie went into guard-dog mode and barked their heads off from inside the car.

“Did the police come for him? It’s very important.”

They exchanged glances, one of the sure signs that a question has hit home. The rain drenched their hair and clothing; mine, too.

I said, “Look, this involves a missing baby. It is going to be very serious, and if you don’t cooperate, it won’t look good for your motel when the media gets hold of it. I have been in touch with Todd Tyrell, and he’d love to get over here with his—”

“Don’t threaten us,” the manager blustered.

I shrugged and pressed the number for WINY. The manager held up his hand in defeat. I knew I was being a little bully, but I didn’t care. The stakes were too high.

“A patrol car came by and an officer asked for him.”

“Did you tell the officer to come back with a warrant?”

I could tell by their expressions that this hadn’t happened. “What did the officer look like?”

They stared at me.

I said, “A uniformed officer? Male? Young? Bright? Not too tall?”

He shrugged. “A uniformed officer. I didn’t see his face clearly. He wasn’t exactly standing in the light.”

“I bet he wasn’t.” No indeed. Officer Dean Oliver wouldn’t want his face recognized this time any more than he would have when he ran into Anabel unexpectedly at the construction site. “Did he show you his badge?”

“He was a uniformed officer. What? Am I going to give him a hard time?”

He had a point, so I let that go. “Did you see them leave?”

That got one no and one yes. “Okay,” I said, “maybe the television reporter will get it out of you.”

The desk clerk blurted, “The guy you showed me was in the backseat. He’s been staying here. He said his name was Mick Houlihan. I told the cop we didn’t know it was the same guy. How could we?”

I said, “Where was the baby?”

“In the front seat with the cop.”

The manager worked hard to be dignified, impossible with his hair flattened by the rain and his shirt and jacket soaked through. “They’ll have a good reason for taking him in. I think he was the guy they’ve been looking for, the one who tried to kill his wife. If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to go to the police station. It’s nothing to do with us.”

I had one last question. “When?”

The sodden clerk said, “A few minutes before you got here.”

I jumped back into the Matrix and headed out at high speed. I wished I had my Miata as I knew how it handled in all conditions, including the now driving rain. I also wished I wasn’t soaked to the bone.

One thing was sure: Dean Oliver would not be taking Nick to the station. Otherwise, he would have called for backup and for paramedics to check out Little Nick. The parking lot of the Bounty Inn should have been choked with police vehicles now. It wasn’t. Not even the sound of a distant siren. Instead, Nick was in the backseat of the squad car, with no way to get out. I knew this was bad news for Nick. Dean must have a hell of a reason to take a risk like that. A person with nothing much to lose is a dangerous opponent.

I had nothing to go on but what I already knew. Where could this officer be taking them and why? Was Dean Oliver was using Little Nick to compel Nick to do something? But what? I couldn’t imagine, but I knew this guy was capable of anything. The image of Pepper’s face flashed through my mind. I imagined the screaming baby being carried away and poor foolish Nick trapped. Except for the why, it was beginning to fall into place. Dean Oliver was pleasant and smart enough to have tricked Nick to going to the storage area in the old industrial park. Easy enough to fool Nick with a text from his “wife.” Oliver knew Pepper, too, of course. How hard would it have been to take Nick’s baton, cell phone, keys, and squad car and head to Bakker Beach, having first texted Pepper to meet him there? My Miata was found not far from the same industrial park, probably close to where Dean Oliver had left his own squad car. If he’d burned rubber, he would have been back at the beach, but one of the late arrivals. He’d been watching the Monahan house, too, and getting paid to do it. I was betting it was Dean Oliver’s own image that would have shown up on the security tape as he kicked in the Monahan’s door, hoping to find Nick before the other cops did. What’s more, he knew exactly where I lived and that Jack was taking care of Little Nick. Everything made sense, except the why.

I felt that this was all somehow connected with Anabel’s death, as Nick’s fear seemed to stem from that tragic event. Had Dean Oliver been the cop who entered the site from the Potter Street side? Had he been in a meeting that was best kept secret? Dean Oliver, golden boy, would have been perfectly positioned to keep the cops from interfering with criminal operations in that neighborhood. Had Anabel, dressed for her simple City Hall wedding, stepped behind the gate and seen something she shouldn’t have? Is that why she died? If Nick Monahan had any clue about that, it would be worth Dean Oliver’s efforts to threaten his family. Had he turned the tables by attacking Pepper and turning Nick into a monster in the eyes of the cops and the community? Nick could accuse Dean of anything at this point and no one in their right mind would believe him. Except me. Not that the cops would believe me, either.

So where would they be now? I thought hard. On a night like this, the rough dirt road to Bakker Beach would be a sea of mud. Even a squad car could get stuck. So I doubted he’d pick that spot. The storage units were on the opposite side of town on the outskirts, about a twenty-minute drive. That was possible but less likely.

Aside from his home and Pepper’s hospital room, both under police guard, the one other place that had a feature role in this series of events was the construction site. I was out of ideas, so it was worth a try. I tore off in that direction. The dogs huddled in the backseat, catching my anxiety, whining softly. I called Tierney again and told him where I was going. I told him to send a car to Bakker Beach and another to the industrial park to be sure. Then in case he didn’t pick up or didn’t believe me, I called Margaret and told her that Nick and the baby might have been kidnapped by Officer Dean Oliver. “I’m heading for the construction site. I’m not far now.”

“Don’t go there, Charlotte,” she shouted.

“Tell Frank,” I shouted back as I careened onto Friesen Street. “Tell him to get people out there, in case. But I’m here now.”

“Stay in the car,” Margaret yelled.

“I will. Get off the phone and call Frank.”

I would have stayed in the car, too, if I hadn’t seen a shadow move past the viewing slot in the fence. I moved the Matrix as close as I could and got Sally on the line. “Sally, stay on the line. I need to see who has taken Nick and the baby. I believe it’s Officer Dean Oliver. I’ll try to identify him if I can and get a shot of him with my phone.”

“Are you insane?”

“Sally, it’s the baby, too. No, wait. I have a better idea.”

I hung up on Sally and called Thalia. She was surprised to hear from me. “Remember you said there wasn’t much excitement around here and you’d like some? There’s going to be plenty tonight. Please call your friend on Potter Street and tell her to keep an eye on the construction site from her window. Can you do that, too?”

“We can go down there,” Thalia said.

I yelped, “Please don’t. The person has hostages already. Tell your friend Jane not to come out.”

“Surely there’s safety in numbers. We could get everyone in our buildings—”

“There’s no safety in numbers if someone starts shooting at witnesses. Please stay inside, but keep watch to see if anyone comes or goes. I have to go. Thank you, Thalia.”

Thalia said, “I can see a red car parked outside it.”

“That’s me. Please keep watching. And call 911. Tell them you think someone is being attacked on the site. But whatever you do, don’t mention my name.”

I snapped the phone closed and told the dogs to be good. With luck Margaret would have called Frank, and Tierney would listen to his voice mail. My hands were shaking so much that I dropped the phone. It slipped down the side of the driver’s seat and landed on the floor underneath, out of reach. With fumbling fingers, I felt for the lever to let the seat slide all the way back. I grabbed the phone and picked it up. I wondered if it would be better to move the car to another spot, to keep the dogs safe. I was panicky, not thinking too clearly. Without pushing the seat back into place, I gripped the steering wheel. Of course, my feet didn’t come anywhere near the pedals. Like the squad car, this vehicle could accommodate a very tall person. That’s when the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

When I’d tried to drive Nick’s squad car at Bakker Beach, the seat had been adjusted for a person taller than Nick. And much taller than Dean Oliver, who was probably no more than five seven. I’d liked not having to strain my neck looking up at Oliver. I’d accused the wrong cop. But if not Dean, then who?

By now, I figured the guilty party had been interrupted by my arrival. He hadn’t intended to leave that car at Bakker Beach. And there was only one person it could have been. Not Dean Oliver at all, but the same officer who’d been on duty when Pepper supposedly fell in the hospital. With mounting horror I could see that he’d probably taken her by surprise and knocked her down, sparing him the danger that she would remember who really attacked her with his baton at Bakker Beach. Roger DeJong. The guy who got the Joe jobs and got chewed out by his superiors. He’d been the last uniformed officer to arrive back at Bakker Beach, and now I knew why. He’d had to ditch Miata in town and retrieve his own police car, left behind when he took Nick’s to Bakker Beach. I was pretty sure the plan had been to kill Pepper and frame Nick.

He knew from guarding Pepper that Jack was looking after the baby. Easy for him to find out that Jack and I lived in the same house. He was a cop, after all. Roger DeJong had neatly fingered Dean Oliver. Roger DeJong knew that I was nosing around and talking to Dimitri. He’d have figured it was a matter of time until I talked to people on Friesen or Potter Street and found a witness to the fact he’d been there on the day of Anabel’s death. I dashed from the car, scrambled along the sidewalk, and peeked through the slot in the fence. A convenient flash of lightning lit the sky. Sure enough. This time, I’d figured it out. In the darkened area I saw Nick, on all fours, pleading with Officer Roger DeJong. Another person lay crumpled in a dark heap. I could see enough of his face to identify my smart young officer, Dean Oliver. I thought I could see dark blood pooled around his head and a long gash marring his forehead. DeJong really liked that baton. Had DeJong killed Dean Oliver? Was he now setting Nick up to take the rap? I’d been too stupid to see what was happening. DeJong had his weapon trained on Nick and was holding the squirming Little Nick in the crook of the other arm.

My cell phone trilled. I flipped it open, trying to keep the noise from distracting DeJong. I ducked to the right, hoping I was out of his earshot.

Thalia said, “Jane tells me there are already two police cars on Potter Street by the site.”

A shot rang out. I was pretty sure it would have gotten me if I hadn’t moved. I said, “It’s not official police business for sure. The dispatcher won’t know that they’re there. Tell them officer down.”

Thalia said, “That will bring the cavalry.”

I moved away from the Friesen Street entrance and crept down the alley and out onto Potter Street. I scrambled along by the two police cars, pausing to let the air out of the tires, something that Pepper and I had amused ourselves doing once or twice as preteens. Of course, we hadn’t chosen squad cars for our pranks. The sight of a little yellow toy duck lying in a puddle reminded me how deadly serious this was.