Dead Ringer (21 page)

“The
kind
? You can say the word. Prostitute.”

“Sure I can. Prostitute. It’s just you get so damn defensive about it.”

“That’s not the point here.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I know some of these girls. They were friends when I was on the street, so I know there’s no reason for any of them to just up and leave. And there are no missing persons reports on several of them.”

“What are you implying? They’ve been murdered?”

She was thankful he didn’t sound cynical. “Yeah. Exactly. Like maybe there’s another Gary Ridgway in the area.”

He nodded slightly, sipped his coffee. “Any bodies to show for it?”

And there it was, the major stumbling block to her theory.

“No. Not yet. But remember, they never did find all the ones Ridgway admitted to, even after he showed the King County cops where he’d dumped them. Things happen. Animals eat them, bones get scattered or covered with brush or are in an area never noticed. In his case, there were other missing girls he never admitted to—now cold cases—and still other missing girls never accounted for.”

“But some of those Ridgway cases were over ten years old. Like you said, a lot of things can happen to a body in ten years. How long have your girls been missing?”

“Just a few months,” she admitted.

Travis sipped his coffee again, said nothing, leaving her hanging out there feeling defensive.

She needed to shore up her position. So she told him about the string of coincidences, like Ruiz vanishing and about
McRae seeing Baer’s head in Hong Kong. How a cop had run the DFH Suburban license plate near where Ruiz worked and how DFH had supplied the Hong Kong demonstration. Then she went into Bobby Ditto and how he denied the Suburban had been out of the building the night in question.

“The really troubling thing,” she said, “is he had the vehicle detailed before we could inspect it.”

Travis sipped his coffee. “Meaning what?”

“Here’s the thing: I don’t trust the guy. Either he was incredibly lucky or maybe he has a friend in the department and got tipped.” There, that was out too. And she knew it would sound paranoid.

“A snitch?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, I think I interrupted you.”

She went on to explain DFH’s business in detail. She told him about her interview with Professor Boynton and said, “He raised some very interesting questions, like how he gets so much material to be so successful.”

“What are you saying? He’s a Gary Ridgway?”

“Crossed my mind. I mean, with the Suburban and all …”

Her phone rang. She dug it out of her leather purse, checked caller ID, and felt the chill of another coincidence. Lucas McRae. She stuffed the cell back in the bag and let the call roll over to voice mail.

Travis asked, “Let me see if I got this right. You’re saying Ditto is killing people for their bodies?”

“Yeah, that’s the bottom line.”

Travis seemed to think about it. “I have to admit, when you tell the story in that sequence, there’s a faint ring of possibility
to it. Problem, of course, is there’s nothing whatsoever to back up your theory.”

“But it’s a possibility, right?”

He shrugged. “Anything’s
possible
. But why tell me about it? Why not someone in CIB?” He was referring to the Criminal Investigations Bureau, which was command structure for the Missing Persons Unit.

Wendy realized she’d missed the other important point. “What if Ditto’s snitch is somehow linked into someone in CIB?”

Travis’s eyebrows rose. “Have someone in mind?”

“No. But the point is Ditto not only knew the vehicle was going to be inspected, he also knew the limits of the search warrant.” She realized she’d left out that part, so she circled back over it.

“Thought you said he read it?”

“Nah, he just glanced at it. Never really read it.”

Travis shook his head. “Haven’t changed a bit. Still paranoid, aren’t you?”

“Don’t start in with that. Thing is, Ditto
knew
I didn’t have a warrant for any records. He
knew
before ever looking at it. How could that happen if he wasn’t tipped?”

“How can you be so sure?”

See, that was the problem with intuition. You knew things without having to deduce them. Wendy replayed the scene in her mind, looking for whatever it was that caused her impression. “He was too calm. Here’s a guy with no criminal record who’s got a cop wanting to impound his SUV. That’d make the average citizen very nervous, maybe even make them call a
lawyer. Not this guy, no way. He
knew
the exact limits of my warrant. No, he had to have prior coaching from someone.”

“Maybe he just got lucky, took a guess. It happens, you know.”

“No. There’s something hinky with Ditto. I know it.”

Travis smiled at her. “Then prove it.”

“Easy to say, but I can’t see how. I’ve been over this a thousand times now.”

“This guy McRae, anything more you can get from him about the head?”

How many times had she considered that too? She’d even gone back over the interview three times, and there was nothing there. “Don’t think so.” Then again, it’d be nice to see McRae in person again, even if only professionally. “But I’ll go over it again with him, just for drill.”

Travis patted her knee, ready to stand up, but then seemed to think of something. “Instead of someone in CIB, why not someone outside of it? To explain the warrant business.”

“You mean like the judge?” She hadn’t thought of that. “I made the request through Redwing, and he said he went straight to the courts.”

“Sure, but someone had to fill out the paperwork.”

She hadn’t really considered that either. But it didn’t make sense. “I don’t know … doesn’t feel right.”

He smiled. “Based on?”

Was he mocking her? “Gut.”

“Right or wrong, gut feelings are based on observation. If you’re so convinced, then there’s got to be something in there.” Travis pointed at her head. “What is it?”

He was right. Something else was floating just below consciousness, just out of grasp, but she couldn’t connect with it.

When she didn’t answer, Travis stood and squared his sunglasses just so. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but if you’re right about someone in the department, this could get dicey. You still in for the long haul?”

She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t been mocking her a moment ago.

“I’ll try to cover your back as much as I can, but that’s limited.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Be careful.”

Watching him walk away she was struck with fresh regrets over not having been able to make it as a couple. Soon as he was out of sight, she dug out the cell to return Lucas’s call.

L
UCAS SAT AT THE
kitchen table flipping Wendy Elliott’s card over and over between his fingers, wondering if he should phone to ask if she’d found out anything new. She said she’d let him know if that happened, but sometimes people got busy and forgot promises. At the time she seemed sincere and genuinely interested in looking into it. Andy’s disappearance, but everyone knew cops were overworked. They probably assigned her a new case every few days. How could he expect her to keep pushing on Andy’s case when others were piling up? Then again, there was the squeaky wheel phenomenon. If he wanted her finding out what happened to Andy, he had to bug her.

He listened to her cell phone ring until it clicked over to voice mail. He decided to leave a message. “Hey, this is Lucas McRae. Andy Baer’s friend. Just checking to see if you’ve found out anything since we last talked. Please give me a call one way or the other.” He recited his number twice before hanging up.

Lucas dumped the phone back in its charger, propped his butt against the counter, and thought back to earlier this morning. Laura was already on her second cup of black coffee when he came into the kitchen. They didn’t say much to each other, just went about their business like two strangers in a supermarket checkout line, civilized but distant. Both convinced of their own righteousness. Neither one willing to make the first
move toward reconciliation for fear it would … what? Concede something?

Well, that wasn’t quite right, but close enough.

What he did know for sure was their marriage had been corroding for at least a year now, and if something wasn’t done to revive it, it would die. He held that thought a moment before realizing just how dangerously close they were to the tipping point.

And it scared the crap out of him. He didn’t want to lose her.

Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to talk with her while she was having her coffee, before she left the house? He looked at the chair she always sat in. Where did she go? He realized he hadn’t even asked where she was going and she hadn’t offered. For all he knew, her bags might’ve been packed and stored in the car waiting for her. Would she do that? Calmly sit here drinking coffee and never say a word, and then up and leave for good?

Lucas ran upstairs to the bathroom and was relieved to find all her cosmetics, there along with her Lipitor and contacts case.

Try her cell?

And say what?

No. He’d wait for her to come home.

Still unsettled and anxious, he wandered downstairs to the kitchen. He poured another coffee and sat down to think. If he was unhappy with their marriage, she must be also.

It dawned on him that they always sat in the same place.

He moved to her spot and sat there, trying to imagine what she thought of him. He pictured a cup of coffee in front of him,
maybe a newspaper on the table. Now he was Laura looking at the man she’d married. What did she see? What did she feel? Did she despise him? Well, he did work a lot of hours, so he was guilty of that charge. Had to admit he continued his friendship with Andy even though she objected to it. He wasn’t as social as she might like in the days before her depression set in. How about the times she wanted to talk about problems he thought were trivial, so he either cut the conversation short or didn’t seem interested? She claimed he never said “I’m sorry.”

Probably no one of these issues in isolation was a major issue, but taken together they certainly could be. Point was, he had to assume some responsibility for their problems and the path they were taking to divorce.

He thought about that a moment, trying to maintain her perspective. But found himself quickly becoming defensive. It wasn’t true. Half the time he
was
the one who apologized, but did it really matter?

No. The important thing wasn’t whether she was right or wrong about it. The important point was she believed it.

He decided to take the first step. As soon as she returned today, he’d make a special point of saying “I’m sorry.” Maybe then they could sit down and start working things out. If she wouldn’t seek marital counseling, maybe if they worked together on the issues he could talk her into seeing a psychiatrist to deal with the depression.

Relief surged through him. Finally, he had a plan to at least try to reverse the horrible slide they were in. It didn’t matter if he was right or wrong about the Andy thing, he would do whatever it took to get their relationship back on track. He felt a little giddy with relief.

The phone rang and he answered.

“Hey, McRae, Wendy. Got your call. Unfortunately, no news is bad news. I haven’t made a bit of progress. In fact, it looks like I might’ve hit a dead end. At least for the time being.”

He was floored. “Dead end? What does that mean?”

“I can’t see anything more to do. But I’ll keep the case in mind.”

Lucas was at a loss for words.

Silence.

“You’re giving up?” he said, unable to believe she would let it go so easily. Just a moment ago he’d been thinking how committed to the case she seemed.

“Not entirely. Something comes up, I’ll sure as hell follow up on it. All I’m saying is it’s off the front burner for now.”

“No! I can’t accept that. You can’t just walk away from this. Andy is a missing person. Isn’t that your job, finding missing persons?”

“Simmer down. I understand how you feel. I don’t feel very good about it myself, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“Bullshit. There must be something else.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“What about the Ditto angle?”

Wendy said, “That’s not going anywhere.”

“But …” Arguing would yield nothing, Lucas realized. He also knew that this would not be the end of it. He’d personally see to that. How many times had he heard about the one person who constantly nagged the cops until they ultimately solved a case? The squeaky wheel thing again. If he let Andy’s case sink into the cold case files, it would never be solved. She’d hear from him again and again and again until something was done. But today Laura was his priority.

L
UCAS SLAMMED THE PHONE
on the kitchen counter. For a moment he just stood there, looking at the kitchen sink, replaying the conversation. “Fuck!”

Standing here simmering wasn’t going to accomplish anything. What he needed was a distraction, something mindless that would burn off the frustration tying him in knots. He stalked through the house, noticing a burnt-out ceiling bulb in the storeroom, that rat nest of wires behind the TV equipment he always intended to organize. On and on. All things that would need tending to if and when the house was sold to settle the distribution of assets after the divorce.

No, those were tasks better left for another time. Right now he needed something physical and frustration free. Something that would take hours and require physical activity. Ideally, something you wouldn’t want to do in cold weather. Aw, of course, the garage. Perfect. One of those shit jobs you knew was there but never got around to doing. Probably because it was a shit job. Also because you knew the results were as fleeting as organizing the clothes in your closets.

The back wall was contiguous floor-to-ceiling storage closets that constantly became repositories for partially empty cans of old paint, broken rusty gardening tools, three piles of tiles left over from the bathroom remodel, an assortment of unidentifiable mechanical parts, one shelf crammed with
plastic containers of various car cleaners. And, of course, the floor covered with years of decaying leaves blown in during fall winds. Every damn closet needed cleaning and reorganizing.