Dead Ringer (35 page)

Ditto shrugged. “You have to admit the logic fits. Especially if we’re removing only the losers from society.”

So far Lucas saw nothing he could use as a weapon. Making it look more and more like his only option was to simply rush Ditto and fight for the gun. “Not a good point. You forget that was my friend you killed. He was far from a loser.”

“Gerhard didn’t know that at the time. It was a mistake. And for the record, I’m sorry about it. Sincerely. We were after the whore, not him.” Ditto pressed his lips into a tight,
O
as if thinking about what he’d just said. The gun lowered slightly. “I bet that if you thought about it a moment, you’d agree there are people out there who just suck the blood from the rest of us. We would be better off without them. By taking them off the streets, I can use their bodies to do more good for society than they’ll ever be worth in their miserable damn lifetimes.”

Jesus, Ditto sounded as if he really believed it. Lucas tensed, readying for a lunge.

Before he could move, Ditto aimed the gun at his chest and started to squeeze the trigger.

T
HE GUNSHOT ECHOED OFF
the concrete walls. Lucas threw himself to the right—too late—and waited for the impact, which never came. He looked around wildly and saw Ditto laying on the floor, motionless.

Stunned, ears ringing from the blast, Lucas stared down at the blood pooling under Ditto’s lifeless head. What the hell happened?

Then he heard something cut through the ringing and realized it was a voice. He spun around. Luis Ruiz was standing in the doorway, aiming a gun at Ditto. Lucas caught the whiff of cordite.

He heard Ruiz yell, “Motherfucker.” Or at least, that’s what it sounded like.

“What?”

“Said, that sucka’s dead. Now give me a hand.” Stepping over to the body, Ruiz shoved the gun into a pocket of his cargo pants. He grabbed Ditto’s legs and started dragging him toward the cremation oven. He stopped to look at Lucas. “Shit, bro, can’t you see I need help with this motherfucker? Sucka weighs a ton.”

Lucas didn’t move. “But—”

“I don’t need no attitude from you. He was gonna cap yo ass. What’d you expect me to do, watch? Now get over here
and help me.” Ruiz opened the oven door, slipped on an asbestos mitt, pulled out the shelf.

Lucas thought about what Ruiz was going to do. Thought about what would’ve happened if Ruiz hadn’t killed Ditto. Thought of Laura and Andy. Thought about witnessing Ruiz murder Ditto. Probably not to save Lucas’s life, as much as to avenge Lupita’s murder.

It certainly wasn’t self-defense. Still, Ruiz could always claim he was defending Lucas and deny they’d both broken into the place. Then it dawned on Lucas. “Where’s Gerhard?”

“Downstairs in the garage. Why? That make any difference? You gonna help me or stand there acting like a fool?”

Lucas moved to Ditto’s other side. “Gerhard let you in?”

“Fuck, no. Dude’s dead too.”

“What happened?”

“You wasting time we don’t have. Need to get our asses out of here.”

“I need to know.”

Ruiz threw up his arms. “Fuck! I made the call like you wanted but never drove there. Thought you so fucking nervous I better hang around, cover your back. When Ditto’s man drove back into the basement I followed him in.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“Fuck the plan. So far, looks like my plan’s better. You be one dead crispy motherfuck if I hadn’t bailed you out. That what you want?”

He had to admit, Luis had a definite point.

“Now, give me a hand.”

Together they lifted Ditto onto the oven tray, slid him inside, cranked the heat up to max.

Luis grabbed a stretcher, started for the hall, motioned for Lucas to follow.

B
Y
4:15 a.m.
THE ASHES
from both bodies were cool enough to sweep from the oven into a black Hefty garbage bag. They made no attempt to keep Ditto’s separate from Gerhard’s. By then all the blood on the floor was washed down the drain and the drain rinsed with Clorox. Lucas figured a crime scene technician might still be able to find residual blood in the drain, but considering the room was used to embalm people there was enough reason for it to be there, so why even bother looking?

H
ALF AN HOUR LATER
Lucas and Ruiz stood at the end of a dock at Lake Union. Ruiz untied the garbage bag and upended it, pouring Ditto’s and Gerhard’s remains into the dark cold water. After shaking out the dust, he balled up the bag. They spent no moment of tribute, silence, or prayer, the entire process of disposing the two men taking less than thirty seconds.

After one final glance around them, Ruiz said, “Best we get the fuck out of here before someone sees us.”

Ruiz tossed the wadded-up black Hefty bag into a green, foul-smelling Dumpster three blocks away.

L
UCAS SAT AT HIS
desk paging slowly through a photo album chronicling his life with Laura and Josh. Her clothes still hung in the closet. One of these days he should force himself to collect all of them and … what? Donate them to Goodwill, he supposed. It was the healthy thing to do. To move on with his life. But for the moment, he wasn’t in any hurry.

He paused to peer out the window and wonder what Ruiz was doing and how he was dealing with what they’d done. After dumping Ditto’s and Gerhard’s ashes in the lake and throwing the garbage bag in a Dumpster, they walked away from Lake Union to Ruiz’s car. Ruiz drove him back to where Lucas’s car was parked, the entire time never saying a word. It was as if an understanding had formed that needn’t be verbalized. It reminded Lucas of years ago when he slipped over the side of the sinking boat, leaving Andy to deal with the police.

Lucas got out of the car and looked at Ruiz.

Ruiz nodded at him, said, “Stay loose.” Then drove off.

Stay loose. Jesus!
How could he? They’d just murdered and cremated two human beings. With good reason, maybe, but still …

Lucas resigned himself to living with those moments in DFH until the day his mind shut down forever.

Stay loose
.

Two words. They could mean many things. Remain cool and never admit a word. Forget about what we just did. Or maybe Ruiz intended it to mean we’ll get away with it or we won’t. Either way, they’d settled their personal scores with Bobby Ditto and Leo Gerhard.

Lucas remembered the numb feeling as he drove home. He’d showered and briefly considered lying down but knew sleep would be impossible. Instead, he’d made a pot of coffee and drank cup after cup until his stomach turned sour, his hands shook, and the caffeine high kept him bouncing from thought to thought. The whole time he roamed the house picking up various things—a vase, a framed picture, one of several ballpoint pens Laura endlessly accumulated next to the kitchen phone—and looking at them as if seeing each one for the first time.

For hours he did this, wondering how he would ever piece his life back together and worrying about when the doorbell would ring and a cop would be there. The cop would say, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Robert Ditto.” And read him his rights, maybe handcuff him, drive him to the West Precinct where he would call Davidson again, figuring if O.J. Simpson could go free, there was still hope for him.

Okay, so say he was picked up and questioned about Ditto’s death. What could they prove? If he and Ruiz held the line and didn’t admit to anything, there was no telling what might happen. He might just get away with it. But he and Ruiz would be in constant fear the other guy would talk, so they had to trust each other to say nothing.

For the past two days he had flashbacks of Ditto aiming the gun at him, and each time he felt the same panic in spite
of knowing Ditto was dead. Both nights he drank too much yet still needed Ambien to shut his brain down. Then he crashed for three or fours hours only to have the day start all over with more flashbacks.

He couldn’t handle the thought of going back to work yet. And he knew he would have to soon.

Now the phone rang. His first reaction was to let it ring. He knew of no one he wanted to talk to. But then a voice in his brain told him it would be better to at least try to enter the real world again. So he picked up.

“It’s Wendy. Okay if I drop by?”

He checked his watch. It was almost six. He’d vowed not to drink tonight, but anything after six seemed fair game.

“Why?” Would she be the one to tell him he was under arrest? That would seem fitting in a karma sort of way.

“I have some news you might like to hear.”

“Yeah, come on over.”

“Good, ’cause I’m outside your place.”

They stood at the door staring at each other awkwardly, Lucas not sure what to expect but certain that he must look guilty as hell. He figured Ruiz would at least have a shot at bullshitting his way through an interrogation but doubted he could. He’d try but was certain he’d tangle himself in a lie. Maybe he and Ruiz should’ve discussed it to coordinate their stories.

Wendy asked, “May I come in?” She was wearing the same pantsuit as the first time he saw her.

“Sure.” He closed the door and asked, “How about the living room?” Somehow the kitchen still seemed to be Laura’s space.

She sat down in a chair and crossed her legs. “Hey, relax. I’m not here to jump your bones.” She cleared her throat. “In fact, I have good news. Lange has finally cleared you of any complicity in Laura’s death.”

So, she wasn’t here because of Ditto. What a relief. Stifling a smile, he asked, “What changed his mind?” He still felt bitter for being the prime suspect in the case.

“Turns out Travis was finally able to obtain the warrant to look at Ditto’s records. Guess what he found?”

The alarm from a moment ago was back. Any hint of a smile faded.

“You were right. About the accounting. They checked his records against the medical examiner’s. Same death certificates but different people. The only problem is, other than Andy or Lupita, we can’t identify any of his victims. The good news for you is that we’re looking into having both declared legally dead. With what we have now, there’s no reason to believe you or Wong fabricated those videos. And the Hong Kong cops got a statement from Wong attesting to that. At least, for you, that part will come to a close.”

Head cocked to one side, Wendy studied him. “But the really strange thing is Ditto’s missing. So is Gerhard.” She let it hang.

Lucas looked away but said nothing.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Me?” he said, feigning surprise. “No. Why should I?”

“No reason you should. Just thought I’d ask. Funny, Ruiz answered the same way, by turning it into a question.”

More silence.

“So,” she said, “you have no questions about it?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer without saying something incriminating, so simply said, “No.”

“Okay.” She stood and smoothed her pants before starting toward the door. “You were also right about Ditto having help.”

He stood, ready to walk her to the door. He wanted her to stay and talk about other things, but wanted this conversation to end before he slipped up and made a mistake. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Redwing, the head of the Missing Persons Unit. He was the one feeding Ditto information. The way it worked, Ditto would pass him the names of people he took off the street. Redwing would keep an eye out, and if the names showed up in a missing persons report, he saw to it the case was never assigned to anyone. And because these people were easily missed, no one ever asked another question. And if someone did, he made sure the case never went anywhere.” She was at the door now, hand on the knob.

“One of the things I couldn’t tell you was we put a wire on Ditto’s phones. We caught Redwing passing him information.”

Lucas asked, “What’ll happen to him?”

“Probably not much. He’ll have a hearing, but in all likelihood the best case is the department will fire him without a pension. Worst case, I dunno. He’s already been suspended pending the hearing. Oh yeah, one other thing.”

Lucas’s heart skipped a beat.
Here it comes
.

“The video Andy rented the day he disappeared was in Ditto’s DVD player.”

They looked at each other a moment. He thought it best to say nothing.

Wendy started out the door, hesitated, and turned to him. “Take care of yourself, Lucas. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”

“Wait.”

She stopped and looked at him.

“I’d like to see you again, after … I get my head straight. It’s been a lot, these past few weeks.”

She smiled. “I’d like that. Let me know when the time’s right,” and then was out the door, heading to her car.

L
UCAS CUT THE SMALL
outboard and let the rented fishing boat drift, far enough away from the buoys to be out of the traffic through the Ballard Locks. Fall was coming early this year, the sky filled with low pewter clouds but no chop on the chilly water. Enough bite in the air to make you button up. He and Josh sat in silence, the boat rocking gently. A seagull cried and a jet passed overhead.

Lucas picked up a tin that looked like one you’d receive during Christmas filled with either fruitcake or cookies. It was heavier than expected, and he hugged it to his chest a few beats. “Time?”

Josh nodded.

“It’s what she asked, if anything happened to her. We’d talked about it a couple times.”

Josh nodded again, eyes misting up.

Lucas’s eyes were misting too, along with a giant lump in his throat. “Anything you want to say?”

Josh shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, Laura.” Lucas hesitated before upending the tin and pouring the ashes into the green-gray water.

In no particular order, thanks to the following people who helped me prepare this story: Tom Norris, MD; Judy Stoudt, US Customs; Daniel O. Graney, PhD; Daryl Gardner; Mary Osterbrock; Marjorie Braman; Robert Astle; Tony Viardo.