Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (12 page)

“Waste of time,” I told Royal as we
trotted down the stairs and walked along
in
front of the motel.
We stepped
on
the sidewalk and almost ran into Detective Haney.

“Mr. Mortensen? Miss Banks?”

W
e stared at one another
for an awful, frozen moment
. My eyes felt as if they wanted to pop out of my head.

The screech of tires, a horn honking.
Haney looked over his shoulder at the street.

I barely had time to mouth
Oh shit
to
Royal
, and we
stood
in an alley across
from the motel
with our backs to the brick wall.

My innards felt like they would co
me up my throat along with any
thing else
in my stomach, but I swallowed it down, leaned over with hands braced on knees and drew in deep breaths
.

On
e
last breath and I came upright.
“
What’s Haney doing?”

“He’s taking off his hat.
H
e is scratching his head.”

“What’s he gonna think?”

“That h
is imagination ran
wild; it
i
s the only explanation.”

I peered around the corner. Haney paced up and down the sidewalk across the street, hat in hand, looking first at the
motel
, then twisting to look along the street. Poor man.

I persisted in asking Royal questions he couldn’t answer.
“What’
s he doing here?”

He
edged back
in
the alley’s shadows. “I imagine Provo is followi
ng the few leads it has. This i
s a homicide investigation and Lynn consulted.”

“So he flew here.”

“Apparently. It’s about an hour and a half from Salt Lake City.”

I flattened my back
on the wall
next to Royal. “
I have a feeling the shit is about to hit the fan.
”

I fretted the entire drive back to Maple Valley. Our encounter with Haney was the equivalent of stepping in a giant mound of moose turds; you can scrape most of it off the bottom of
y
our shoes but a lingering trace remains. Maybe you don’t realize it’s there till someone asks, “
What is that smell?”
Haney and Provo PD coming up with proof we were in Portland seemed impossible, but had we left a trace? Did I leave fingerprints in the motel room, would Haney think to dust fo
r them? When you need to prove -
if only to yourself - you’re not going insane and imagining people who aren’t there, you
may
perform every test in the book
from
sheer desperation.

We stepped out of the empty building in Montague Square
at five-to—
nine. The walk to Royal’s truck and the drive to my home took less than ten minutes.

Sure enough, a black and white zipped out of a side street as we turned
on
Beeches. The officer did not activate his flashing lights or try to stop us,
he
followed us to my house. H
e p
arked behind the
pickup
and joined us
as we got out
.

Royal walked
to the rear
of the
truck
to meet him beneath the streetlamp. “Hello, Bob. Is there a problem?”

The street lamp made
Officer Bob
Gervaise
’s dark skin shine. He
lifted one
gigantic
shoulder. “Roy,
Mike wants you and Tiff at the precinct.”

I joined th
em. “It’s nine at night.
Can this wait till tomorrow?”

He gave me a sour look. “Would I be here if it could wait till morning?”

Being the contrary type, I would have argued, but Royal
opened the rear door
and got
in the cruiser.
With a glare at Gervaise
- because I had to have the last word, even when
no
t a word -
I joined Royal.
We settled back, but I didn’t much like seeing the mesh
between
us and Bob,
it made me feel like a criminal. I hoped none of my neighbors saw us, or tongues would be wagging a mile a minute.

I already had
celebrity status in the street, and not in a good way. My neighbors woul
d never forget, or forgive,
the day they were shooed from their homes while a bomb squad went through my house.

Streetlamps, house lights and lit-up neon signs flashed past as the cruiser took us downtown. I groped for Royal’s hand; it
encompassed
mine and squeezed.
His gaze met mine and held it, conveying a silent message before he turned his
gaze back to the street
. W
e
guessed
why Mike wanted us at the precinct.

Officer Gervaise parked behind the court house and escorted us through the rear entrance. I climbed the stairs to the second floor as if lead weigh
t
ed my shoes;
tired, thirsty, irritable and
not
happy about
a confrontation with Mike.

Gervaise left us at the door to the squad room.

“Hell,
” I murmured when I saw who waited with Mike in his office.

Royal tucked my hand in the crook of his bent arm. “Calm, Tiff. Remember, Haney
did
not
see
us in Portland.”

“Yeah I know, but Carrie’s here with Stirland.”

He didn’t react, but he did not comprehend the difficulty of
talking to
the
cops while Carrie chattered
at me. Which she surely would.

Two detectives and a cop in uniform stood
at
the coffeemaker. They eyed us as we
moved
through the squad room to Mike’s office. Royal smiled and nodded at them. Fixated on Mike’s scowl, I
tried to ignore Carrie as her arms shot ceiling-ward in greeting
.

His door stood open, so we walked in.
I took the vacant chair facing Mike’s desk
before he could tell me to sit
. Royal stood behind
me, hands resting on the chair-back either side of my shoulders.

“What a lark! Were you really in Portland?” Carrie asked.

My eyebrows made a deep V as I threw a quick glance in her direction. She got the message and pulled an invisible zipper across her lips. I recalled her doing the same thing in a British police headquarters
building
.

Royal d
ipped his head at Mike and got right to the point. “Mike. Why are we here?”

“Where were you this afternoon?” Looking up at Royal, Mike clasped his hands on his desktop and clenched, hard.

Royal’s expression remained calm except for the compressed lips.
“Are we under inve
stigation? Is this an official i
nquir
y?”

“If that’s the way you want it. Or you can answer our questions and maybe walk out of here,” Stirland said in a voice like chipped ice.

I laid my free ha
nd on Royal’s arm. “Tell them, h
on. I know it’s none of their business, but w
hat’s the harm?”

He looked at me with a tiny, tight smile. “Yes, you are right.”
Then he said to Stirland,
“We took a drive over Monte Cristo and on to Bear Lake.”

“And you
just
returned? Can you prove your whereabouts?”

“Not unless
my pickup made an impression on a passing motorist
.”

“You didn’t stop to eat?”

“We took a picnic,” I piped up. “Pulled into one of those little camping spots near the road and ate.”
Oh my God, I am getting too good at lying.

“I do
n’t believe - ” Stirland began.

Mike cut in.
“De
tective Haney saw you in
Portland, Oregon,
this afternoon.”

Royal and I let a minute go by, as if trying to wrap our
minds
around Mike’s statement, then burst
out in
chuckles at the same time.

“Had
a heavy night last night, did he
?” I chortled. “T
ied on one too many?”

Royal
snorted
. “Perhaps he overindulged during
his flight?
”

Carrie clenched her fists and her body trembled
. Keeping quiet
was killing
her
, figuratively speaking.

Stirland’s face turned rosy. “I’ve worked with John for five years. He’s a damn fine partner, honest to the bone, and he does not imbibe. If he says he saw you in Portland, you were there.”

Smirk
ing, I squinted at Royal. “W
e’re good, but not that good.”

I asked Stirland,
“Guess you
checked flights outta Utah?”

“Not yet, but we will.”

“You won’t find us on one.” I tapped my chin. “So how did we get there? Drive?” I tipped my head to look up at Royal. “How long would you say it’d take to drive
to Portland?”

“Hm.” Royal looked thoughtful. “
T
welve
hours
?”

I nodded solemnly. “
Plus stopping for gas and a snac
k, and we had to stay the night
or we wouldn’t be this wide awake and chirpy.
And the same to get back here.
Even if we left from Provo after chatting with the detectives at -
when
was it,
near eleven
?
- that’d put us . . . sometime tomorrow?”

Mike
shot a furious look at Stirland. He knew
we
dare
not
deny
flying to Portland
if indeed we did;
it was too easy to corroborate.

“No,
Haney’
s right!” I sat upright. “We were t
here, compliments of our friend
Superman. Zipped us right over.”

A faint smile tweaked Royal’s lips. “Only way to travel,” he agreed.

My hand swept the air. “Zoom-zoom.”

Gaze still on Stirland,
Mike thrust his han
d at the door. “Get out of here
you two.”

We obliged. I
aimed a shit-eating grin
at Stirland as we left the office.

“Shall I come with you now?” Carrie asked from Mike’s doorway.

I couldn’t ask if she
’d
discovered anything pertinent. Maybe she
did
, maybe not and
never would if I took her away
. I bet
Haney would
call
Stirland when he left here.
And perhaps Haney would get back to Provo tonight.
I
f he did, he
’d want to meet his partner and go over what they had ASAP
.

I
jogged
my chin a little.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she called.

I managed a barely-there nod.

Nursing his oversized coffee mug in both hands, Brad Spacer sat at his desk
. I stopped, perched my hip on his desk and leaned over. “What’s with Mike’s office?”

He grinned, sc
ratched behind one ear, then
poked
his
fingers through
wiry
salt and pepper hair. “
Mike was on vacation.
The Chief
went
in
his file cabinet for some paperwork, which wasn’t there. She did find a pizza box. When he got back, Mike said he used it to fill a gap and keep the files upright. Chief said he could use actual files, the ones supposed to be in there.”

I snorted.

“So he spent a weekend cleaning up his
office. In his defense, Mike did
file the box under P.”

We clomped down the stairs. Rather, I clomped while Royal seemed to glide from step to step.