The Obsession (28 page)

“Why would I want to sit in a hole in a boat with a paddle?”

“It’s a whole new perspective.”

“I like this one fine.”

“For those who prefer land, there’s plenty of hiking. You didn’t say how long you can stay.”

“I’m not sure yet. Seth and Harry are coming out.”

“What? When?
Today?
”

“No, jeez, not today.” Amused, Mason sipped his coffee. “They’re probably going to spring it on you when you call later. A couple of weeks maybe—they’re working on it.”

“God, I have to get beds. And champagne. And serious supplies. If you think I can cook,” she said to Xander, “wait until Harry makes a meal.” Obviously buoyant, she jumped back to Mason. “Do you think you can put in for some time off so you can be here, too?”

“I’ll look into it.”

Sipping his own coffee, Xander saw it start to get through, when some instinct, some tone, maybe some body language told her something was off.

“Is something wrong?” The moment she asked, she went pale. “Oh God, Harry and Seth. Is something wrong? Is one of them sick?”

“No. No, they’re both fine.”

“Then what? It’s something. You . . . you didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said, stepping back to look at him more keenly. “You aren’t telling me how long you’ll be here. You aren’t telling me something else.”

“Why don’t we sit down?”

“Don’t do that. Just be straight with me. Is this about Marla Roth? Are you here about the murder?”

“When someone’s murdered near my sister, and my sister finds the body, I take an interest.”

“So you’re here to talk to Chief Winston.”

“I’m here to see you, and to talk to Chief Winston.”

“Okay.” Though some of the shine dimmed, she nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the assistance. You don’t have to circle around telling me something like that, Mason. I know what you do.”

“It’s not just that. Another woman’s missing. Another local woman.”

“What? Who? When did— Did you know about this?” She whirled on Xander.

“No, and simmer down. Missing for how long?”

“Donna Lanier closed Rinaldo’s restaurant at approximately eleven forty-five Friday night. She was the last to leave, and was last seen by two other employees, who left about the same time. According to statements, she was supposed to drive to Olympia to spend the weekend with her sister and a cousin. Her car’s still in the lot, and she never met her sister and cousin or contacted them.”

“She could have changed her mind,” Naomi began.

“Her suitcase is in the back of her car. She’d planned to drive straight there after her shift. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since eleven forty-five on Friday, she hasn’t used a credit card, sent a text, made a call.”

“Donna. She’s the brunette?” Though she’d gone pale, Naomi’s voice stayed steady when she turned to Xander. “Early forties, round, cheerful face?”

“Yeah. She and Loo are tight. Go back to high school together. You think whoever killed Marla wasn’t passing through, didn’t just grab her up because he saw an opportunity. You think whoever did that has Donna.”

“I think it’s a strong possibility.”

“She calls everyone
sweetie
.” Slowly, Naomi lowered to a chair. “I noticed that when I first moved here, and I’d go in for takeout, she’d say, ‘I’ll get that right out for you, sweetie.’ Or ‘How are you doing tonight, sweetie?’”

“She has a kid in college. She raised her mostly on her own. Divorced, no interest from him in the kid. She has a daughter away at college.”

“I’m sorry.” Naomi rose again, went to Xander. “You’ve known her all your life. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never known her to hurt anybody. She’s nothing like Marla. Don’t they go for a type? She’s fifteen years older, brunette, settled, steady—and not the sort who’d catch your eye like Marla.”

“I need to talk to your chief of police, get more information.”

“How do you even know about it?” Naomi demanded.

“I contacted Winston after Marla Roth. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it, Naomi? Christ, I’m a federal agent, I’m going to hear about it when my sister finds a body in her goddamn backyard.”

“It wasn’t, and you’re taking that tone with me to block me from taking one with you. I didn’t tell you because there wasn’t a point. I didn’t want to worry you or the uncles. Is that why they’re coming out here?”

“I haven’t said anything to them about this. Yet.”

Mason let the last word hang a moment.

“I talked to Winston about Roth, gave him my contact information, asked him to let me know if anything else came up. It came up.”

“If you two want to snipe at each other about it, I’ll stay out of the way.” Xander shrugged. “But it’s pretty pointless on both sides. I’m getting more coffee.”

“You could have told me you’d called the chief, told me you’d come here to talk to him.”

“You could’ve told me you found a dead body.”

“Next time I find one, you’ll be the first.”

“Don’t joke about it, Naomi.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not. I’m sick at the thought of it. I don’t know how you do what you do. I know why, I understand why you chose to do what you do, but I don’t know how you face it. Day after day, how you stand being faced with it. I’ve done everything I could to cut all of it out of my life, to put up walls. And you do the opposite. I can be proud of you, and I am, and still wonder how you stand it.”

“Doing this is how I stand it. We can talk about this when we’re alone, and when I have more time.”

“Chief Winston knows who we are. He ran me after I found the body.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Xander knows. I told him.”

“You—” Stunned, Mason stared at his sister, then Xander when Xander stepped back out. “Is that right?”

“Yes, so you don’t have to worry about what you say.”

“I can’t say much more of anything because I need to go meet Winston. I’ll be back.” Mason took Naomi’s shoulders. “I’ll be back after I meet with him. You can show me the house, what you’ve been working on.”

“All right.”

He kissed her forehead, stepped back. “I’ll be back,” he said to Xander.

As Mason left, Xander sat on the glider. “Can we just sit here for a minute?”

“I should—”

“I need it. I have to hope this isn’t happening to her. She’s one of the best people I know, and she and Loo . . . I need to call Loo. She’d have heard. We’d have heard most likely but we had the out-of-town gig. She’ll need to talk to me, but I need to sit for a minute first.”

Naomi went over, lowered to the glider beside him, took his hand. “We’ll just sit here, then you should go see her. It’s better if you go see her than call.”

“You’re right, but I’m not leaving you here alone. Not until we know what the hell’s happening.”

Not the time to argue, she decided. “I’ll go with you. I’ll text Mason so he knows, and go with you.”

M
ason’s impression of Sunrise Cove jibed with Naomi’s. It had charm, and its situation on the water added considerable appeal. He’d have enjoyed a few days downtime there, maybe renting some Jet-Skis, or that kayak his sister seemed so keen on.

He couldn’t see making it his base, as Naomi was. He liked the city, where anything and everything could and did happen. He needed a quick pace, one that kept up with his own.

But then she preferred the quiet, prized her solitude. He needed movement, conversation, needed to be part of a team. Work drove them both—hers in art and imagery, capturing moments and making them speak. His in behavior, in rules, in an endless quest to find out why.

Compensations, he knew very well, for both of them, constantly on some level trying to weigh the scale against what they’d come from.

She tried, often too hard in his opinion, to erase it, to shove it away. And he couldn’t stop studying it, aiming his life toward the pursuit of those, like his father, who lived to destroy, and found their only real pleasure in that destruction.

He didn’t know what to think about Xander Keaton or Naomi’s relationship with him. Yet. He’d study that as well.

The fact she’d told Keaton about Bowes indicated she’d formed a serious and he wanted to believe healthy attachment—something she’d avoided and denied herself all her life outside of their tight little family.

As for Keaton . . . on first impression Mason would tag him with one of Harry’s terms. A cool customer. But he’d already observed a number of tells. The way he’d ranged himself in front of the house—with Naomi inside—before Mason had identified himself, the firm but casual order for her to “simmer down,” and the fact that he’d told Mason to talk to Naomi when Mason had asked about sex.

Initial analysis? Mason thought as he parked in the tiny lot beside the station house. A confident man, and one who’d protect his sister. He could and would be grateful for that, for now.

And like any self-respecting brother who was also a federal agent, he’d run him.

Mason rounded to the front, noted the station had a small front porch, recently painted and swept clean as a parlor.

When he stepped inside, he had that instant déjà vu he experienced any time he went into a small-town cop shop.

Had Naomi been in here? he wondered. Would she see the similarities to Pine Meadows? Of course she would. Not the same, of course, not a mirror image, and the basic tools and equipment had advanced in the seventeen years since his father’s arrest.

But the setup struck so similar, the
tone
. The smell of coffee and baked goods, plastic chairs, a trio of desks in what served as both a kind of lobby and the bull pen.

A uniformed deputy sat at one of the desks, gave Mason the eye.

“Help you?”

You already know who I am, why I’m here, Mason calculated. And don’t like the idea of an outsider, especially a federal one, horning into town business.

The reaction was nothing new.

“Yes. Special Agent Mason Carson. I have a meeting with Chief Winston.”

The deputy leaned back in his chair, sized Mason up with a faint sneer that clearly read
fuck you
. “Have you got identification?”

Even as Mason reached for it, a man came out of the back holding a big blue mug that read
CHIEF
. “Mike, you climb up any higher on that horse, you’re going to get a nosebleed.” Sam stepped forward, hand extended. “Sam Winston. Pleased to meet you, Agent Carson.”

“I appreciate the time, Chief.”

“Come on back. You want some coffee? It’s not half-bad coffee.”

“I just had some at my sister’s, but thanks.”

They stepped into an office with a window at the back. The wide sill held a scatter of trophies, some framed photos, and a wildly thriving philodendron.

The desk sat on the side wall, giving the Cove’s chief views out the window and to the door. Two visitor’s chairs—straight backs, no-nonsense—angled toward it.

“Have a seat.”

Sam took the chair behind the desk that looked as though it had stood in that spot for a couple generations.

“I’m going to tell you straight off, we haven’t got line one on Donna Lanier. Her sister, her daughter, and her cousin are all on their way here. No stopping them. Her car was locked, and we found the keys on the ground, just under it. It’s clear whatever happened to her started in that parking lot.”

Mason only nodded. “I’d like to see the lot, and her residence, if possible.”

“We’ll do that.”

“You indicated Ms. Lanier lives alone, and is—to your knowledge—not in a relationship.”

“That’s right. Donna’s been divorced and single for a lot of years. Now she and Frank Peters have a drink or dinner now and then, and I do believe a bit more than that. But it’s a friendly sort of thing, and nothing serious
on either side. And Frank was down at Loo’s when Donna closed up Friday. He was with a couple of friends, didn’t head out until nearly one.”

Nodding again, Mason decided to keep his notes mental for the time being. “Is that usual?”

“More like clockwork. Frank and his buddies tend to hit Loo’s on Friday nights, blow off the workweek steam.”

“Would you object if I speak to him?”

“No, and neither would he. He and Donna have been friends a long time. He’s scared for her, and I’ll admit I am, too. She’s not one to go off like this. She’s a responsible woman with a daughter she loves, a job she loves. She’s got friends. And let’s cut through this, Agent Carson. She sure as hell didn’t go willing out of that lot, without her car, keys on the ground, when she’d planned this get-together with her sister and her cousin for months now. All she could talk about was her trip, how they were getting hot-stone massages.”

“I don’t disagree, and I realize it seems as though I’m asking to cover ground you’ve already covered, and ground you know better than I ever could. Sometimes an outside perspective, a fresh eye, sees something overlooked.”

Sam looked into his mug, grimaced a little, drank. “I’m not going to argue that, and you can cover the ground all you want. But I don’t just know the ground, I know the people who live on it. And I know there’s no one in this town who could do what was done to Marla. And I know we’ve got people who come here for a few hours, a few days, maybe longer, to use the marina, the shops and bars and restaurants, the hiking trails. They rent boats and kayaks and Sea-Doos.” Sam set his mug down. “I don’t know them.”

“You believe an outsider abducted and killed Marla Roth.”

“With every bone in my body.”

“Tell me more about her.”

“Marla?” Sam puffed out his cheeks, let the air out in a half sigh. “As different from Donna as they come—and I know that’s not usual if this is the same person. Marla was thirty-one, on the wild side of things, and
always has been. She divorced a good man who loved her, and still does. Who’s grieving for her. You can talk to him, too, but Chip Peters would’ve cut off both arms before laying a hand on Marla.”

“Peters.” He already knew, of course, had already looked at the connections.

“That’s right. Frank’s Chip’s uncle. Frank and Darren Peters—that’s Chip’s dad—have run the Sea to Sea Tours and Rentals for about sixteen years now. Chip’s part of that. I’m telling you he’s no part of this, and neither is Frank.”

Sam seemed to pull himself back, took another sip from his mug. “But you need to look, see for yourself.”

“Was the divorce acrimonious?”

“Ever had one?”

“No.”

“Me either, but I don’t know any that are pleasant activities.”

“My information indicates Chip—that’s Darren Peters, Junior—has a temper, often a violent one.”

“Your information’s wrong,” Sam said flatly. “What Chip has is a code, and God knows a weakness where Marla was concerned. Yes, he had what you could call a confrontation with the dickhead Marla was hooked up with some years back. I’ve got a report, I’ll get you a copy. This individual tuned Marla up, a couple times. Chip got word of it—from Marla—and gave the dickhead a taste of his own. Only took one punch to lay him out, and plenty of witnesses to that. Chip didn’t keep at him, and he could have. He used his fists once or twice otherwise—over Marla. He’s a big man, Agent Carson. One punch usually did the trick. A man prone to violence doesn’t stop at one.”

“No charges pressed?” Mason asked.

“No. In the case of the dickhead—one Rupert Mosley—I spoke to him myself. At that time he and Marla both sported shiners, and the fact was he’d given her hers. I said I’d be happy to charge Chip with assault, and they could share a cell, as I’d also be more than happy to charge him with assault on Marla. He opted against, further opted to relocate. He moved
down to Oregon, outside Portland. I’ve checked his whereabouts on both nights in question. He’s alibied tight, seeing as he’s doing a nickel in CRCI for laying into another woman down there. But I’ll give you that data, too.”

“I’d appreciate it. Can I ask why Chip and Marla divorced?”

“She wanted out. She wanted more. More what, only God knows, but nothing was ever quite enough. She went at your sister at Loo’s that Friday night shortly before she went missing.”

“I’m sorry? What?”

Sam kicked back in his chair—not cocky like his deputy, but a relaxed, even amused body language. “You didn’t get that part? Well, Marla was the type who wanted whatever she wanted—and she’d decided a while back she wanted Xander Keaton.”

“Keaton.”

“Yeah—apparently they’d hit a hot round or two back in high school, which was all Xander wanted. And added to it, Xander thinks a lot of Chip. Divorced or not, he’d never go with Marla. Added to that added-to, Xander had his eye on your sister—and that was clear to anybody who cared to look. Marla took objection, and being half shit-faced at the time, got pushy with Naomi. Literally.”

“She put hands on Naomi?”

“A couple of times, making a scene, using we’ll say strong language.”

“At the bar?” Mason qualified, wanting it lined up tight. “At Loo’s the Friday night she went missing?”

“That’s right. Witness reports agree on how that went down. Marla started it, Naomi asked her to back off, a couple times. Marla shoved her again. Naomi grabbed her wrist—that’s the one most agree on—twisted it in a way that had Marla going down on the floor. Then Naomi left. Marla stayed pissy, went and got sick in the toilets there, bitched at her best friend, and stomped on out. And that’s the last anyone saw of her until Naomi found her under the bluff.”

Despite the hot ball in his belly, Mason spoke evenly. “You looked into Naomi’s whereabouts, her movements, her background.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You know Thomas Bowes is our father.”

“I do.”

“And that Naomi hasn’t seen or spoken to him since the day he was arrested.”

“I do. Just as I know you’ve visited him in prison five times to date.”

“And likely will again. When your father is a serial killer, and you pursue serial killers, it’s smart to study what you have easy access to.”

“Can’t be easy, but it’s smart. I said I know the people in my town, Agent Carson. Naomi hasn’t been here long, but I’ve got a good sense of her. She’s not involved in any of this. I’m not looking at her.”

“And Keaton?”

“Not in him.” In an easy gesture, Sam lifted his fingers from the surface of the desk as if to brush the idea away. “I’m not a psychologist or a behavior specialist—or no more than any cop—but I’ve got a sister myself, and I suspect you’d like to know what kind of man he is. He works hard. He’s got a friend he’s kept close since they were in diapers—that says something to me. He’s got a head for business, though you wouldn’t think it right off. He doesn’t flaunt that around. He reads like a scholar—never seen anybody with so many books. He’s got himself a good bar band with other friends, and they’re worth hearing. I’ve seen him with your sister a time or two, and I can say I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at her. We’re trained observers, Agent. In technical terms?” Sam smiled, just a little. “He’s hooked.”

Sam’s chair creaked as he sat up again. “Xander’s got a soft spot for Donna—most of us do. She’s a sweetheart, and I’m sick knowing I’m sitting here without a goddamn clue where she is or what’s happening to her. If you can bring in a clue, I’m going to be grateful. I’m going to throw this in the mix, as I just got this information. A young girl—pretty thing, Maxie Upton—worked that Friday-night shift with Donna. In the usual case her car would’ve been in the lot back where Donna parked, but she got a flat coming into work, caught Xander at his garage as he was closing. She told me this morning he wouldn’t put the donut on—said all her tires were bald, and she needed new. He’d get them for her the
next day, and he’d give her a ride in to work, but only if she called her father to come pick her up. She had to promise not to walk home, or even to her friend’s just a block away. She came out just a few minutes before Donna, and her father pulled up almost right away.”

“More the same type as Marla Roth?”

“Younger—Maxie’s about nineteen, but more physically like Marla than Donna. Blonde and pretty. It’s got me wondering if Donna was second choice. If Maxie’s car had been in that same area, or if Xander hadn’t made her promise not to walk alone after closing, would we be looking for her?”

“It’s possible.”

“Go out on a limb, Agent. I won’t hold you to it if things change.”

“It’s possible,” Mason repeated. “You may have an opportunist. No one could anticipate Marla Roth would walk home alone, and at that time. The killer saw an opportunity, took it. The odds of two women being taken by different people in this small an area and in this time frame are slim. Ms. Lanier was alone, in a remote area of the lot, and presented an opportunity to someone who knew the closing time, the shift.”

“You’d know that after a day around here.”

Mason had only had to drive through town to see that for himself.

“He has somewhere to take them—locally, within say twenty miles—somewhere private. He held Roth for two full days, during which time he raped and tortured her. He’d need a place, and since he dumped her body here, it’s reasonable to assume that place is within a comfortable driving distance. He would need a car, a van, a truck to transport them. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”