Fixed in Fear (14 page)

“What's this have to do with Helen Clark?” Rita asked.

Kenny Kamm opened his eyes. “That's what I see in my dreams. Over and over. I see a demon. Chained to a tree. It looks like a woman. I hear her laughing. She's chained to a tree and she's laughing. That don't make sense, but I guess dreams aren't supposed to. In my dream I walk up to her. She warns me to go away. Says it's dangerous for me to stay. So I turn, but I fall. Sometimes it's because I trip on a log, sometimes I get my leg caught up in her chain. It's different things. But I always fall. Then the demon starts screaming. I tell her to leave me alone. She can't have me. But she just screams and laughs and screams and laughs.” Kamm's shoulders shook with the strength of his sobs. “So in my dream I kill the demon. I pick up a rock. And I hit the demon again and again. Until the screaming stops.”

Kamm stopped speaking. His tears subsided. He breathed through an open mouth. When he finally spoke, it was with great effort. As though he spent his last gasp of energy to give rise to the words.

“My brain is telling me I did it. I killed your wife. My brain knows it. I have to accept it.”

The room was silent for a while. Mort wondered if Larry had anything more he needed from Kamm before Mort started with his own questions. He got his answer when Larry's chair scraped across the concrete floor. Larry stood, towering above the prisoner in shackles. He reached a hand into his pocket. Mort and Rita pushed their own chairs back, ready to react before Larry did something on impulse they'd all regret. Before Mort could stand, however, Larry pulled his hand out of his pocket. He held a freshly pressed white cotton handkerchief.

Larry stepped around the table and wiped the tears from Kenny Kamm's wet face. When he was finished, he laid a hand on Kamm's shoulder. The two men seemed frozen in that tableau for achingly long seconds, Kamm looking up into the face of the man whose wife he'd killed. Larry looking down with an expression Mort could not identify. It was Kamm who spoke first.

“Thank you.”

Larry said nothing in reply. He gave Kamm's shoulder one quick pat before pulling his hand away and turned to Mort.

“I'll wait for you and Rita outside,” he said.

Larry walked to the door and knocked. One of the COs standing guard opened it and asked if everything was all right.

“No. Nothing's right,” Larry responded. “But it's done.”

Mort threw a glance toward Rita, who picked up her notebook and stood when he did. Rita turned to follow Larry out the door. Mort looked down at the man slumped and chained to his chair.

“The name Jerry Costigan.” Mort searched Kamm's face for any giveaway the murderer might display. “That ring a bell?”

Kamm's left eyebrow twitched. “Everyone at MCC knows Costigan.” His voice had lost its previous tone of penance. Mort wasn't sure what he heard in its place.

“How's that?” Mort asked.

Kamm was quiet for a heartbeat or two. “Those demons I dream about?”

“What about them?”

“Those demons are like golden butterflies on a sunny summer day compared to Jerry Costigan.”

Mort suddenly recognized the emotion in Kamm's voice.

It was fear.

Larry sat in the backseat, as remote on the drive back to Seattle as he had been on the one taking the three of them to Monroe Correctional Center. Mort called in to the station.

“See what you can learn about Jerry Costigan.” Mort used the speaker system mounted into the Subaru's dashboard to talk to Jimmy DeVilla as he drove south on Highway 203. “Released a few months ago from MCC. Where's he been? Who's he associating with? Everything.”

“You liking him for the sweat lodge murders?” Jimmy wanted to know.

“Things are pointing that way.” Mort took the exit to the 520. “I'll be back in about a half hour. Let's see what you come up with. Get Micki on it if she's free.”

“Micki's still testifying. Hoping this retrial will be done. Tomorrow's Friday. Good time to wrap things up.”

Mort wished it were that simple. They were still a long way off wrapping up these murders. “Well, if by some miracle she shakes loose, get her involved.” Another thought came to him. “While you're checking out Costigan, look into who he hung with while he was at MCC. I'm looking for any time he might have spent with Kenny Kamm. K-A-M-M. He's an inmate there.”

“I'll see what I can see.” Jimmy's voice filled the cabin of Mort's car. “Catch you when you get back. By the way, Robbie's been blowing up the phones here. Says he needs to talk to you pronto. Didn't give particulars. I asked him if everyone was okay and he said he thought so. Nothing more than that.”

The muscles in Mort's neck tightened. His son wasn't given to panic. He remembered the scene at the soccer fields the day before. If Robbie hadn't given Jimmy details, Mort was betting this had to do with Allie. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Larry was staring out the side window, watching the fields of trees give way to strip malls as they neared the city.

He may be looking,
Mort thought.
But he's not seeing a thing. His mind is on the encounter with Kamm.

Mort glanced over to the passenger seat. Rita Willers was texting someone. Probably updating her team in Enumclaw about what transpired during the morning interview with Helen Clark's murderer.

I don't want them to know what's going on with Allie. There's too much at stake here for me to introduce any distraction.

“Thanks, buddy,” Mort said into the speaker. “I'll call Robbie when I get back.” He glanced at the clock. “I'll be there no later than three. Let's you and me hook up at three thirty. My office?”

“I'll be there,” Jimmy said. “I'll be the guy with the dog.”

Mort clicked free of the call and glanced again in the rearview mirror. Larry hadn't moved.

“I heard from my team,” Willers said as she put down her phone. “We were able to capture a few images of Bilbo Runyan. Showed them to Blue Dancer. She said she couldn't be sure, but she didn't think Runyan's the other man she dropped off with Costigan at the sweat lodge.”

“How'd you get that done so fast?”

“You mean how'd we Mayberry cops know what to do?” Rita tucked her phone into the pocket of her uniform shirt.

Mort sighed. “Listen, Chief. I don't mean anything other than what I say. Okay? Runyan's a recluse. Sticks to that house like a mole in his hole. Venturing out maybe for food and more dope. That's all. I don't mean any offense. Not at this, not at anything. You're a hell of a cop. And, to tell you the truth, I'm impressed as hell with what your men have been able to accomplish so quickly. Makes me yearn for a smaller department. Not so many bureaucratic hoops to jump through.”

Rita Willers was quiet for a few seconds. Mort realized he'd complimented the
men
in her department. He wished words came with bungee cords. He'd snap that one back right away.

“I'm mindful of what people say, Mort.” Willers's tone revealed no offense taken to his clumsy wording. “I don't know if that's from my being a Native American or a woman or a cop. Probably a mixture of all three would be my guess. I'm proud of the team we've built in Enumclaw. Good officers, every one. I know people tend to think top-tier policing only comes from the big departments. But we know our stuff.” She paused for a moment. “I'm probably more defensive than I need to be.”

“Well, that's a nice companion to me being more insensitive than I need to be.” Mort saw the skyline he loved so well cresting on the horizon. “We're a hell of a pair, aren't we? How are we going to make it through this investigation without bloodying each other's sense of pride, Chief?”

“We're going to do it on purpose, of course. Step by step.” Her dark eyes flashed with a gentle humor he found appealing, and her smile warmed him. “And maybe that first one is you calling me Rita. How's that?”

Ten minutes later Mort pulled into the parking lot of the headquarters of the Seattle Police Department. Rita said she'd interview Blue Dancer herself later in the afternoon. Mort promised to keep her informed on what Jimmy was able to uncover on Jerry Costigan. Before she got out of the car, Rita turned to Larry, still sitting mute and haunted in Mort's backseat.

“This was a tough day for you, Larry.” Her voice was soft and compassionate. “What can you do to be gentle with yourself this evening? Who can you be with?”

Larry stared at her as though trying to match her face with her name. Like he'd been far, far away for a very long time and was struggling to reorient himself with what was once familiar. Finally, he blinked and gave her a halfhearted smile.

“I'll be fine, my dear. Thank you for your concern.” Larry opened his door. “And be sure to thank your entire force, will you? I know they're doing their best to resolve this situation as quickly as possible.”

Mort wished he had Larry's grace for just one day. Maybe then he'd be able to understand what it was like to speak without the impediment of a permanently lodged foot pushing against his back molars.

Rita wished them both a good day and headed back to her squad car. It would be nearly five o'clock by the time she got back to Enumclaw, but Mort knew she'd be working more hours before calling it a day. He turned to Larry.

“She's right, you know. Today was tough. You want to grab some dinner later? Or I could just come by your place. We could talk or not. Drink or not. Your call.”

Larry gave Mort the same pale smile he'd used to reply to Rita Willers's concern. “I prefer solitude, if it's all the same to you, Mort. I'll spend time again with Helen's letters. I have some writing I should be doing, but the hell with that. I feel the need to reconnect with my wife. The lovely woman that sad, pathetic man stole from me.” Larry held out his hand. Mort clasped it. “Thank you for today. You're right. It was difficult. But it helped.”

“How?”

Larry thought for a moment. “Kamm had no reason for killing Helen. His brain was filled with stories of demon spirits. He killed the devil he believed he'd encountered. He'll have to live with that, now that he's sober. It was a random, stupid, senseless act of violence. I don't have to search for a meaning anymore. Because there was none. It just happened.”

Again Mort admired Larry's grace. “Carlton's murder was different. He was targeted. There
was
a meaning behind it. And we'll find it, buddy. I promise you.”

Larry nodded his head slowly. “Of that I have no doubt, Morton. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to an evening with my Helen. And I'll be back at Carlton's tomorrow. I need to continue my cataloging of his possessions. Let me know if you care to join me.”

“Damn it, Dad.” Mort could hear Robbie's irritation through the phone. “I've been calling all morning. Every number.”

Mort explained he'd been at the prison all day. “Nothing gets through those walls, Robbie. I don't care how strong the signal. But I'm here now. What's wrong? Everybody okay?”

“Nobody's bleeding, if that's your question. But, no. We're not all right.” Robbie went on to explain the call he'd gotten from a parent of one of the twin's classmates. She'd been upset that Hayden and Hadley had been highlighted as being the most special girls in the classroom and wanted to know what he and Claire had been thinking with what she called “that little stunt.”

“She started ranting about how
her
daughter was special. How
all
children are special. And maybe because I was some hotshot author—her words, not mine, by the way—maybe I thought I could send actors dressed like fairy-tale princesses and sugar up the other kids with cupcakes and magic spells.”

Mort was bewildered. “Hold on, now. It's not the girls' birthday. What did you and Claire do?”

Robbie's voice squealed with frustration. “We didn't do
anything
! That's what I'm trying to tell you. I no sooner hung up from this mother—who didn't believe for a second we didn't have a hand in this, of course—than the twins walk in. I ask them what the hell. Hadley tells me she doesn't like it when I swear and storms upstairs to her room. Hayden stands there staring down at her shoes. I ask her to explain what happened in school today and she describes a presentation worthy of the Disney Channel. Gowned princesses. Proclamations. Cupcakes. All for the two most special girls in the world, Hayden and Hadley.” Robbie stopped to inhale shakily. “And who do you think arranged that extravaganza?”

Mort felt his throat close. “Was Allie there?” he asked. “At the school, was she there?”

“Not that I know of.” Robbie's fury pulsed through the connection. “I called the school and reamed out anybody I could get hold of. The teacher. The principal. I threatened to pull the twins out if they couldn't keep them safe.”

Mort imagined the faculty and administration's confusion. To most people such an extravagant display may have seemed over the top, to be sure, but hardly dangerous. He was certain Allie would have been her most charming when she set it up.

And he knew firsthand the mountains Allie's charm could move.

“Where are the girls now?” Mort asked his son.

“They're here. With us. Claire's fit to be tied. She's threatening to sit with them through the entire school day. Hadley's upset that we don't like what Allie's doing. Hayden's upset that Claire and I are yelling. They're confused, Dad. They're excited about having an aunt. They talk about how pretty she is and how nice she is. I'm sure Allie seems like royalty to them. They can't understand why their mom and dad don't want them to see her.” He dropped his volume in case little ears were listening. “I can't tell them Aunt Allie is a bad influence. That she hangs with drug dealers and murdering maniacs.”

Like I can't tell you your sister does more than associate with those killers. She's become one herself.

“Let me see what I can do, Robbie. In the meantime, I'd recommend you call the school and get the twins' assignments for the next couple of days. It's Thursday. Hopefully I'll be able to get this resolved with Allie before the school week starts again, but let's be on the safe side and keep 'em at home for a while.”

Robbie heaved a frustrated sigh. “Dad, she could be anywhere. After I ripped into him, the principal called the agency that sent the cupcake princesses. According to them it was all arranged over the phone. Paid in advance on PayPal. For all we know Allie could be in Bali or Paris or who-the-hell-knows-where. How can I protect my family from a threat I can't see?”

It tortured Mort to hear his son refer to his daughter as a threat. But he was right. “Let me check into things, Robbie. I have resources.” It took a few more minutes to calm his son, but by the time he hung up Robbie sounded closer to his sensible self. Mort urged him to take his family out for pizza and promised to call him as soon as he'd spoken to Allie. He assured Robbie everything would be all right and hung up.

He wasn't so sure that was true.

Mort glanced at the clock. There wasn't much time. He pulled out his cellphone and punched a number programmed into his speed dial. He got her voicemail. Of course, she'd be with a patient, unable to pick up his call. He waited for the tone and left a brief message.

“Lydia, I need you to find Allie. Call me when you do.”

He hung up just as Bruiser lumbered his furry self into Mort's office. Jimmy DeVilla was two steps behind him. Mort shoved the miserable mystery of wondering what Allie might be up to and shifted gears to the murders at hand.