Authors: J. A. Jance
“See there?” He grinned once the door closed behind her. “Around here I get some respect.”
The two platters contained burgers smothered with thick chili, melted cheese, and chunks of chopped onions. Ray took a bite, followed by a sip of coffee. “Reminds me of the Doghouse,” he said. “Sometimes I really miss that old place.”
The Doghouse is a restaurant a few blocks from my condo in Seattle. Ray and I frequented it the whole time we were partners. I go there less often now that Peters and I work together.
I was ravenous. We had barely made a dent in the two platters when we heard a commotion outside. Ray’s phone rang. “What is it?” He listened, then held the phone away from his ear and covered the mouthpiece. “Somebody named Ames. Says he’s your attorney.”
“Ames! Ida must have found him.”
“You want to see him?”
“Sure.”
“And a guy named Peters?”
“Him too.”
LeAnn opened the door. Ames strode purposefully into the room, talking as he came.
“Look here, Chief Johnson, I demand to see my client at once!” Ames stopped abruptly when he spotted me sitting with a plate on top of Ray’s desk scarfing down chiliburger as fast as I could shovel. Peters, directly behind Ames, almost rear-ended him.
“What the hell!” Peters exclaimed. The looks on their faces would have been comical if they hadn’t been so serious. They had broken speed laws in two states, driving through the night to rescue me from jail, only to find me happily chowing down with the Chief of Police. I stood up, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Ralph, I’d like you to meet my former partner, Chief Ray Johnson. Ray, this is Ralph Ames, my attorney, and my new partner, Detective Ron Peters. “
“You guys hungry?” Ray asked, indicating the half-consumed chiliburgers. “We could order a couple more. It would only take a minute.” Peters stifled a shudder of disgust and shook his head. Ames said a polite “no thank you” and got straight to the point.
“What’s going on?” So I started the story again, from the beginning. I had reached almost the same point where Ames and Peters had made their entrance when the phone rang again. “No lie? He’s here?” Ray said. “Send him in.”
Hal Huggins came in. Ray showered him with the effusive cordiality one reserves for a late arrival at a class reunion. Once pleasantries were exchanged, the story reverted to square one. I was beginning to wish I had taped it on the first go down so I could turn on a machine and listen to it, rather than repeating it again and again. When I finally finished, there was a long silence.
Huggins spoke first. “I didn’t figure him to be that smart,” he said. “Who?” I demanded.
Obviously, Huggins knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“Wilson. Don Wilson.”
“Why him?” Peters asked.
“The calendar,” Hal answered. “Ginger Watkins’ calendar. Beau found it in a garbage can up at Rosario Sunday night. Wilson’s prints are all over it.” “Where’d you get a copy of his prints?” I asked. “From the F.B.I. Wilson served in the army.”
Ray looked dubious. “How’d you get an F.B.I. report back so fast? Those things take months.”
“You forget. Parole board members are political appointees. Governor Reynolds placed a call to the White House, and the F.B.I. found his prints in short order.”
“So it is Wilson after all,” I mused.
“Looks that way,” Huggins agreed. “I’m getting a search warrant today.” He turned on me. “You’re sure he wasn’t’at the funeral? “I’m sure. Believe me, I looked.”
Huggins was thinking aloud. “I wonder if we could request any of the television videotape and have someone go over it looking for him.” “Could be,” Ray agreed. “Some of them are pretty good about it.” Hal continued. “He had to be there, must have followed you to the Red Lion. He saw you meet Mona Larson and decided to add one more notch to his scorecard. And frame you in the process. “
I thought back on my drive into Pasco. I could remember no cars on the road behind me, but I hadn’t been looking. I shook my head. “I didn’t see any,” I said. “But why frame me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Muddy the water a little,” Huggins suggested. Peters nodded in agreement.
“Had you told anyone that you planned to stay overnight in Pasco?” Ray’s homicide instincts were still good, even though he had kicked himself upstairs.
“No. How could I have told someone? I didn’t make up my mind until I was almost here and decided to see you.”
“Either he followed you or knew where Mona was staying,” Peters put in. “How did you find out?”
“I asked one of the limo drivers over in Welton.”
“And they told you?”
“They didn’t act as if it was any big secret.”
The phone rang again. Ray answered. “Put it through,” he said. He switched on the speakerphone on his desk.
“Is this Chief Johnson?” a voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Lee Hawkins. I’m an aide to Governor Reynolds. We’re just confirming that you have a suspect in custody in the deaths of Mona and Sig Larson.”
“We do not have a suspect. But we were told-“ There was a pause. “What about Ginger Watkins? We understand her death has been. reclassified as a homicide. ” “I repeat. We do not have a suspect in custody. In fact, I’ll be calling a press conference at seven.” Ray paused, turning his chair to consult an old pendulum clock that hung on the wall behind him. In Roman numerals the clock said the time was sixeighteen. “I’ll be issuing the Pasco Police Department’s official apology to Detective J. P. Beaumont. ” “But the paper said-“
Hawkins began.
“The paper’s wrong,” Ray interjected. “They often are, you know. Detective Beaumont is not a suspect in any of the cases, and we have no one else in custody.”
“But the governor is ready to announce that he is withdrawing protection from the parole board.”
“He’s better retract that withdrawal,” Ray said into the phone. “In fact, if I were him, I think I’d extend protection to all parole board family members as well.”
I waved a hand to get Ray’s attention. “Ask him about the victim/witness protection program.”
Ray shot me a questioning look, then shrugged. “Someone here is asking about the victim/witness protection program.” I mouthed my question to Ray, and he repeated it into the phone. “Someone wants to know when it will be ready.”
Hawkins knew exactly what we were talking about. “Tell him not until the next legislative session convenes in January.”
“Is that all you need to know?” Ray asked me. I nodded. Ray put down the phone. “What’s that all about?” “Maxwell Cole said Wilson thought an announcement on that program was imminent.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” Ray replied, getting up and opening the door. “LeAnn, let the members of the press know that I’ll be holding a press conference at seven A.M. In the city council chamber.”
He turned back inside the room, grinning. “You know;” he said, “I think I’m actually going to enjoy this one.”
Chapter 21
WE did enjoy the press conference. For once we caught the media absolutely flat-footed.
When I walked to the podium with Ray, you could have heard a pin drop.
Ray Johnson went straight to the microphones as naturally as if he had been doing it all his life. In ten months he had indeed become a police chief rather than a homicide detective. He was totally at ease.
“Before I issue my statement, I want to introduce you to some guests. On my right is Detective J. P. Beaumont of Seattle P.D. Next to him is Ralph Ames, Mr. Beaumont’s personal attorney. Next to him is Detective Hal Huggins of the San Juan County Sheriff’s Department.
“What I have to say is short and sweet. The City of Pasco and its Police Department deeply regret that Detective Beaumont here was mistakenly arrested as a suspect in the murder of Mona Larson. We wish to express our sincere apology for any inconvenience this may have caused.
“We are pursuing several leads in the Larson case and are, in fact, working on a major suspect. I repeat, Detective Beaumont is not that suspect. My understanding is that, after consulting his attorney, Detective Beaumont has agreed not to press false-arrest charges against this jurisdiction. However, some legal action may be contemplated. I believe Mr. Ames will be speaking to that issue. Mr. Ames?” He yielded the platform to Ralph.
Ralph Ames looks unassuming. He dresses conservatively and well, but he’s a real tiger in negotiations or in court. He stepped to the bank of microphones.
“Thank you, Chief Johnson. Yes, I have advised my client that false-arrest proceedings would be ill-advised. However, in the next few days we will be reviewing all media coverage of my client’s arrest to determine whether we have grounds for defamation of character or libel suits in conjunction with media treatment of the incident. It’s possible some of the reports were in fact libelous.”
Ames sat down, leaving the hall in utter silence. I happened to be looking directly at Maxwell Cole when Ames made his pronouncement. Max blanched visibly, his complexion turning a pukey shade of green. Ray resumed the microphone. “Any questions?” There were none immediately. No one was eager to leap into the breach. Eventually, one brave soul near the back tentatively raised his hand. “Do you believe there’s a connection between Mona Larson’s death and that of her husband?”
I could see Ray’s smile coming a mile away. “No comment,” he said. “I understand the governor has now extended State Patrol protection to all family members of the parole board as well as to board members themselves. Is that true?”
“`You’ll have to ask Governor Reynolds about that.”
“Can you tell us why Detective Huggins is here?” Ray turned to Hal. “Hal,” he said, “would you care to answer that?” We were having a good time. I could see Peters in the back of the room with a broad grin plastered across his face.
“No comment,” Hal said.
That got the message across. The reporters could see we were having fun at their expense. There were no more questions.
“Well then,” Ray announced, “I guess we’re finished.”
We left the council chambers together. Back in Ray’s office, we couldn’t help chortling.
We milled around for a few minutes, deciding on the next move. Ames and Peters had been up all night; they were wom out. They wanted to use my room at the Red Lion for a nap. My rented car had been impounded, pending investigation. The crime lab agreed to release it to Avis when they were done with it.
Peters left Ames and me in the station lobby and walked two blocks to get his Datsun.
For the first time I noticed how haggard and drawn Ames looked. He was weary beyond words. “You look like hell,” I said.
“You wouldn’t win any prizes yourself,” he returned, his voice cracking with exhaustion, “now that his press conference adrenaline had worn off.” He flopped down in one of the brown leather waiting-room chairs, resting his head on the wall behind him.
“We lost.” His voice was low. I almost didn’t hear him. It took a minute for me to realize what he was saying. At last I tumbled. “The custody hearing?”
He nodded. “We got an old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool conservative judge who figures only mothers are fit to raise children. No matter what.” I dropped into the chair beside him, chagrined that I hadn’t given the custody hearing a moment’s thought.
I had never seen Ames so down. He’s usually the steady one, the eye of the hurricane.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “How’s Peters taking it?” I felt responsible. Peters had pretty much given up the idea of ever getting his kids back until I butted in, encouraged him to fight for them, and told him we’d turn the problem over to Ames. I had watched Peters’ hopes rise as the custody hearing neared. Now all that hope had come to nothing.
“Not well,” Ames said. He looked at me closely. “Have you ever seen those two girls of his?”
I shook my head. “He was divorced long before we started working together. “
“They’re cute as buttons, both of them, and they were ecstatic to see him.” “What happens now?”
“I don’t know. I need to think about it. The New Dawn attorney made a couple of broad hints, but I’m not sure he’s on the level.”
Peters pulled up outside and honked. We went out. Ames crawled into the backseat while I slipped into the front with Peters. While we had been involved with the reporters, his face had been animated, alive. Now a morose mask covered his handsome features.
“I’m sorry about the hearing,” I said.
He put the car in gear. “Win some, lose some,” he said, feigning nonchalance. It didn’t work.
“But the girls are all right?” I insisted.
“Sure,” he flared. “They can’t have shots because shots show a lack of faith. They live on a diet or brown rice and fruit. Milk is a luxury. They have it once a week. On Sundays.” Peters’ anger played itself out.
He fell silent.
“So what do we do now, coach?” I asked, turning to Ames in the backseat. He shook his head. “I don’t know. We took our best shot. I’ll have to see what other avenues are open.” Ames didn’t elaborate, and silence lengthened in the little car.
“Thanks for coming to get me, you guys,” I said. “Both of you. “
“It’s okay,” Peters responded. “My turn will come.”
Peters and Ames went up to my room to get some sleep. I was wide-awake. I went down to the lobby. On one of the lobby chairs I found an abandoned P.L Curiosity got the better of me, overcoming my natural aversion to newspapers. I wanted to see what had made Maxwell Cole turn green when Ames mentioned libel suits. By picking up a discarded paper, I could read the column without giving them the satisfaction of paying for it. Max used the words “rogue cop” over and over. He might have coined the expression himself. The story didn’t contain much that was different from the other garbage he’s written about me over the years, except for the Mona Larson allegations.
I had a feeling this was one instance where Max’s retraction would receive prominent coverage. If I were in his shoes and thought Ralph Ames was coming after me with a libel suit, I’d be looking for cover. I did pick up one other piece of useful information from reading the newspaper. Ginger Watkins’ funeral would be held on Thursday afternoon.
No time or place was given, but included in the brief announcement was Ginger Watkins’ father’s name. He was listed as a resident of Centralia. Tucking that tidbit away in the memory bank, I worked the crossword puzzle in ten minutes flat. For me, that was something of a record. My presence in the lobby created a continuing stir. Mary Kay ladies sporting May Kay nametags and Mary Kay faces wandered by, staring openly.