Authors: J. A. Jance
We each had huge omelets with crisp hash browns and thick, jam-covered toast. As far as I was concerned, it was a celebration. I was getting closer and closer to nailing those bastards. Nothing definite. Strictly circumstantial, but closer nonetheless.
Darrell Watkins, Homer Watkins, and the deceased Don Wilson. Gradually I was closing in on the truth.
Hurrying back to my apartment, I pawed through the receipt shoebox until I found my bill from Rosario. The long-distance phone calls were there-time, duration, phone numbers, and charges. Thank God for computer printouts. I saw the problem immediately.
How could Homer have been seen by Blia Vang at seven o’clock Friday night, less than an hour after he had phoned my room and left word for Ginger to call? Her answering call to Seattle was right there on my bill, dialed direct from my room. The time on the printout said sevenforty. The call from Orcas to Seattle had lasted six minutes.
Settling into my recliner, I studied the list of phone calls with minute care. Again on Saturday, there were calls to Seattle numbers, one to Homer in the early evening and one to Peters much later. I didn’t bother to work the crossword puzzles Ida Newell had dropped outside my door. I sat there and wondered why Blia Vang had lied to me, or if she hadn’t, how had Homer Watkins managed to be in two places at once.
Chapter 35
MONDAY morning I woke up early and waited until six before I called Ray Johnson in Pasco. Evie answered the phone. “Just a minute, Beau. Ray’s in the shower.” Evie and I chatted amiably until Ray came on the phone. “How the hell are you?” he boomed.
“I need your help, Ray.”
“Sure thing. What’s up?”
“Remember that morning when we were all there in your office and the governor’s office called?”
“I remember. Just before the press conference. They wanted to make sure we had you safely under lock and key.”
“Do you happen to remember the man’s name? The governor’s aide?” Ray Johnson is an encyclopedia of names. Once he hears one, he doesn’t forget it. When he left Seattle for Pasco, I felt as though I had lost my right arm. I had come to depend on him to remember names for both of us. “Just a minute now,” he said. “Hold on and it’ll come to me. Something to do with a bird. Hawk c Hawkins. That’s it, I’m almost sure. What do you need him for? I thought the case was all sewed up.”
“Except for a couple of loose ends,” I said. By ten to eight I was suffering from a serious case of twentyfour-minute flu. I called the Department at eight. Peters wasn’t in yet. Margie took the call.
“I’m not feeling well, Marge,” I said, doing my best to sound feeble. “I hope it’s not stomach flu,” Margie sympathized. “That’s going around. My kids were both down with it last week and missed two whole days of school.” By five after eight, I was in the Porsche heading south on the freeway, feeling much better. It was a miracle.
As I drove toward Olympia, my mother’s words came back to me. “One thing about Jonas, he doesn’t let good sense stand in the way of what he wants. ” My mother’s twentyfive-year-old words still held the ring of prophecy. What I was doing didn’t make good sense. J.P. Beaumont, good sense to the contrary, was turning up the heat under Homer and Darrell Watkins, attempting to smoke them into the open. It was best not to use a direct attack. I parked as close as I could to the governor’s office on the governmental campus and walked in as big as life. I asked the doe-eyed young receptionist for Mr. Hawkins.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No,” I said, flashing my ID in her direction. “But I’m sure he’ll see me just the same.”
I was right. Within five minutes I was shown into Lee Hawkins’ office. I handed him my City of Seattle business card which he examined with some care. “Weren’t you the one-“
“Who was mistakenly arrested in Pasco?” I supplied helpfully. “Yes, I am.” He nodded.
“I thought so. The name looked fanuliar. What can I do for you?” He dropped my card onto his desk.
“I’m actually here about the Washington State Victim/Witness Protection Program.”
“I see.- “What’s going on with that?”
“Well, we’ve been involved in negotiations with the Senate and House Judiciary Committees.
There’s no question that the program will cost money, although the governor’s office supports the idea wholeheartedly.” He paused and looked at me. “Is this on or off the record?” “Off.”
“We’ve about ironed out all resistance. We’re hoping it’ll be presented as a joint bill early next session. “
“No announcement will be made prior to that?” “That would be premature, Mr. Beaumont.”
“And no announcement was planned for the parole board retreat on Orr-as?” “Absolutely not.”
Just in case my message hadn’t gotten through, I added one final hook. “That’s funny. Don Wilson was sure there would be an announcement at Orcas.”
Lee Hawkins smiled. “He must have been mistaken.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Thanks.” I left and drove straight back to Seattle. If somebody called to check on my health, the invalid should be at home, in bed. And if somebody took the bait, the fisherman should be hanging onto the other end of the pole for dear life. Predictably, the phone was ringing as I got off the elevator. It was Peters.
“Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be sick.” “I needed some medicine,”
I lied. “How’re the girls?” “They’re in school. The baby-sitter Ames hired will pick Heather up after kindergarten. Tracie can walk home by herself. Mrs. Keen-that’s the baby-sitter’s name-will stay until I get home tonight. Do you have everything you need? Yogurt, or maybe some Pepto-Bismol?” “Everything, thanks. I’m much better.
What are you doing?” “Manny and Al are trying to negotiate a peace treaty with the feds to extradite Farley from Canada.”
“Good luck.” I was glad I wouldn’t be there to fight and lose the opening rounds of the paperwork war. I’ve seen more than one crook hole up across the border, hiding out in plain sight behind a mountain of red tape. “Get well,” Peters said. “See you tomorrow.”
I fixed a pot of coffee, sat down, and put my feet up. The next caller was Ames, totally focused on business. “What about the reward money?” “Never mind. The witness may have lied to me. We’ll have to see.” “Okay,” Ames said agreeably. “Whatever you say.”
“How’s Cody?” I couldn’t resist catching him off base. Ames was trying with some difficulty to concentrate on work. His obvious confusion was laughable. He hesitated, half switching gears, attempting to maintain his dignity. “She’s working today. I don’t know doing what.” He paused again, scrambling for what to say next. “I guess, as long as I’m here, I’ll go ahead and mother-hen the penthouse deal. Are you going to do any customizing?” I hadn’t thought about it. “What do you suggest?”
Ames sighed. “I’ll get a couple of decorators to take a look and see what they say.”
“Just one thing, Ames.”
“What’s that?”
“Wherever I go, my recliner goes.”
“Right,” he said.
He hung up. I poured myself a cup of coffee. And waited. It was the calm before the storm. I was convinced the storm was coming. Who would call, Darrell or Homer? I figured it was a toss-up. When the phone finally rang at four that afternoon, it was a delivery boy bringing flowers. I buzzed him into the building and opened the door without even bothering to check the peekhole. The crime prevention unit would have drummed me off the force.
“Hello, Detective Beaumont,” Darrell Watkins said easily. “I’ve got a gun. You’re coming with me.” He raised a snubnosed .38 from behind the box of flowers.
He lifted my Smith and Wesson out of its holster and dropped it into a jacket pocket, all the while keeping me covered. “I understand you were making inquiries about the Victim/ Witness Protection Program.”
“That’s right.”
“Was your interest personal or professional?” “Both.- “Since that’s a program I’m interested in, too, I thought maybe we should get together and talk. Where’s your car?” “In the garage.”
“Let’s go.”
He directed me to the Watkins mansion on Capitol Hill. I walked ahead of him to the house and pushed the door open, half expecting to find Homer waiting inside, but the entryway was empty, the house itself quiet. I stepped over the threshold, tensing as I realized we were alone, hoping I could catch him off guard, take him by surprise.
Instead, something hit me behind my right ear. I went down like a sack of potatoes.
The cold woke me. I opened my eyes, thinking I’d gone blind. I could see nothing.
I struggled to move, and ran my nose into my knee. It startled me to find my knee jammed directly in front of my face. It shouldn’t have been there. I tried moving my fingers and felt my feet. Slowly it started making sense. I was tied, missed in a fetal position, with my hands and feet fastene’, together at my ankles.
I was also stark naked.
It’s tough getting your bearings in pitch darkness. Under me were what seemed to be wooden slats. A humming motor clicked off, followed by ominous silence.
I was trapped in a refrigerator waiting to die. Rocking painfully on the small of my back, I tried rolling as far as I could in one direction, hoping to find a door and figure out a way to open it. I rolled until I encountered a smooth, hard surface.
Before I could ascertain whether it was door or wall, a door at the other end of the compartment jerked open. A single light bulb next to the door snapped on, momentarily blinding me.
When I could see, Darrell Watkins was standing over me. “My, my. Aren’t we clever.
I didn’t think you’d wake up before I got back. I had to take your car downtown and park it on Third Avenue. In the bus zone. By now it’s being towed at owner’s expense.
It’ll take days to find it.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” he said agreeably. “But smart.”
“Is this how Wilson died of exposure?”
He nodded. “I let him hang around long enough for the drug to get out of his system, then I sprayed him with cold water. Worked like a charm. I never had to tie him up.
I’m afraid your rope burns will show.”
I wanted to keep him talking. I gauged the distance between us, wondering if I could roll against his legs with enough strength to knock him down. “You met him on the ferry?”
“He met me on the car deck so I could give him a copy of the govemor’s proclamation.”
“But there was no proclamation.”
Watkins shrugged. “Don Wilson didn’t know that. He got in the car, I gave him one little prick with this, and he went nightnight. ” He held up a hypo, the needle glinting in the light from the bulb near the door. I made a tentative roll toward him. He laughed and stepped away. “None of that,” he said.
“Wilson went off the ferry in your car?”
“That’s right. Out cold on the floor of the backseat. I put him 203
in the trunk later. He slept like a baby until Sunday when I finally got him back to Seattle. I had plenty of time to see Sig Larson.”
“And kill him?”
He grinned. “That too.” He sobered suddenly. “You puzzle me, Detective Beaumont.
As far as I can tell, you’re the only one who doesn’t believe Wilson did it. How come?”
“Gut instinct. Wilson left a chicken thawing at home, and he didn’t feed his cat.
Looked like he planned to come back.”
“He did. You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you! Guess that’s why you’re there and I’m here, right?” He laughed-the maniacal laughter of someone losing his grip.
“Except for that, I was good, though, wasn’t I? Framed Wilson every step of the way, that poor, stupid bastard. He wanted to make headlines.”
“You’re the one. who called him to Orcas?”
He nodded, grinning. “You bet. I even arranged for that reporter to do a series on him. That was brilliant. “
His words reeked of ugly truth. “You’ve been planning this for a long time.”
“Months. This was my last chance before the sheriff’s sale. After that it would have been too late.”
"Mona too?”
"Mona too.”
“How did you know she was at the Red Lion?” “My father. I told him I wanted to explain why I couldn’t go to Sig’s funeral. I was waiting. When you drove up, I decided to use your car. That was masterful, don’t you think?”
“You did it for the money?”
“Money isn’t everything, but it helps. I’ll need every penny to get back on even ground.”
“You think you’ll get away with it?”
:’Absolutely! “
“How did you get Ginger drunk?”
He laughed. “You should have seen her face. She was real surprised to see me. I was waiting just outside the gate. I almost missed her because she was driving a different car. Your car. How come?” I ignored his question and repeated my own. “How’d you get her drunk?” “A hose, a soft plastic hose. That was for Tom’s benefit. She promised him she’d never drink again. Little Miss Perfect. Shoved it down her throat and poured the booze through it. She was already unconscious. It worked, too. Did you see old Tom at the funeral?” “What about the calendar. Did you take it?” If I was going to die, it would at least be with some answers.