Injustice for All (7 page)

“No. I came because a little bird told me. ” Peters grinned. Then in a lower voice, “What the hell are you doing packing hardware? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“I’m sure it is. The ferry was crawling with deputies. They’re handing out copies of Wilson’s picture to everyone who gets on or off the boat. What’s up?”

Peeking around the corner, I could see Ginger and Max in deep conversation. I had noticed a small, glass-walled conference room just off the dining room. I asked to use it. Once inside, with the doors safely closed against unwanted listeners, I told Peters all I knew. Maybe not quite all. I left out a few details. He didn’t have any business messing around in my personal life.

Peters shook his head when I finished. “I wouldn’t be in Huggins’ shoes for all the tea in China. If this thing gets blown out of proportion, lots of political heads could roll. Homer Watkins isn’t a lightweight.” “How come you know so much about him?”

“There’s enough in the papers that you can piece it together. Your problem is, you only read the crossword puzzles. Crosswords do not informed citizens make.”

“Leave me alone. They’re nothing but propaganda.”

“Let’s don’t go into that, Beau. I like current events. You like history. I like sprout sandwiches. You like hamburgers. Neither of us is going to change.”

I reached for the file folder Peters held in his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to give this to a Detective Huggins. You’re not the investigating officer.”

“For God’s sake, Peters,” I protested. “Don’t be an ass. I’m the one who called and asked for it, remember?”

“Captain Powell gave me specific orders that the report goes to Huggins. You’re on vacation. Powell doesn’t want you screwing around in somebody else’s case.”

“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” I said.

Peters ignored my outburst. He had joined forces with the captain and the chaplain to corner me into a “vacation.” He, more than the rest, understood my loss. “How’re you doing, Beau?” he asked solicitously, changing topics. “You’re looking better, like you’re getting some rest. ” I smiled to myself, considering my total sleep from the night before. I decided against depriving Peters of his illusions. “Sleeping like a baby,” I said, grinning.

Huggins showed up about then. He saw us through the plateglass windows and knocked to be let in. I introduced him to Peters. Within minutes the table was strewn with the grisly contents of the envelope. Maybe Peters couldn’t give them to me, but nobody told Huggins not to. The pictures were there-the senseless slaughter,, the bloodied house. Denise Wilson had fought Lathrop. She hadn’t died easily. She had battled him through every room before it was over. The pictures sickened me, as did Lathrop’s smirking mug shot. There was no picture of Donald Wilson in the file. Without Maxwell Cole’s contribution, we would have been up a creek. “We’re screening all the people on the ferries. We’ll be talking to employees and guests here today,” Huggins told us. “Someone will have seen him. You don’t just appear and disappear like that unless you’re a goddamned Houdini.”

“He’s not at his house?” I asked. Huggins shook his head. “Is there any other way to get here besides a ferry?” I continued. “There are float planes and charter boats.

We’re checking all of them, but it doesn’t look to me as though he has that kind of money. He came over on the ferries, I’m sure of it, and we’ve got those babies covered.”

Peters smiled. “You’ve heard that old joke going around Seattle, haven’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“What does a San Juan County police officer use for a squad car? A Washington State Ferry with blinking blue lights.”

Huggins glared at him. “Very funny,” he said, “but we do a hell of a good job around here.”

Every once in a while Peters pulls a stunt that convinces me he’s not nearly so old as his years. Then there are times when he’s as wise as the old man of the sea.

This wasn’t one of those times.

Chapter 10

I CALLED Ralph Ames, my attorney in Phoenix. Along with the car, I inherited Ames from Anne Corley. In six months’ time, he had become an invaluable friend over and above being my attorney. I called him at home. “What’re you doing?” I asked.

“Cleaning the pool,” he replied.

I have little patience with people who own pools or boats. They’re both holes you pour money into. Not only that, it’s a point of honor to do all the work yourself, from swabbing decks to cleaning filters. “Did you ever consider hiring someone to do it?” “No, Beau. I don’t jog. Cleaning the pool makes me feel selfrighteous. “

“To each his own. What are you doing tomorrow?” “Flying to Portland. Didn’t Peters tell you?” “Tell me what?”

“We have a custody hearing in The Dalles on Tuesday. Keep your fingers crossed.”

Peters was at war with his ex-wife. She got religion in a big way and went to live with a cult in Broken Springs, Oregon, taking their two little girls with her. Peters wanted them back. Ames took the case, joining the fray at my request and on my nickel.

What’s the point in having money if you can’t squander it?

“That closemouthed asshole. That’s good news.”

“So what do you want, Beau? This is my day off. It is Saturday, you know.”

“How about flying into Sea-Tac today instead of Portland tomorrow? I’m up on Orcas Island. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet. I told her you’d take a look at her situation.”

“Which is?”

“Divorce. Messy. With political ramifications. Looks like collusion between her husband and her father-in-law to toss her out without a pot to piss in.”

“Are you giving my services away again, Beau?” “I care enough to send the very best.”

He laughed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. Let me call you back.” I gave him the number. As I hung up, Ginger appeared at my elbow. “Who was that?”

“Ames, my attorney from Phoenix, remember? I told you about him. I asked him to come talk to you.”

“Here? On Orcas?”

“Sure.”

“But you said he was in Phoenix.”

“He is. He was coming up tomorrow, anyway. He’s trying to get a reservation for this afternoon. “

“From Phoenix?”

“If you’re going to file on Monday, you need to talk to him tonight or tomorrow.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“Nothing. He’ll put it on my bill.”

I correctly read the consternation on Ginger’s face. “How do you rate?” she asked.

“I thought you were just a plain old, ordinary homicide detective. How come you have a high-powered attorney at your beck and call?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I came into a little money.” “A little?” she echoed.

“Some,” I conceded.

“I see,” Ginger said.

“You done with Cole?” I asked, changing the subject. “He’s one happy reporter.” She grinned. “That story will make Darrell’s socks roll up and down. It should hit the paper tomorrow. ” “What did you say?”

“Enough. I named names. At least a few of them. A private detective had already checked those out. Darrell will come across as an active philanderer. Hot stuff.”

We left the lobby and walked toward the new room where housekeepers had moved Ginger’s things. “What do you think Darrell will do?” I asked. She gave a mirthless laugh.

“He’ll huddle with Homer and the PR man. The three of them will decide how to play it. Name familiarity is name familiarity. They may get more press if they do an active denial. They’ll take a poll and decide.”

“That’s pretty cold-blooded. “

“Um-hum.”

“But how are you going to feel with your personal life splashed all over the front page?”

We reached the building where her new room was. Ginger stepped to one side, waiting for me to open the door. The eyes she turned on me were luminously green and deep.

“I just found out about personal,” she said softly. “None of that is going in the paper.”

There was a tightening in my chest and a catch in my throat. Mr. Macho handles the compliment. I tripped over my own feet and stumbled into the hallway. I found her room, unlocked the door, and handed her the key. “Are you coming in?”

The invitation was there, written on her face, but I shook my head. “Ames is supposed to call my rbom. I’d better not.”

“Does that mean I can’t see you? Have I been a bad girl and you’re sending me to my room?” she teased.

“No. Let me see what’s happening as far as Ames and Peters are concerned. Maybe you and I can go on a picnic.”

“Terrific. I’ll change into jeans.”

“Wait a minute. I said maybe.”

She looked both ways, up and down the hall, then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Please.”

“Well, all right, now that you put it that way.”

Smiling, she disappeared into her room. I returned to mine. I had gotten a second key for Peters, and he was there waiting when I arrived. “Who’s your roommate?” he asked casually as I flopped onto the bed. “Her makeup case is still in the bathroom.“

I wasn’t any better at sneaking around than Ginger was. I made a stab at semi-full disclosure. “Ginger Watkins stayed here last night. Didn’t I tell you?”

Peters’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“There weren’t any more rooms, and she couldn’t go back to hers. Whoever got in had a key.”

“Right.” Peters nodded complacently, humoring me. “We got a roll-away. She’s married, for chrissake!” “Okay, okay,” he said. “Have it your way. What’s the program?” “You didn’t tell me Ames has a court date in The Dalles.”

“Small oversight.” Peters grinned. “So we’re even. What’s going on?” “I asked Ames to come up here tonight. I’m hoping he can help Ginger with her divorce. “

“And you still expect me to fall for that crap about a roll-away bed?” He laughed.

As I threw a pillow at him, the phone rang. It was Ames. “I get into Sea-Tac at five-fifty.

Can someone meet me?”

“We’ll flip a coin,” I told him. “One of us will be there. What airline?” “United.“

“Okay. I’ll book rooms here.”

“Rooms?”

I glared at Peters. “Peters snores,” I growled into the phone. “I sure as hell don’t want him in my room, and you won’t want him in yours, either. Besides, they’ve just had a bunch of cancellations. I know rooms are available.”

“Rooms,” Ames agreed.

Peters and I flipped a coin. He called heads, and it was tails. I figured it was my lucky day. Considering the ferry schedule, he didn’t have much time to hang around.

I called the desk and reserved two more rooms. Up at the far end of the complex.

By the tennis courts. Adjoining. I was still on the phone when someone knocked. Peters went to the door.

“My name is Ginger Watkins. Is Beau here?”

Peters stepped to one side and rolled his eyes at me once he was behind her. She wore a full-sleeved apricot blouse and a pair of tight-fitting Levi’s that did justice to her figure. With a jacket slung nonchalantly over one shoulder, Ginger was a class act all the way. “This is Detective Ron Peters,” I said, “my partner on the force in Seattle.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Her smile of genuine goodwill had its desired effect.

Peters’ appraising glance was filled with admiration. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he murmured.

Ginger turned to me. “Did I leave my calendar here?” she asked. “It isn’t in the room, and I checked with the maids. They said they moved everything. “

“I haven’t seen it. When did you have it last?” “I don’t remember. I may have taken it with me when I went to meet Sig. It’s got the address for the meeting tonight. I’m sure someone else can tell me where the meeting is, but I keep all kinds of phone numbers in the calendar. It would be hard to replace. “

“Could you have left it in the car in Anacortes?” She considered that possibility.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” I picked up the phone and called the desk to ask if anyone had turned in the missing calendar. No one had.

“Come on,” I said when I got off the phone. “We’ll walk Peters to his car. He’s just leaving for the airport.”

“You are?” she asked. “You barely got here.”

“I did,” Peters agreed sullenly, “but shore leave just got canceled.” Peters took off in his beat-up blue Datsun. Ginger and I diligently searched the meeting rooms, the dining room, the bar, and the lobby to no avail. The calendar wasn’t there.

Rosario is nothing if not a full-service resort. While we were busy, the kitchen packed us a picnic lunch, complete with basket and tablecloth. Ginger’s enthusiasm was unrestrained. She practically skipped on her way to the parking lot. A genuine Ford Pinto, white with splotches of rust, was parked next to my bright red Porsche 928. As I went to unlock the rider’s side, Ginger >assumed I was going to the junker. She started for the rider’s side of that one, stopping in dismay when I opened the Porsche. She came around the Pinto grinning sheepishly. “Isn’t this a little high-toned for a homicide cop?”

I placed the picnic basket in the back and helped her inside. “Conspicuous consumption never hurt anybody,” I said. With a switch of the key, the powerful engine turned over. When she was alive, Anne Corley drove the car with casual assurance. I always feel just a little out of my league, as though the car is driving me. “Have you seen Moran State Park?” I asked. Ginger shook her head. “Why don’t we try that? This late in October it isn’t crowded. ” “You’re changing the subject, Beau,” she accused.

I feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me about the car,” she insisted.

And so I told her about the car. About finding Anne Corley and losing Anne Corley.

One by one I pulled the memories out and held them up in the diffused autumn light so Ginger and I could look at them together. We drove and walked and talked. We climbed the stairs in the musty obelisk without really noticing our surroundings. It was my turn to talk and Ginger’s to listen.

By the time I finished, we were seated at a picnic table in a patch of dappled sunlight with the food laid out before us. There was a long pause. “You loved her very much, didn’t you?” Ginger said at last. “I didn’t think I’d ever get over her. “

“But you have?”

“I’m starting to, a little.”