The Killing Game (12 page)

She considered adding that Carter had met with Blake Carrera about selling the Allencore block of ten cabins, but before she could, he asked, “How’d that go over?”

She smiled. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, and she found her smile widening at the sound of his amusement. “I’m looking forward to meeting them both,” he said.

“Remember you said that,” she warned him, to which he said good-bye, still chuckling.

Chapter Seven

September shoved her cell phone in her pocket, grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, and called to Gretchen as she headed for the squad room door, “Tynan Myles is at Tiny Tim’s. Hannah just sent me a message.”

Gretchen grabbed her coat as well, camouflaging her gun and holster. “I hope to hell they have air-conditioning,” she grumbled, making her way outside.

Gretchen climbed behind the wheel of the department-issue Jeep and backed out of the lot expertly. Strapped into the passenger seat, September rechecked her cell and added, “He’s managed to sidestep us too many times for it to be coincidence.”

“Eh, he could just be lucky that way. How’d you get the daughter-in-law to tip us off?”

“She’s sick of me asking to talk to either Tynan or Caleb. She doesn’t want us talking to either of them, apparently, but she chose to give up her father-in-law before her husband.”

“Think there’s a reason for that?” Gretchen asked, squinting against the sunlight bouncing off bumpers and windshields as she eased into the traffic

“Other than she doesn’t want to deal with it? No. I get the sense that neither Caleb nor Tynan will be all that excited about being interviewed by the police, and that Hannah thinks they’ll get pissed at her for being the liaison.”

“It’s a little early to hit the bars, or is this Tynan’s usual?”

“Hannah acts like he spends a lot more time out of the house than in, but that may be because of Greer.”

“Tynan’s grandson.”

“Or granddaughter. Could you tell?” September asked curiously.

Gretchen gave a thin smile. “Likely one or the other.”

Half an hour later, they reached Tiny Tim’s, a rambling board-and-batten building stained a reddish-brown color, the windows lit from inside with Corona and Budweiser beer signs in glowing green, yellow, and blue neon. There were some scraggly laurel bushes at the front entry that could have taken over if they weren’t so starved for water, their leaves dry and sunburned. September supposed the place would look more inviting in the evening. On a hot Friday afternoon it looked dusty and neglected, and the country western music peeling out was of the sorrowful, wailing sort.

As it turned out, there were a lot of people standing on the rough-hewn wood floor, hovering around the bar and pool tables, starting the weekend early. September had a rough idea of Tynan’s age and Hannah had said he worked construction.

There were two fiftyish men sitting at the bar, one in a business suit and one in a pair of jeans and a gray work shirt. The group of pool players were millennials, and there were three other Tynan possibilities scattered around the tables, two with baseballs caps atop their silver-haired heads.

September zeroed in on the man at the bar. He was alone, and the other men seemed to be hanging with buddies. She knew next to nothing about Tynan Myles, but something about the way his daughter-in-law talked about him made September feel like he might be a bit antisocial.

“Mr. Myles?” she asked, standing to his right side.

He was hunched over a beer and flicked her a look. “Who wants to know?”

“Laurelton PD,” Gretchen answered in a cool voice.

He straightened and swiveled around to give them each a hard look. “My, my. You two sure do credit to the department.”

“We’ve been trying to connect with you,” September said.

“Hannah tell you were I was?” He picked up his beer and took a long drink.

“She said she’d told you we wanted to talk to you?”

“Little rat fink. I told her to keep her nose outta my business, but here you are.” He swept a hand expansively in their direction.

“We just want to talk to you about Phillip and Jan Singleton.”

“Who?”

September suspected he knew exactly who she was talking about but would have played along if Gretchen hadn’t growled, “Are we gonna play this game? That’s what you want to do? That’s your choice?”

“Hey, missy. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

September put a shoulder between them, completely aware that to Gretchen, them’s was fightin’ words. “You knew the Singletons. They lived right across the street from you.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re talkin’ about the old people who offed themselves. Pretty crazy.”

“You know exactly who we’re talking about,” Gretchen said through her teeth.

September hurriedly put in, “That’s correct. And Jan Singleton’s brother, Harold Jenkins, died at the house earlier.”

“Yeah, he lived there a while. We just didn’t see him no more.”

This was far more than she’d expected. Encouraged, September swept on before Gretchen could say anything, “That’s what we understand. There’s an ongoing investigation, but the piece we’re concentrating on is the discovery of an approximately eighteen-year-old male’s bones. We have no identification on him, so we’re talking to anyone who might remember someone of that age around the Singleton home about ten, twelve years ago.”

“There’s that granddaughter.”

“It’s a
male
,” Gretchen said with forced restraint.

“I heared you all right. That girl ain’t no thirty years old or so neither. Just thought she’s closer to the dead guy’s age than I am, that’s for sure.”

“Frances didn’t live at the house until her grandparents died,” September told him.

“Caleb didn’t live with me neither, so I guess he’s no help, huh?”

“None at all,” Gretchen said.

“That’s why we’re talking to you,” September reiterated.

Now that he’d gotten over trying to stay out of their way, Tynan Myles seemed to think it all a great lark that they were talking about his “crazy” neighbors. He launched into a long-winded account of some past Fourth of July when Phillip Singleton had suffered third degree burns on his hands from holding a firecracker too long. “Stupid dumbo,” Tynan cackled. “Lucky he didn’t lose any fingers. His thumb was like raw meat there for a while. I remember that.”

“Did you know Nathan Singleton, their son?”

“Nathan . . . yeah, I knew him.” Tynan’s mood darkened. “He was in love with that stupid dumbo wife of his, what the hell was her name?”

“Davinia,” Gretchen supplied.

“That’s right. Davinia. She was screwy as a three-dollar bill, I’ll tell ya, but he just wanted her like a drunk wants a drink. Always rubbing her arm whenever they were around, and you just knew he wanted to be rubbing something else. She always looked kinda bored. Never understood why they got married in the first place, except Nathan just wanted her, and maybe she thought he had some money.”

“Why was she screwy as a three-dollar bill?” September asked, and Gretchen turned to give her a what-the-hell look. She clearly thought September was going off point, which she was, but she was curious about Tynan’s thoughts.

“Well, you know, new boobs, new nose, newfangled diet. Always wantin’ more, and Nathan didn’t have much. You know that car he drove off the cliff was about a month old. Financial troubles. With her always raggin’ on him about the next thing, you can see why he did it.”

“You’re saying he caused the accident on purpose?” September asked.

“He killed himself and his wife.” Gretchen’s tone was disbelieving.

Tynan shrugged. “That’s what Mom always thought, but that was before she went . . .” He circled his finger beside his ear.

“Your mother. Grace Myles?” September clarified.

“Hannah tell ya she’s batty?”

“It’s your mother’s house you all live in,” Gretchen said. “But she’s in assisted living.”

“House is mine. Smart lawyer got her to sign it over before she went completely nuts. Had to wait a few years before she went into Memory Care so the state wouldn’t take it back. She kept wandering off and we’d have to fetch her and drag her home. Finally, we could put her in that place and let the state take care of her. You know how much it costs? Nothin’ for us now, thank the good Lord, but woo-wee.”

“How well did your mother know the Singletons?” September asked.

“Better’n I did. Lot better.”

“Do you think she’d remember them?”

Tynan gave September a long look. “She’s batty. Remembers stuff from years ago. Pops out with it. But it don’t make a lot of sense. No rhyme or reason, y’know? Just whatever floats across her dumb brain.”

“In your expert opinion,” Gretchen said sardonically, “do you think it would be worth our while talking to her?”

Her tone wasn’t lost on Tynan. He thought about taking offense, actually opened his mouth to snap back, but then thought better of it and clamped his lips shut tight for a few moments before adding, “Go on ahead. She’s at Maple Grove Assisted Living.”

“Do you know anyone else on the street that was friends with them?” September asked.

“I wasn’t around all that much. You could talk to Mr. Bromward. He’s been there forever.”

“He’s at the far end of the cul-de-sac from the Singletons.”

“He’s got cats,” Tynan said, making a face.

“We’ve met with him,” Gretchen said.

“Can you think of anything else about the Singletons?” September tried, realizing they’d about tapped him out.

He stared down at his now empty mug and shook his head. “Hey, Tim, I’m dry,” he called to a bald, overweight man with a Humpty Dumpty look about him. Tim waddled over, picked up the mug, and thrust it under a spigot of Budweiser.

Back in the Jeep, Gretchen shot September a look as she turned out of the lot.

“Maple Grove Assisted Living?”

“Do you think it’ll do any good?”

“Nope.”

September grimaced. “Should we make another run at Bromward? At least he wanted to talk to us.”

“Yeah, because he’s lonely, and he didn’t know anything. And no shit about the cats.”

“Lots of cats,” September agreed.

“A hundred.”

“Twenty,” September corrected.

“Twenty’ll turn into a hundred real quick unless he gets rid of some of them and gets the others fixed.”

September made a face. “Let’s go see him. Next week we can talk to Grace Myles.”

“An exercise in futility.”

“Probably, but we’ve interviewed most of the people on the street. Tynan was about our last one. A couple more of the husbands, but they’re too young and new to the area for me to have much faith in them knowing an elderly couple who kept to themselves.”

“What about the Chinese people?”

“What about them?” September responded. “Their daughter says they don’t know anything. They haven’t been there long enough to matter either. Where we are now is to the previous homeowners. I’ve talked to a couple. You’ve talked to a couple.”

“I really don’t want to see Bromward again,” Gretchen admitted on a long-suffering sigh. “I’m allergic to cats.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay. Fine. I just don’t want to go.”

“You’d rather go to Maple Grove Assisted Living?”

“I’d rather go back to Tiny Tim’s and drink a beer with Tynan,” she said under her breath, “but Aurora Lane and Mr. Bromward’s cats it is.”

* * *

Ray Bolchoy opened the door to Luke, then settled back in his brown leather La-Z-Boy and to the glass of Jameson he was nursing. Luke sat down on the couch, which could have used a deep clean. Bolchoy, a confirmed bachelor, was an excellent investigator, but a housekeeper? Not so much.

“How’s the private side?” Bolchoy asked in his gravelly voice.

“Coming on. Greg Wren’s widow just hired me.” He told Bolchoy about Andi’s encounter with Brian Carrera. He didn’t tell his former partner of her pregnancy, but he did relate what she’d said about her brother- and sister-in-law. He finished with, “I’m meeting her tomorrow at the cabin she just bought on Schultz Lake.”

His answer to that was a grunt.

Luke added, “Glad the hearing went well.”

“Don’t have my job back, though.”

There was nothing to say to that. They both knew he’d pissed off the department enough over the years for a re-hirement to be unlikely.

Bolchoy lifted his glass toward Luke, silently asking if he wanted a drink. Luke shook his head. “The night before the hearing, Amberson, Yates, DeSantos, and I went out. Iris showed up, too.”

He shot Luke a look. “You back with her?”

“No.” Luke was firm.

“Bet she isn’t pleased about the hearing.” He offered up a thin smile. “Corkland wanted me to go down for this.”

“He didn’t have enough evidence.”

“Yeah, but he leans toward the Carreras.”

“The DA?”

“He doesn’t like going up against ’em. Knows they’re dirty, but he’s a chickenshit. If I’d managed to actually get something on ’em, he’d be in a real hard place.”

“Do they have something on Corkland?”

“Nah. Corkland just has no spine. Iris has more than he does, but she thinks sunshine beams shoot out of the guy’s ass. He can do no wrong.” He downed the rest of his drink. “But you came here for information on taking down the Carerras.”

“I’ve tried to contact Peg Bellows, but so far she hasn’t gotten back to me. Where did she land after everything? She and Ted were friends with the Carreras, or at least they thought so, initially.”

“That’s what she says,” Bolchoy agreed sourly.

Luke knew the story of Ted Bellows’s death, but he wanted to refresh his memory before he contacted Bellows’s widow. “Ted Bellows died on a fishing trip. The Carreras chartered a boat out of Tillamook Bay that was destroyed by a sudden squall. Coast Guard got to the wreckage and saved the captain and crew member, but one of the Carreras and Ted were on an inflatable, and when that turned up, only Carrera was on board.”

“Brian Carrera.” He harrumphed and settled himself deeper into his seat. “Bellows’s body floated up a day later. Whole thing ruled an accident. The truth is Brian Carrera’s an opportunist. My bet is he saw how to get rid of Bellows once and for all. The captain saw them in the inflatable together before his own fishing trawler broke apart. The ones who survived were lucky to be saved.”