The Fractal Murders Part 29

We ended up back in the kitchen. She was calming down. She offered lemonade and I said that sounded great. Before taking a seat beside her gla.s.s dining table, I removed my blazer and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. She noticed the Glock, but said nothing. She handed me a tall gla.s.s of cold lemonade, then sat down in the chair to my right with one of her own. Bright yellow lemons with green leaves adorned each gla.s.s.

"Do you think this is related to the case?" she asked.

"Seems a good bet," I said. "Nothing's missing and it comes at a time when we seem to be making progress." It also came only one day after I'd visited the Koch Group.

"I was afraid you'd say that," she said. She gave me a feeble smile and I put my palm on top of hers in an effort to rea.s.sure her.

"Does anyone else have a key to your unit?" I asked. There were two ways to enter the town house. One was the front door, the other was through the garage. None of the doors appeared to have been tampered with, but the lock on the front door wouldn't have been difficult for an intruder with any skill. There wasn't even a dead bolt.

"No," she said.

"The owners' a.s.sociation?"

"No," she said, "just me." I sipped my lemonade. "What could they have been looking for?" she asked.

"Maybe someone was hoping I'd given you some written reports concerning the case."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a guess," I said. We sat in silence for several minutes. I knew she didn't want to be alone, but I wanted to question the neighbors before the trail became cold. "Stay here a few minutes," I finally said. I stood and put on my blazer. "I'm going to knock on some doors and see if anyone saw anything." She nodded, but I saw the fear in her eyes. "Lock the door behind me," I said. "I'll be back soon."

Jayne's town house was one of eighteen three-story units. My first six knocks went unanswered. On my seventh try I was greeted by two grade-school boys waiting for their mother to come home from work. They were playing Risk and hadn't seen anything. I continued around the complex and noticed an older man kneeling in a flower garden in front of one of the town houses. He was in his mid-sixties, but tan and fit. Silver hair. He wore a white T-shirt, blue shorts, running shoes, and a tan golf hat. No socks. "How are you doing?" I said.

"Can't complain," he said.

"You live here?" I asked.

"Sure do," he said.

"Nice garden."

"Thanks."

"A friend of mine lives in that unit over there," I said as I pointed, "and we-"

"The math professor?"

"Yeah."

"Nice lady," he said. He stood up and faced me. He was about five-eight and possessed a hawkish nose.

"We're wondering if you saw anything unusual or suspicious here today?"

"You a policeman?" he asked.

"Just a friend."

"Used to be a homicide detective," he said. "Retired five years ago. Thirty-four years on the force, so the bulge under your coat caught my attention. Men packing heat are the only ones wearing getups like that on a day like today."

"I'm a private investigator," I said. I handed him a card.

"Lawyer, huh?"

"It's a long story," I said.

"You may be the first private investigator I've ever met with half a brain," he said.

"Jury's still out on that," I said.

"I did see something unusual this morning," he said. I kept silent. "About eight-thirty a dark blue sedan pulls up and parks out there on Pearl Street. Crown Victoria, four-door. Fella gets out, sees me, and starts walking in the opposite direction. Big fella, about your age, maybe a little older."

"Tall and skinny or tall and muscular?" I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

"No, he had muscle," the man said. "Must've weighed two-twenty at least." That eliminated Finn.

"I knew the guy was on the job right away. He had that look about him, and the car had all sorts of antennas on it. Figured the guy must be federal because I didn't know him and the federal boys always drive big Fords these days. Didn't think much of it at the time."

"How long was his car here?" I asked.

"No more than thirty minutes."

"Did you get the plate number?"

"Colorado plates," he said. "A-M-K 8115."

"A-M-K?" The prefix one witness claimed he'd seen on the car outside Carolyn Chang's home the night of her disappearance.

"Yeah."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Positive," he said. "I've got a knack for remembering those things." I wrote it down. "It won't do you any good," he said. "I'll guarantee you it's a dummy plate. They use them for undercover operations and things like that. That info's not available to the public."

"Could you run it through your connections?" I asked. He a.s.sessed me and his conclusion must've been favorable.

"Sure," he said. "Give me a day to work on it."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Thomas Hammond," he said. We shook hands and I told him a little about my background, then thanked him for his help. "Is your lady friend in trouble?" he asked.

"She hired me to look into something, and that's evidently making some folks nervous. Looks like someone broke into her home and searched it while she was at work."

"I'll keep an eye on it," he said.

Jayne looked through the security eyepiece in the door, then let me in. She seemed more composed. "Did you learn anything?" she asked.

"I think you might have had a visit from our friend Polk." I took off my blazer and related what I'd learned from Hammond.

"Wonderful," she said. "That man was creepy even before I knew he might be a killer."

"This will all be over soon," I said. I didn't know that with certainty, but at the time it seemed like a good thing to say.

"I don't want to stay here tonight," she said.

"You're welcome to stay with me," I said.

"What if he tries to get into your house?" she asked.

"He won't," I said. "He knows I've got a weapon and the will to use it." She eyed my pistol. "Besides," I said, "Buck would wake up the entire town before Polk got within a hundred yards of the house."

"I'll follow you in my car," she said. She walked upstairs, packed an overnight bag, and followed me up the mountain in her silver Saab 900.

It was just after six when we arrived. I let the dogs out, then clicked on the CBS Evening News. Jayne made herself comfortable on the sofa.

"You want a gla.s.s of wine?" I asked.

"Sure."

"Red, white, or pink?"

"Anything with alcohol," she said. I poured us each a gla.s.s of white zin and sat down beside her.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"A little."

"Pizza okay?"

"Sure."

I picked up the cordless and called Backcountry. "What do you want on it?" I asked.

"No anchovies," she said. I ordered a large pizza with mushrooms and garlic, then let the dogs in and fed them.

After we'd eaten and consumed more wine, we channel-surfed for fifteen minutes, but we agreed that there was nothing worth watching, so I clicked off the TV. The wine had helped her relax. She noticed my CD collection and walked over to see what I had. "This may be the most diverse collection of music ever a.s.sembled," she said. "I mean, to see Stirring Marches of the American Services right next to Hollywood's Singing Cowboys boggles the mind." She was teasing me, but in an affectionate way. She finally selected a collection of songs by Nat King Cole, then turned off the overhead lights, returned to the couch, and cuddled up to me.

We talked and enjoyed the music. I kissed her. She kissed back. Always a good sign. It went like that for an hour. Under the circ.u.mstances I figured I could miss SportsCenter. At ten-thirty she yawned and said, "Let's go to bed." I was pretty sure she meant the same bed.

I let the dogs out a final time while she disappeared with her overnight bag. When she came out of the bathroom, she was wearing a powder blue camisole with matching satin shorts. Buck and Wheat looked betrayed when I closed the bedroom door before they could enter.

I brushed my fangs, stripped to my boxers, then took Jayne in my arms. "You look wonderful," I said. She blushed, and we stood there holding each other.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I want you to do this because you want to, not because you're afraid and need to be with someone."

"I want to," she said. She tapped the tip of my nose with her index finger to emphasize the point.

When we had finished making love and were about to fall asleep in each other's arms, I realized I'd forgotten to take my medicine. I gave her a peck on the cheek and climbed out of bed. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Forgot to take a pill," I said. I opened the bedroom door to head for the kitchen, and when I did the dogs rushed past me and onto the bed. Jayne laughed and pulled the covers over her head so they wouldn't lick her to death. I took my pill with a little water and returned to the bedroom. "They usually sleep with me," I explained. "You want me to evict them?"

"No," she said, "it's a big bed." I climbed in next to her and turned out the light. We were facing the same direction, me on the outside, her on the inside. Our bodies fit like two pieces of a perfectly cut jigsaw puzzle. I covered her neck and shoulders with light kisses and debated whether to bring up the big D.

"I've been wanting to tell you something," I said.

"This would be a real bad time to tell me you're married," she joked.

"Nothing like that," I said. She turned to face me and waited for me to continue. "I suffer from depression," I finally said. "I have to take medication for it. That's why I had to go take a pill."

She smiled and said, "You had me worried for a minute."

"If we're going to be spending time with each other, I felt you had a right to know." I told her I'd suffered from depression since Joy's death, but that the medication worked wonders for me, and I was generally as happy as the next existentially pained ex-lawyer.

"Lots of people suffer from depression," she said. "At least you're doing something about it."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Not particularly," she said. She caressed my cheek. "Sounds like it bothers you."

"The whole thing is sort of a blow to my male ego," I said.

"Even Pepper Keane can't be perfect," she whispered. She kissed me good night and we drifted off to sleep.

The alarm went off at six-thirty and we made love again. Then we lay on our backs, her head resting on my chest, both half asleep. The phone rang and I wondered who would be calling so early in the morning. I picked up the receiver. "Pepper Keane," I said.

"You sound hungover," Scott said. "Too much wine last night?"

"It wasn't wine that I had too much of . . ."

"It was a 'double shot of your baby's love'?"

"Yeah."

"You were dying to say the whole thing, but you couldn't because she's right next to you?"

"Right."

"Who did that song?"

"The Swingin' Medallions," I said. "What do you want?"

"You're gonna love this," he said. "Seems our boy Polk flew to Boston the Sunday before Underwood died. He flew under his own name and used a government credit card to pay for the ticket."

"You're gonna love this," I said. "He attended his high school reunion in Richland, Washington, one day before Fontaine was murdered."

"Jesus," he said.