Chapter 27

Seattle, Washington

Wednesday to Thursday, March 4–5, 2020

Once off the phone with Caroline, I called Marisa back and gave her an update. I think she sounded disappointed that I had

left the ball about further contact in Caroline’s court, but I felt that was the right call. With Jeremy still in the dark

about all this, any communication between them had to be done at times when Caroline was able to speak freely.

I had expected to go straight back to viewing the mini-mart footage, but Officer Harriman tapped on the door. “Time’s up,”

she said. “Shutting down for the day. Will you be back tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan,” I told her.

“All right then,” she said. “You can leave all your crap in here. I’ll lock it up so no one disturbs it. That way I won’t

have to have someone put it away tonight and then drag it out again in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”

I headed for the barn—in this case the Westin in downtown Seattle, and that was a good thing. After spending hours studying video footage and talking on the phone, my eyes were worn out and so was my butt. Chairs in evidence rooms aren’t designed for putting in a full day’s work. Not only that, driving ninety miles to get home would have been tough. While I’d been locked away in a windowless room that was smaller than Mel’s walk-in closet, the weather had taken a turn for the worse.

I checked in, went up to my room, and ordered a carafe of coffee from room service. My crosswords were calling me, but I decided

it was time to give Kyle a call and let him know how things stood.

When he answered the phone, he sounded excited. “Hey, Gramps,” he said. “Did you know that Hank’s car is a freaking Shelby?”

Color me surprised. Shelbys were new when I was Kyle’s age. How the hell would an eighteen-year-old Gen Zer (If that’s what

they’re called these days!) even know about Shelbys? I made the mistake of saying as much.

“How do you know about Shelbys?” I asked.

“Didn’t you see the movie?” he asked.

I was caught flat-footed. “What movie?”

Kyle sighed. “ Ford v Ferrari ,” he answered, sounding aggrieved.

“Never heard of it,” I said.

“It’s a terrific movie,” he told me, “and I’ve got the DVD. We should watch it together sometime once you’re back home.”

Having been pleasantly surprised by The Martian , I went ahead and agreed with him. “Yes,” I said, “by all means, let’s. Maybe we could invite Hank to join us.”

“That would be great!” Kyle agreed enthusiastically, surprising me for the second time in less than a minute.

“On another subject,” I said, “would you like an update on your case?”

“My case?”

“I’m a private investigator. You’re the client who asked me to look into the background of one Caroline Richards, and I’m

prepared to fill you in on what I’ve learned so far.”

“Please do,” he said, and so I did.

“Does my dad know about any of this?” Kyle asked when I finished.

“Not so far,” I replied, “unless Caroline clued him in after we got off the phone this afternoon.”

“So I probably shouldn’t tell him?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I cautioned. “This is something that needs to be sorted out between the two of them—your dad and

Caroline.”

“Okay, then,” Kyle agreed. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

My room service coffee arrived right then, so I signed off with Kyle to go answer the door. Once I took my first sip, I realized

I owed Todd Hatcher a call as well. He needed to know where his trail of aliases had led me and that, for the moment at least,

I no longer required his services. When I called, I reached his voicemail, so I left a brief message to that effect, and let

it go at that. Next I called Lulu Benson and brought her up-to-date as well.

My mother was big on my saying please and thank you, and following her advice on that score has served me well during my years

as a homicide cop. When someone helps me, I make it a point to thank them.

Tired of talking, I ordered dinner from room service to go with the rest of my coffee. After dinner I climbed into bed and finally got around to tackling my backed-up supply of crossword puzzles. Somewhere along the way, I drifted off. When Mel called me at ten o’clock to tell me good night, I was already fast asleep. I suspect I may have growled at her a little. Being awakened out of a sound sleep so someone can tell you good night can be annoying.

By nine o’clock Thursday morning I was back at the Evidence unit. Officer Harriman’s greeting wasn’t entirely welcoming. “I

think you forgot about your damned bananas,” she muttered. “They’re starting to stink.”

She was right. When I opened the door to the locker, they were way beyond what my mother would have turned into banana bread,

so I unloaded them into the nearest trash bin, which happened to be in the men’s room off the lobby. Then I followed Officer

Harriman back down the hallway where she unlocked the door to my evidence room closet. I wasn’t looking forward to spending

another day staring at a computer screen, but that was what I had signed on for.

Since Officer Harriman had allowed me to leave the evidence room intact, I was able to go right back to where I’d left off,

which was examining the mini-mart parking lot. I could have picked up the action at 5:07 p.m. —Loren hadn’t shown up at the Fremont Inn until hours later, and there was no telling when his killer might have arrived in

the neighborhood—but for the sake of completeness, I backed up the footage to the twelve p.m. time stamp.

This time studying the video was a two-pronged process. Even though the woman I’d seen following Loren Gregson to his death hadn’t been pushing a loaded grocery cart, that’s what I looked for again, at least in the foreground—a stray grocery cart. One of Darius’s fellow food bank volunteers had mentioned to me that he had been assisting that supposedly homeless woman back to her van, so I looked at vans, too—ones coming and going in the mini-mart parking lot as well as those passing by on the street.

It was painstaking, mind-numbing work. Two hours in I was only up to 2:35 p.m. on the time stamp, but I was done for, and so were my eyes, so I took a break. I happened to know that there was a Krispy

Kreme in the neighborhood. Wanting to worm my way back into Officer Harriman’s good graces, at lunchtime I went looking for

it. I bought a box containing a dozen glazed doughnuts—two for me to eat for lunch and ten more to leave in the break room

at the Evidence unit. Yes, I’m well aware that cops and doughnuts are a cliché, but the reason they are is that they happen

to go together, sort of like love and marriage, as it were.

On the way back I drove past another longtime favorite—Pecos Pit Barbecue. Since I’d only brought along one change of clothes,

I had already determined I was going home to Bellingham that night come hell or high water, so why not come home a hero? Mel

adores Pecos Pit, so I stopped by and stood in line at a building that had started out decades earlier as a gas station. Most

of the hungry customers were on their lunch breaks. I was the only one ordering an entire family dinner, which consisted of

a batch of some-assembly-required barbecued beef sandwiches, keeping the buns separate from the meat. Then, armed with tubs

of beef, coleslaw, and baked beans, I texted both Mel and Kyle, letting them know that I’d be home in time for dinner and

that I was personally in charge of that evening’s takeout.

To say Officer Harriman was thrilled when I dropped off my peace offering on my way past would be an understatement. Once in my evidence room closet, I went back to work. Three more hours in and shortly after six p.m. on the video time stamp and three p.m. in real time, I called it quits. If I wanted to beat the worst of the traffic, I was probably already too late.

Officer Harriman glanced at her watch. “You’re heading out early today,” she observed.

“I live in Bellingham, so I’ve got a ninety-mile drive ahead of me.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

I now had more than 150 emails in my inbox, most of them interview transcripts from Yolanda’s assistant. I had already decided

that I’d spend the next three days at home sorting my way through those.

“I won’t be back until sometime next week,” I said as I signed out on the clipboard. “I’ve got some other things to catch

up on, and I’ll be working from there over the weekend.”

“Whoever he is, he must be loaded,” Officer Harriman said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your client, of course,” she said. “With all the hours you’re putting in, you must be costing him a fortune.”

I didn’t bother telling her I was working for free.

“Yup,” I said. “People get what they pay for.”

“Well, you take care now,” she added with a smile. “Afternoon traffic around here can be a real bitch.”

Thank God for Krispy Kreme!

Officer Harriman was right on both counts—traffic was a mess, and I was putting in way too many hours on this project. What had started out as a favor for Benjamin Weston was now a sprawling case with four known victims and possibly others as well. The scope of it should have required the creation of a whole task force, but so far it was a task force of one. If I was ever able to identify the female suspect, I was pretty sure I’d be able to get someone at Seattle PD to reopen the case, even if I had to pull in a favor from Ron Peters, but for right now, if it was to be, it was up to me.

Despite heading out early, I didn’t arrive home much before dinnertime where my Pecos Pit Barbecue was received with even

more enthusiasm than Officer Harriman had shown for her Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Over dinner I gave Kyle and Mel both a detailed

update on my progress with the unmasking of Caroline Richards.

“Sounds like she’s had a pretty difficult life,” Mel commented. “After what she’s been through, it’s hard not to feel sorry

for her. No wonder she’s somewhat troubled.”

“And she wanted you to tell me she’s sorry?” Kyle asked. “What’s that all about? What’s she sorry for?”

“Who knows?” I said. “For messing up your life, maybe, or for making a pass at your friend? Take your pick.”

“Do you think she’ll contact her aunt?”

“No idea,” I said. “I hope so, but there’s no way to tell. So that’s what’s been going on with me. What’s been happening with

everyone else?”

“You know,” Mel said dismissively. “Same old, same old.”

I took that to mean there was likely something going on at work that she didn’t want to talk about in front of Kyle. Whatever

it was would have to be discussed between us later and in private.

“What about you?” I asked, turning to Kyle.

“You’ll never guess,” Kyle said.

“What?”

“Hank is going to teach me how to drive a stick shift! Isn’t that great?”

I almost choked on my last bite of barbecued beef sandwich. I had some idea of how much a restored 1966 Shelby Mustang would be worth, and putting a teenaged driver behind the wheel of one of those sounded like a recipe for disaster. In other words I didn’t think it was great at all, and since Kyle was probably still listed as an inexperienced driver on his parents’ car insurance policy, I doubted Kelly and Jeremy would be thrilled by that news, either.

“In the Shelby?” I managed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I’m not,” Kyle replied. “He said we’ll go somewhere out in the boonies for me to learn. I don’t think any of the other kids

my age know how to drive a standard transmission.”

I was about to say something to the effect that there’s no way in hell that’s going to happen, but Mel beat me to the punch.

“That’s right,” she said with a smile. “When it comes to joyriding teenagers, standard transmission vehicles come with built-in

immunity.”

That was enough to make me laugh. It also got me off my high horse. If Hank Mitchell was dumb enough to let Kyle drive his

freshly restored automotive heirloom, who was I to stand in his way?

Kyle, completely oblivious, continued in the same vein and with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“I told him about the movie— Ford v Ferrari . Turns out he’s never heard of it, either. I know his wife is working tonight. Could we maybe invite him over to watch it?”

And that’s how, after spending hour upon hour staring at video footage in the evidence room, I unexpectedly ended up watching

a movie that night. Truth be told, I enjoyed the hell out of it, and I think Hank did, too.

I’m beginning to think Kyle Cartwright has pretty good taste in movies.