J. Jance - Name Witheld

When I stepped aside to allow her and the dog aboard the elevator first, however, she looked decidedly harried. And knowing that some of her holiday company had been staying with her for the better part of three weeks, I guessed at the problem.

"When do you finally get your life back?" I asked.

She flashed me a woebegone smile. "Maybe never. I'm sure you heard all about it."

"All about what?"

"My mother took Charlie for a walk today and forgot how to get back to the building. Luckily, one of the Denny Regrade security officers spotted them and knew where they belonged. I hate to think what would have happened if he hadn't come to the rescue."

I had been introduced to Gail's mother, Nina Hopper, at a Belltown Terrace pre-Christmas party. Nina, a birdlike woman in her mid-to-late eighties, had seemed bright enough when I talked with her, but we had spoken for only a matter of minutes.

"She forgot where the building was?" I asked.

Gail nodded. "My sister had mentioned her growing forgetfulness and that it was becoming more and more worrisome. She had talked about getting one of those bracelets for her, so other people could help her find her way home if need be. Here in a strange city, her getting lost like that could have been disastrous. And then after that mess with the hot tub…"

"What mess with the hot tub?" I asked.

"Don't tell me you didn't hear about that. It even made the news. Mother thought she would help me out by cleaning the bathroom. She must have put half a bottle of liquid soap in the tub. Then she turned on the water and the jets and shut the bathroom door. By the time I realized what was happening, the bathroom was floor-to-ceiling bubbles. I guess it made a terrible mess in the party room." The door opened and Gail and Charlie stepped off.

"You mean your mother did that?" I asked, holding the door open.

"Yes."

"Did you know that Dick and Francine blamed Heather and Tracy?"

Gail nodded. "It's an understandable mistake, I suppose. I didn't have a chance to tell them about it until late last night, after I finished cleaning up the mess in my own apartment."

I tried not to let my face betray the smug relief I felt now that the girls had been totally exonerated. "I'm sorry things are so bad with your mother, Gail," I said sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do?"

She looked at me and smiled. "You already did it," she said. "You gave me a way of letting off steam before I walk back into the apartment. Believe me, that's a big help. Good night."

I rode on up to my own floor. It struck me that Dick Mathers, Belltown's resident manager, ought to go on TV and make a public apology for accusing Heather and Tracy of the hot tub bubble caper, but that didn't seem likely. Dick Mathers isn't the apologizing type.

Once in the den, I pored over the tapes on my big-screen TV. Unfortunately, it didn't make any difference. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make out the license number on the back of the Crown Victoria. I'm enough of an expert to know that enhancing a video image is possible, but I didn't have either the technical skill or the equipment to do so, not there in my apartment at nine o'clock at night.

The phone rang about then, offering a welcome interruption. "Detective Beaumont?" a man's voice asked uncertainly.

"Yes."

"This here's Norm Otis with Yellow Cab. I know I was supposed to call you earlier this evening, but it's been real busy tonight. This is the first chance I've had."

"That's all right, Mr. Otis. Did Sally Redding tell you what I wanted?"

"She sure did. About that poor girl from last week. I'm glad to hear someone's doing something about it. I felt really sorry for her, just as sorry as I could be. I don't think I've ever heard anybody cry as hard as that. Like her heart was broken. But she didn't hire me for my advice-only to drive the car-so all's I could do was take her where she wanted to go."

"Where was that?"

"Main Street in Bellevue, number one zero two eight five Main Street."

"Sally Redding already gave me that," I told him.

"If you already knew where I dropped her, why do you need to talk to me?" Norm asked.

"Is that a house? An apartment?"

"Neither. A business," Norm answered. "Looked to me like a china shop. It worried me that she was getting out at such a strange place in the middle of the night, so I made sure she was safely inside before I drove away."

"Do you remember the shop's name?"

"A woman's name, but I don't remember any more than that."

"It wasn't open, was it?"

"Are you kidding? This was the middle of the night. Sometime after midnight. No, but she had a key. She let herself in, and I saw her monkeying with a keypad right by the door, so she must have been turning off an alarm."

"It's probably where she works," I surmised.

"I'd say," Norm Otis agreed.

"Did she mention anything at all about what had gone on before you picked her up?"

"No, but you could sort of figure it out. I mean her clothes were torn half off. She had a cut on her lip. And the asshole who did it had nerve enough to walk her out to the curb. Had to be him, because he was in his shirtsleeves, and she was wearing a man's jacket. He tried to open the door for her like a gentleman, just as nice as can be. As if nothing in the world had happened. But she wouldn't have nothin' to do with him."

"And she didn't say a word about what had put her in that state?"

"Nope. Not a word. Like I told you. She gave me the address and then cried her eyes out the rest of the trip, from downtown Seattle right on across the I-Ninety bridge." Norm paused a moment and then added, "Are you going to get that guy, Detective Beaumont?"

"I don't have to," I told him.

"Why not?" Norm asked.

"Because somebody else already has. He's dead."

"Dead?" Norm repeated.

"Murdered," I said.

"Hot damn!" Norm replied. There was another pause. "Who did it?"

"I don't know. I'm the detective assigned to the case. I'm working on it."

"It wasn't her, was it?"

All too clearly I remembered what Latty had said to Don Wolf on the tape and in the heat of absolutely understandable anger: If you touch me again, I swear to God I'll kill you.

"It could have been," I said carefully.

"Jesus," Norm Otis whispered. "I hope not. She was a real pretty little girl. Looked just like a young Marilyn Monroe. Isn't there such a thing as justifiable homicide in cases like that?"

"There is," I said, "but it's hard to prove. Besides, I'm just a cop. All that legal crap is up to the prosecutor's office and the defense lawyers."

"Maybe she'll find herself one of those smart lawyers who'll get her off," Norm Otis said wistfully. "But let me give you my home number just in case somebody needs it. I mean if it would help for someone to know what kind of shape that poor girl was in that night, I'll be glad to go to bat for her."

"We'll see," I said. "Go ahead and give me your number. We'll need to get a statement from you anyway. Just in case."

Ten

I fell asleep some time before the news came on, and slept like a log. One phone call at a time, I was making progress, and my evening's worth of phone calls made me feel as though I was on track. I woke up early, rewrote the several reports the computer had eaten the day before, and then headed for the office. I was sitting in my cubicle using the Ethernet card on my computer to send files to the printer on our local area network when Watty poked his head in at the doorway.

"The captain wants to see you," he said. "He's looking for your paper."

"He can have my reports," I said, "just as soon as I finish printing them."

I never should have said it aloud. The words were no more than out of my mouth when a message decorated with a tasteful stop sign flashed on the screen. PRINTER IS OFF