J. Jance - Name Witheld

Suddenly, reflected in Grace Highsmith's straight-backed disapproval, I caught a glimpse of generations of Highsmith familial warfare in which rebellious daughters were evidently the rule rather than the exception. If Grace and her sister's generation had given rise to permanent hippies, Latty Gibson would turn against her own upbringing and evolve into an ultra-right-wing, conservative, card-carrying Republican.

"As I said," Grace continued, "Latty never attended a regular school. As a consequence, she's grown up lacking the most rudimentary skills for getting along with other people. Not surprisingly, she sees herself as the consummate outsider. Now that she's older, I've been trying, in some small way, to give her the opportunity to see and experience how normal people live. Have you ever met my niece, Detective Beaumont? Latty, I mean."

I shook my head. Seeing Latty Gibson in Bill Whitten's surveillance video didn't count as an official introduction.

"She's a very beautiful young woman," Grace said. "And I'm not just saying that because she's my niece. She's lovely, but I don't think that fact has ever dawned on her. When Abby became pregnant with Latty, back in the early seventies, she absolutely refused to marry the young man who was the baby's father. Why she found him so repugnant, I'll never know. He's done all right for himself. He went on to become a very successful lawyer down in California. Now he's a judge on the California State Court of Appeals. And he paid child support the whole time, although Abby never told Latty any of that. She made him out to be a complete monster which, I suppose, is typical.

"Anyway, growing up in that kind of an atmosphere, with only sporadic influence from sensible people like her grandmother-Florence died several years ago-or me, you can imagine that Latty is quite confused when it comes to members of the opposite sex."

"And that's where Don Wolf comes in?"

"It certainly is," Grace said.

Raising a discreet finger, she signaled for yet another flute of champagne. In all my years of being a cop, I don't think I've ever conducted an interview in quite such elegant surroundings or with quite so much bubbly. Champagne and homicide interrogations don't generally go hand in hand.

"Latty met him at one of those dance clubs downtown someplace just a few weeks ago. Right before Thanksgiving. As soon as she told me about him-you have to understand that Latty tells me things that she'd never dream of telling her mother-as soon as she told me about him, I knew it was serious. There are telltale signs you see, if you just know what to look for. A funny little glow young women get about them when they're falling in love for the first or second time. I noticed it right away-the glow, I mean. The upturned corners of her mouth. And, of course, he was all she could talk about for days on end. She told me that he was as serious about her as she was about him, that he wanted a relationship.

"I understand that word-relationship-is very big now," Grace added with a thoughtful frown. "In my day, girls didn't want a relationship; they wanted a wedding band. The really sensible ones still do."

"Let's go back to Don Wolf for a minute," I interjected, but I could just as well have saved my breath. Once Grace Highsmith launched herself into her story, nothing anyone else said could sidetrack her.

"Years ago, I told Abby that I was leaving everything I own to charity-to Children's Hospital. That is no longer true, of course. Since Latty came back to Seattle late last summer, I've reconsidered that position. The poor girl wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth, although she certainly could have been. And due to the haphazard way she's been raised, she didn't have the advantage of a real education, either. I've been encouraging her to take courses at Bellevue Community College and that kind of thing. I picked up Dorene's when a friend of mine retired due to ill-health. I've worked there part of the time because it's fun and because I enjoy it. But I'm letting Latty manage it for me to give her a little on-the-job training in the world of business."

"About Don Wolf…" I hinted.

"Oh, yes. I do tend to ramble a bit now and then. According to my will as it is currently written, Latty will be my sole beneficiary. That includes paying those ridiculous amounts Suzanne tells me are so-called generation-skipping taxes. That being the case-Latty being my sole heir, I mean-I was interested in learning more about this Don Wolf character. Latty kept hinting that she thought he was wonderful husband material, and I didn't want her marrying some gigolo.

"As far as I could tell, however, there were several bad signs. I knew he was new to town and quite a bit older than she was, so I did the only sensible thing-"

"And hired a private detective," I finished.

This time, Grace Highsmith's smile was nothing short of glowing. "Why, Detective Beaumont, how in the world did you know that?"

"I am a detective, too, remember?"

Grace laughed. "Why, yes, I suppose you are. Well, Virginia Marks comes from a longtime Eastside family. Her grandparents' place was just down the road from ours-from our summer cabin, that is. Back then, the Marks family was fairly well to do, but then they ran into some bad investments and had to sell out far too early to reap the kind of financial benefit that would have been possible only a few years later. Both Virginia's parents died while she was fairly young, and so she and her brother have pretty much had to shift for themselves. That's not all that bad. Working is good for you, don't you think?"

I nodded and then attempted to steer things back to the question at hand. "So you hired Virginia Marks to do a background check on Don Wolf. Then what happened? Did she discover anything important?"

Grace Highsmith didn't answer immediately. While she seemed to struggle with indecision, Suzanne Crenshaw reached out and grasped the older woman's forearm. "Grace, if you've changed your mind…"

"No, thank you, Suzanne," Grace managed. "I'll be fine in a minute. It's just terribly difficult, you know. Terribly difficult."

She took a deep breath and looked at me. "Don Wolf raped my niece, Detective Beaumont. It happened last Wednesday night, around midnight, in his office in downtown Seattle."

"How did you find out about it?" I asked.

"Latty told me, but I would have known even if she hadn't. Virginia was following them that night, and she saw them coming out of the building afterward. Latty was crying. Her clothes had been torn to shreds. From the way Latty looked as they came out of the building, Virginia deduced what had happened. She reported the incident to me, and I asked Latty about it the next day. I told you before, my niece is quite incapable of lying. That's another thing Abby never taught her-the art of telling a plausible fib when necessary. So she admitted the whole thing, even though it broke her heart to have to do it."

"What happened next?"

"What do you suppose? I had my detective find out where that low-down worm would be and when I could catch him unawares. Then I went down to the shop, took the gun out of the drawer where we keep it-for protection, you see. And after that, I took care of him."

By then, Suzanne was shaking her head in obvious despair. "Grace, please…" she objected, but Grace ignored her completely.

"Where did you find him?"

"I had told Latty not to see him again, but she made arrangements to meet him down in Myrtle Edwards Park at eleven-thirty on New Year's Eve. I followed Latty there, and when she left him alone, I shot him."

"Where?"

"In the park. I already told you."

"Where exactly did you shoot him? In the face? The chest? The back of the neck?"

"Does that matter?" Grace Highsmith asked. For the first time she looked slightly flustered.