J. Jance - Long Time Gone

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong up at Ron and Amy’s,” I explained. “When I called Ron to tell him Heather was safe, he brushed me off. A few minutes later when Heather tried calling, Ron hung up on her.”

“Maybe he’s upset with her for running away,” Mel suggested.

“You didn’t hear his voice, Mel. I know Ron Peters. He was upset-really upset. I’m thinking Dillon Middleton may be holed up at their house, waiting for Heather to come home so he can drag her along on another run for Canada.”

“You mean take her by force. As in kidnapping?”

“Exactly.”

“Is he armed?”

“I think so. Heather tells me Dillon owns a gun, although she didn’t see it with him in the Focus yesterday when they were driving north.”

“If he’s armed, dangerous, and possibly holding hostages, why haven’t you called Seattle PD?”

Good question, I thought. I said, “Because an Emergency Response Team is likely to turn Lower Queen Anne into a war zone. I have an idea how to handle this, but as I said, I need your help.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Yes, the two of us and the added element of surprise,” I said.

“How do you plan on pulling it off?” she asked.

“I’m working on the logistics right now.”

There was a long pause, then Mel sighed. “Beaumont,” she said, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a grandstanding jerk? If this goes wrong, you’ll be run out of Dodge.”

“Yes,” I returned. “I know. Now, are you coming or not?”

Another pause. “I guess I’m coming,” she said at last.

“Good,” I told her. “Bring your vest. You’re probably going to need it.”

I was starting to squeeze my body back into my old vest when I remembered the note that had been pushed under my door. I called downstairs to the lobby. “It’s Beaumont,” I said. “On 25. I understand you have a package for me?”

“Yup,” Fred Tompkins, the night-shift doorman, replied. “A cardboard box. Want me to bring it up?”

“Is there a name on it?”

“It says ‘Andrew Howard, Insurance Associates.’ ”

“Yes, please,” I said. “Bring it up.”

“That person on the phone,” Heather said when I hung up. “The one you were talking to before…”

“Mel Soames?”

“She’s the one who caused all this,” Heather said bitterly. “If she hadn’t been talking to Dillon after the funeral, none of this would have happened.”

“Talking to Dillon is Mel’s job,” I said. “She’s one of the investigators charged with finding out what happened to your mother. The person who started all this is the one who murdered Rosemary Peters.”

Heather shook her head and looked unconvinced.

“Let me ask you a question, Heather. Have you given any thought as to why Dillon was so frantic to get you to Canada?”

“Dillon loves me,” she said. “He wanted to protect me.”

“Isn’t it possible he wanted to protect himself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me before that Dillon was jealous of other guys. Rosemary wanted you to move to Tacoma to live with her. What did Dillon think about that?”

The doorbell rang as Fred arrived to deliver the box that contained years of accumulated miscellaneous car debris. I dug through it, extracted my Kevlar vest, and began strapping it on.

“Are you saying you think Dillon had something to do with Rosemary’s death?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Mel Soames and her partner have been looking at suspects who had access to your house and, as a consequence, access to your father’s very distinctive vehicle. You just told me that Dillon knew all about the secret entrance in and out of your furnace room. You also told me he has a handgun. That means he also most likely knows how to use it, which means he’d also know how to use a similar one that belongs to your father.”

“But why?” Heather asked. “Why would he?”

“Because getting rid of Rosemary would mean you wouldn’t be moving to Tacoma. And you’ve told me yourself that your father didn’t approve of Dillon. In trying to frame your father for Rosemary’s death, Dillon might have expected to unload two inconvenient people at once rather than just one. Kill two birds with one stone, as they say.”

“No,” Heather said. “I’m sure that’s not true. He could never kill anybody.”

“By fleeing to Canada he knew he’d be delaying extradition, if not avoiding it altogether. Has it occurred to you that maybe the whole idea of taking you along was to implicate you, rather than protect you? What if he wants to turn you into a patsy so you share the blame?”

Heather was shaking her head in firm denial when my phone rang.

“I’m on the Mercer exit,” Mel said. “And I asked Brad to meet us at your place. It sounded to me like calling for reinforcements was a good idea.”

She was right. “Three-to-one odds are better than two to one,” I said.

“He’s about ten minutes out,” Mel said. “I’m five. Do you have a game plan yet?”

I looked at Heather. She was still so adamantly convinced of Dillon’s innocence that I was afraid she might try to alert him to what was going on. The rough outline of my plan called for me to gain access to the house through Heather and Tracy’s secret door while others lured Dillon outside. Success in my getting inside depended on maintaining the element of surprise. Success in bringing Dillon out depended on Heather.

“Not yet,” I said. “I’m working on it.”

I put down the phone and turned to Heather. “Will you help us?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “No way! What if he gets hurt? What if something bad happens?”

“Heather, think about what might happen if we have to call in Seattle PD. It’s possible lots of people could get hurt. The guys on the Emergency Response Team are great, and they’ll do the best job they can. They’ll be focused on saving your family-your parents and brother and sister-far more than they will be focused on saving Dillon.”

“Would they shoot him?”

“If he’s holding your family hostage? Absolutely. Believe me, Heather, you and Mel Soames and I are Dillon’s best shot. The best thing that could happen would be for us to persuade him to come out of the house and surrender. We need to do that without jeopardizing his life or anyone else’s.”

I could see my words had made an impact. At least Heather was thinking about it rather than dismissing the idea entirely.

“How would you do that?” she asked at last. “Get him out of the house, I mean.”

“Why do you think he went there?” I asked in return.

Heather shrugged. “Looking for me, I guess.”

“Exactly. And he’s waiting there, hoping you’ll return.”

“Maybe he just wants to talk to me,” Heather said hopefully.

“Maybe so,” I agreed, although I didn’t think that was all Dillon wanted. “And in that case, you’re our best bet for getting him out of the house. When everyone is in position, I want you to call him on his cell phone and ask him to come outside. Once your family is safe, we’ll deal with getting him to surrender.”

“For what?”

For kidnapping you, for starters, I thought. And for beating you up. But those weren’t things I could say to Heather Peters, not right then.

“Dillon is unstable,” I said. “He needs help.”

“You think he’s crazy?”

“It’s possible,” I said.

Again there was a long silence. Finally Heather looked up at me. Behind the garish hair and the body piercings I caught a glimpse of the little blue-eyed heartbreaker who had sold me cases of Girl Scout cookies and charmed me into helping her dog-sit.