An Inner Fire (8 page)

She didn’t bother to look at the phone before answering.

“Grayce, are you alright? Officer Lewis assured me he didn’t question you. I’m sorry you had to see the violence,” Davis said.

Something in Davis’ voice restrained her from bringing up his controlling behavior. “I’m okay. It’s been such a bizarre evening. Are you all right? That man wanted to hurt you.”

“I know. I’ll probably have nightmares tonight when I think about it.” He chuckled.

What could she expect—a combatant confessing unmanly fears? No, he was buttoned up and in control. She couldn’t help but wonder if he ever let go of the invincible role.

“Grayce, you’re very quiet. Are you upset about my high-handed methods? I wish I could see your eyes right now, are they still shooting fire?”

She laughed. It felt great to release all of her tension.

“You know I might be willing to be dominated in certain situations.”

She couldn’t keep up with his quick silver mood. Now he was flirting with her. She didn’t know how to respond.

“Grayce? Don’t fall off your chair.” Again, the husky chuckle, “I don’t want to be responsible for another disaster.”

“Davis, you’re not responsible for tonight’s events. You don’t need to shield me, I’m a grown up.”

“I’ve noticed.” His voice got low, silky.

“Don’t you ever take anything seriously? Something felt wrong about the whole episode. I can’t pin it down, but there was something strange about that man.”

She wanted to confide in him about her foreboding and Mitzi’s fear, but it was too soon. He wasn’t ready or willing to discuss what had happened.

“Grayce, I’m taking the whole experience seriously, but I don’t want you to worry. Remember, I’m the investigator; I even attended the police academy.”

“Okay, I’ll let you figure it out.” She was confused and that irritated her. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Listen Grayce, I value your insight, but you don’t need to be concerned about a meth addict and his paranoid fantasies. It’s late. Can I call you tomorrow? We’ll talk more?”

“It’s okay Davis. I’m fine.”

“I’d just like to call you, okay, not to check on you, just to call you. I started to ask you if I could see you again before this all went down.” She could hear another voice in the background.

“I’ve got to go, but are we settled? I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Good night.”

Grayce hung up the phone. One moment she was laughing with Davis, feeling quite comfortable. The next, irritated by his overbearing command and his stubborn refusal to listen. Tonight’s events, like Davis himself, had too many twists to navigate. Grayce sighed and headed for her tub.

She stepped into the lavender-scented bathwater and focused on the assailant. Davis had said the guy was a druggie, but something was off with his behavior. Slipping into the deep water, she cleansed her mind of the whirls of sensations and images and reconstructed his distorted face.

She placed a hot wash cloth on her neck to relax her tight muscles. He wasn’t a typical drug addict, clearly different than the ones she encountered as a volunteer at Teen Feed. She just knew in her gut that he wasn’t a meth addict. The whole picture was wrong. Her eyes began to close. He was too focused, too vigilant. He was a man with a deadly purpose.

* * *

Davis stuffed his phone back into his pocket and headed toward Lewis. What was it about this woman? He never lost his cool. Under duress, he was calm, even nonchalant.

Lewis and Mitzi waited. Mitzi moved to stand next to Davis.

“Well, did she forgive you or are you on the couch tonight?” Lewis asked.

“You know how women are; she wanted to process my feelings,” Davis said.

Both men laughed.

“I can’t believe you got her to forgive you so quickly. My wife makes me suffer a lot longer than that.”

Lewis thought they were a couple. He knew he hadn’t behaved like himself, but felt he had acted reasonably professional. “It isn’t like that at all. She’s my dog’s acupuncturist.”

“Your poodle’s acupuncturist?” That brought another round of laughter.

“Hey, Stone, does your dog have an acupuncturist?” Lewis yelled to his partner who smiled but didn’t look up from his paperwork spread on the top of the patrol car.

“A what?”

“Never mind, I’ll tell you later.” And that made Lewis laugh again.

Davis knew Lewis enjoyed jerking him around. He had acted like an ass, taking over the crime scene and hovering over Grayce, but the woman elicited his most protective feelings. She was sensitive. Lewis was right. He had rushed to stand guard over her. There was something ethereal about her that made him want to keep her safe, away from the gritty way of the world.

He shook Lewis’ hand. “Thanks for the help. Let me know what you run down on this guy.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know, but I’m assuming he’ll be headed to Harborview for a psych/drug eval. Probably a schizophrenic who’s off his meds.”

“Yeah, that was my impression, paranoid,” Davis said.

Davis patted Mitzi. “Let’s go home girl. What a night.” He bent down and stroked her. “Mitzi, you’re becoming a Lassie.”

Mitzi had saved him twice. Who could’ve guessed that a pampered poodle could be a heroine? He had surprised himself when he felt so strongly about keeping the well-coiffed dog and not the cheating girlfriend. He had liberated Mitzi from jeweled collars and endless grooming appointments.

Davis and his rescuer made it down Second Avenue to his condo in no time. Tonight, he knew he could’ve subdued the man without Mitzi’s help, but she had saved him from forcing Grayce to watch him take the guy down.

He had believed he was helping Mitzi by adopting her, but he was proving to be the one who needed to be rescued. The words of Grayce’s friend James replayed in his mind. “Grayce is always collecting lost souls.” Did James see him as another of Grayce’s lost souls? Was he? James had been drunk.

Chapter Thirteen

Leg work was the third rule of investigation.

Davis leaned against Mike’s beat-up Corolla. He wanted to ask the kid a few questions without the captain of the boat looking over his shoulder, trying to protect his fledgling. Davis pulled up the collar of his department jacket. Any true Seattle native would reckon tonight’s rain as no more than a drizzle.

Mike was afraid that made him a suspect. The captain had called Mike a good kid, which translated as Mike has a troubled past. The kid had no rap sheet, which meant that he had been too young to start one.

Mike strolled down the dock toward the parking lot. He looked up and slowed his pace.

Davis hoped the kid wouldn’t run. Wearing his regulation shoes, he just didn’t feel up for a chase. “Hey, Mike.” He also hoped he wouldn’t need to get physical with the kid, who was built like a linebacker and outweighed him by 50 pounds.

Mitzi bolted toward the kid and jumped paws first, trying to lick his face.

“Mitzi, get down.” Davis moved to grab her, his plan to intimidate the kid foiled by his dog’s affectionate greeting.

The big kid bent down to pet the poodle. Mitzi sprang, going for his face. Mike laughed at Mitzi’s antics, his tough guy façade fading.

“You got a buddy, Mike.”

Mike continued to rub Mitzi. “Wish I could have one of these.”

Davis heard in those few words everything Mike had never gotten in his short life.

“You want to get some food?” Dinner hadn’t been part of his plan.

Mike looked over his shoulder. “Not around here.”

“How about Pioneer Square? J&M has great burgers.”

Mike shrugged.

“Here or the J&M. Your choice.”

The kid shrugged again. “Okay.”

“Meet you in twenty. And if you don’t show, we’ll be back.” He would’ve sounded threatening if Mitzi weren’t still licking the kid’s hand. Mitzi was telling Davis to go easy with Mike. Davis believed in his instincts, but he’d be a fool not to trust Mitzi’s.

* * *

Davis watched Mike down his second burger. The kid could eat. Davis hung out with mountain climbers and firefighters, but this kid devoured burgers like he might never eat again. Mitzi leaned against Mike’s leg.

They sat at the J&M café, a seedy bar in Pioneer Square. The J&M had probably served the same burgers to the men headed to Alaska for the Gold Rush. And like the prospectors, Davis and Mike sat on the same beat-up, uncomfortable wood chairs.

“Are you from Alaska?’ Davis asked.

“Nah, Aberdeen.”

“You got family up there?”

“My mom’s.”

“That’s where you learned to fish?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom still in Aberdeen?”

“Nah, she died. Her family took me in.” Mike stuffed three fries into his mouth.

Davis had a pretty good idea about the answer to his next question. “How about your dad?”

Mike swallowed the gob of fries. “What about my dad?”

The answer he expected. “Is your dad in the fishing business?”

“Nah, my old man’s a logger.”

He had hoped that he was wrong about how Mike’s life went down.

“Is the captain part of the family?”

“Mom’s brother.”

“Seems like a good guy…trying to help you out.”

“Uncle Burt’s all right.”

“What kind of work did you do in Alaska?”

“Fishing, processing.”

“Tough work.”

“I don’t mind hard work.”

“Yeah, that’s what your uncle said.” Davis sat back in his chair, maintaining his relaxed posture. “Did you see the guy loading the crab boxes?”

Mike shifted in his chair and blinked rapidly, several times. “I didn’t see anything.”

Davis leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

Mitzi pushed her head under Mike’s hand. He looked down at his plate then around the room. Avoiding eye contact, he stared back at the food on his plate. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Davis leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He had his answer.

“Tell me more about catching crabs. I know there’s Dungeness around here.”

A flicker of relief flashed across Mike’s face before he added more ketchup to the fries. The kid thought he had dodged the bullet.

“What about king crab? Is it all from Alaska?” He needed to learn a lot more about crabbing if he was going to solve this case.

“Alaska and Russia.”

“Interesting. Tell me about Russian crab.”

“Russian Red king crab, caught in the Sea of Okhotsk, ships out of Vladivostok.”

Davis nodded. He didn’t have a clue about the Sea of Okhotsk. “You know a lot about Russian crab?”

Mike sat up straighter in his chair. “You pick up things.”

“How does the crab get shipped from Russia?”

“The frozen crab is packed inside poly liners, and then into cardboard cases.”

“Big cases?”

“Not that big, somewhere between twenty to sixty pounds.”

Not big for burly Mike. “So no crab comes to the terminal. It goes to Pier 91 or down to the South End, right?”

Mike took the final bite of his burger and nodded.

“So what’s the big deal about a guy stealing some crab and taking a cut for himself?”

He had a pretty good idea of what was in the box and it wasn’t crab. The kid didn’t answer. “The guy didn’t have crab in those cases, did he?”

“Have no idea.” Mike’s eyes went left and he blinked nonstop while he lied.

The kid could be videotaped for training investigators. He was that easy to read.

Mike gulped his Coke.

No doubt that the kid knew and was afraid.

“Have you done business with the Russians?” Davis asked.

“Business?” The high pitch of Mike’s question was hilarious. His anxiety made him sound like he was twelve and back in the throes of puberty, his voice cracking.

Davis cleared his throat to stop himself from laughing. “I meant fishing business.”

“Nah.” Mike sat back in his chair.

“I’ve heard the Russians can be intimidating.”

Mike snorted.

“You and your uncle don’t look like you scare off easily.”

“You learn not to mess with them. You don’t wanna end up in the brine tank.”

“Brine tank?”

“Where they freeze the crab, before it gets shipped out.”

“The Russians give their competitors a swim in the brine tank, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a tough way to go. You ever see anyone go into the tank?”

“I gotta get back to the boat. You need anything else?”

No need to scare the kid off. “That’s it. Stay around. I might need to talk with you again.”

Davis watched Mike walk out of the bar. The kid definitely knew the contents of the crab cases or had a pretty good idea. He needed to talk to someone who knew about the criminal fishing business. Was it the FBI or the Coast Guard?