Injustice for All (24 page)

“Yes,” she answered.

“This was three nights ago?”

I think she forgot she was talking to a cop. She gave Manny a bat of her long lashes as she answered. “Yes.”

“And there were two of them?”

"Yes. “

“Black or white?”

“White. “

“Blond? Brunet?”

“One of each.”

“How tall?

“I don’t pay much attention. I mean, it’s not important, you know? Maybe six feet or so.”

“How old?”

“Twenty. Maybe younger.”

“And they both paid?”

“I charge extra for two.” Lawrence shifted uneasily in his chair, but I don’t think Sandra noticed. At least he didn’t tell her to shut up. “Where did you go?”

“To a room at The Gaslight up on Aurora.”

“So what happened?”

‘Nothing c. Nothing kinky,” she added. “Not even both together. But while the second one was getting it up, the first one pulled a bottle out of his coat pocket and poured something on me. It smelled terrible. It burned my eyes.

“The second one started yelling, `What are you crazy?’ and the first one said `Just having a little fun.’ I jumped up to call Lawrence, but one of them knocked me down, and they took off. The second guy didn’t even get his shirt and shoes on. I followed them to the door, screaming like mad. They drove off before Lawrence could catch them.”

“You’re sure it was gasoline he poured on you?” “Yeah. From one of those screw-top Coke bottles. Lawrence said if they’da lit a match I’da died.”

Manny nodded. “It’s true,” he said. Sandra swallowed hard. I wondered how old she was. Probably no more than seventeen, although she looked half again that old.

“After that woman died, Lawrence said I could tell. He said this was one time we’d better cooperate.”

Manny nodded again, encouragingly. “Lawrence is absolutely right,” he agreed. “What kind of car was it?”

“White. One of those little foreign cars like maybe a Toyota or a Datsun. I don’t know which.”

“What year?”

She shrugged. “But it had some of those university parking stickers in the window. We watch for those. They’re usually bad news. “

Lawrence stood and motioned toward the door. Sandra caught the signal and rose obediently.

“I gotta go.”

“Can we call you for the composite?” Manny asked. She nodded. “Lawrence knows how to get ahold of me.”

Lawrence made a quick exit with the girl trailing behind him on an invisible leash.

“I’ll just bet he does, the son of a bitch,” A1 Lindstrom muttered under his breath.

“That makes me sick.”

Manny glared at his partner. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Al. We get paid for solving murders, not for busting hookers and pimps. She’s the best thing that’s happened to us all week. “

Chapter 30

I FELT like a goddamned rubber band. Teresa and friends bubbled to the surface while Ginger and friends receded. The four of us went to lunch-Manny, Al, Peters, and I.

Manny was high as a kite, while Al was still pissed, speculating that Lawrence made more than all four of us put together. Well, three of us, anyway. I wasn’t talking.

Other than comparing notes on what Sandra had said, there wasn’t much to do until she completed the composite. We agreed that since Manny had done most of the talking with Sandra, he should make the next contact and set up the appointment. There was no sense in causing Lawrence to be any more squirrelly than he already was.

The idea that the car was a white Datsun or Toyota with a university sticker was some help, but not much. There are literally thousands of cars registered at the U Dub, as locals refer to the University of Washington. We figured somebody should contact the campus police and ask for a preliminary list.

Seattle P.D. and the campus police get along fairly well. As law-enforcement officers, campus, cops suffer from a severely restricted sphere of influence. They do a lot of PR work within the confines of their narrow jurisdiction, keeping a lid on anything that might offend the tender sensibilities of well-heeled alumni. Peters and I were to brief them on the current situation. We figured they’d be overjoyed to be involved in a real crime that didn’t involve property theft. As soon as lunch was over, we split up the act.

Manny and AI headed for the medical examiner’s office to pick up the preliminary report on the Harborview John Doe. Dental charts were our only possible means of identification. There sure as hell wouldn’t be any fingerprints. Peters and I were supposed to go to the university. About ten to one, we stopped by the department to pick up a car, but Margie Robles, our clerk, caught us before we got away. “There you are!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been looking all over for you. ” “Why? What’s up?”

“Somebody named Ames. He’s called three times so far. For you or Detective Peters.”

“Why would he call me?” Peters wondered.

“Did he leave a number?” I asked.

“Not the last time. Said you should meet him at the airport at one forty-five. Both of you. Here’s the flight number.” She handed me a yellow slip of paper.

Once she was out of earshot, Peters turned on me. “What’s this about? More footwork for Hal Huggins?” “I guess,” I said.

He glowered at me. “We’d better not take a company car, then. We can just barely make it.” He angrily strode toward the door with me right on his tail. I had an idea Ames wasn’t calling about Ginger and friends. He had been in The Dalles, negotiating with New Dawn. If he had sprung the kids, it would be a kindness to give Peters some advance warning, but if he hadn’t c I wasn’t about to make that kind of mistake.

I let Peters stay pissed. The Datsun was parked in a cheapo monthly garage at the bottom of James. Peters ground it into gear and angrily fishtailed us out of the parking stall. “You’ve got more nerve than a bad tooth. We shouldn’t work an unauthorized case during regular hours. You’ll get us both in trouble.” I said nothing. It was pure luck that got us to Sea-Tac without a speeding citation. The parking garage was crammed to the gills.

We searched through three levels before we finally spotted a little old lady vacating a spot. Peters beat two other cars to it. We were inside the terminal by one thirty-five.

Naturally we had to hassle with the security guards over our weapons.

By the time we reached the gate, Northwest Orient Flight 106 from Portland was already parked in place at the jet bridge. Passengers were disembarking. I saw Ames first.

He was packing one kid on his hip and dragging the other along by the hand. The girl Ames was carrying spotted Peters. “Daddy, Daddy,” she squalled.

Peters whirled toward her, a look of stunned amazement on his face. As he stood glued to the floor, unable to move, the girl who was walking broke loose from Ames’ grip and raced for Peters’ knees. She hit him with a full flying tackle that almost toppled him. Meantime, the kid Ames was carrying set up such a howl, he had no choice but to set her on the floor and let her run too.

Peters sank to the floor, buried under a flung of bawling kids. I moved to where Ames, looking inordinately proud, was attempting to smooth the wrinkles from his usually immaculate jacket. What appeared to be the better part of a Tootsie Roll was stuck to his silk tie.

I grabbed his hand and pumped it. “How the hell did you pull it off?” “You’ve just funded their mother on a five-year mission to Nicarugua. No children allowed, of course.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Fully deductible,” he added.

“Of course.” With Ames in charge I should have known the solution would be fully deductible. Peters gradually emerged from the mere and came over to Ames and me, one child in each arm. They were cute little imps, five and six years old with baby teeth, long dark hair, thick lashes, and brown eyes. Peters was more than a little choked up. “I don’t know what to say,” he blurted.

“How about introducing me?”

“This is Heather,” he said, indicating the smaller one, “and this is Tracie. My friend, Detective Beaumont.”

“Beau,” I corrected.

The smaller of the two regarded me seriously. “Hello. Mommy says my name is Joy and she’s Truth.” She pointed at her sister.

They had evidently lived under different names in Broken Springs, Oregon. “I like Heather better,” I said.

We stood there awkwardly, bottling up the hallway, not knowing what to say or do.

It was a moment that could have become maudlin, given half a chance, but Ames took charge. He herded us down the hallway like a bunch of errant sheep, leaving us long enough to pick up luggage. When he rejoined us, he carried only his own suitcase and a briefcase. “What about them?” I asked, indicating the girls. “New Dawn’s attorney told me I could have them this morning, as is, take it or leave it. I took it. I decided we could get them clothes once they got here.”

One glance at Peters told me Ames had made the right choice. You can always buy new clothes. I doubted he would have gotten a second crack at the kids. We crowded into the Datsun for the trip back to Seattle. Peters sat in the backseat with the girls.

I drove while Ames attempted to clean the chocolate off his tie.

“I guess you’re taking the rest of the afternoon off?” I asked. Peters grinned. “Looks that way. I can’t believe you did it!” he said to Ames.

I could believe it, all right. I counted on Ames to smooth it over so Peters would never know exactly how it happened. It would be better for him to believe that his ex-wife had experienced a sudden change of heart. There was no need to tell him certain amounts of money had changed hands. I got out at the department, and Ames assumed the driver’s seat. I tracked down Captain Larry Powell and told him that Peters was gone for the day, explaining that his kids had come home unexpectedly. Powell was glad to hear it, but he didn’t press for details. I didn’t volunteer any, either.

Once Peters dropped me at the department, I checked out a car and drove to the university.

Driving there, I suddenly recalled an old undergraduate pastime that had been called Bum Bashing in my day. It involved dragging home a bum on one pretext or another and then beating the crap out of him once he was there. Of course, back in the old days, I couldn’t remember anyone’s ever dying of it. Obviously the current generation had elevated the sport from intramural to semipro. By actual count we had three victims dead. My hope was that Sandra’s encounter had been with the same bunch and that we could somehow nail them. As I expected, the officer of the day, Joseph Randolph, was more than happy to help me. He listened carefully as I explained the problem, then left me in a waiting room while he went to work on it. Forty minutes later, he called me back into his office. With a triumphant grin, he handed me a huge computer printout that must have weighed ten pounds.

“Here it is,” he said. “Every single car that’s registered on campus this quarter-make and license number.”

I could tell he was proud of getting it for us so fast. I hated to burst his bubble.

“Can you break it down by make and model?” I asked. His face fell. “I don’t know when we could schedule that much computer time.”

I took the whole list back to the department. Manny, Al, and I divided it three ways and began weeding through it. By quitting time, we had found 73 Datsuns and 51 Toyotas.

No colors. We called it a job and went home. That’s one thing about this kind of work. When you’re looking for a needle in the haystack, you don’t have to do it all at once. Both the needle and the haystack will stay right there and wait until the next day. I called Peters at home to find out how things were going. They had just come in from buying bedroom furniture. He said he’d decided to take the rest of the week off. It would take that long to get the girls registered for school and locate a baby-sitter. I told him not to worry, since sorting through the vehicle list would probably take the better part of a week. Ames turned up, wearing a clean tie and jacket. The two of us went out for a celebratory dinner, co-conspirators congratulating each other behind Peters’ back. With the kids in Peters’ custody and the major real estate deal canceled, Ames planned to return to Arizona on Saturday. I was sorry to hear it. It cost me money, but I enjoyed having Ames around. I supposed, however, that he did have other clients.

“You making any progress on the Watkins case?” he asked as we left Rosselini’s Four Ten Restaurant to walk home. I shook my head. “Huggins is sure Wilson did it. Since it isn’t my case. I don’t have much to say about it.”

Ames looked thoughtful. “I can’t help but think that the murders and the project might be related.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a thought.”

We walked together as far as Fourth and Lenora, then split up. I went up to my apartment, mulling Ames’ words along with thawing chickens, hungry cats, and extra keys.

Chapter 31

ONCE more I had a face full of shaving cream when the phone rang. It was Peters looking for a good pediatrician. In order to register the girls for school, they had to have a complete set of vaccinations. New Dawn believed in prayer, not science. As I tried to keep shaving cream out of the receiver, I considered growing a full beard.

I returned to the bathroom and had barely put razor to chin when the phone rang again.

I jumped and left a good-sized nick. I’m sure I sounded exasperated when I answered.

“Is this Detective Beaumont?” The voice was female, sultry, and dripping with the honeyed accents of the Deep South. “Yes,” I answered tentatively.

“My name’s Colleen Borden with Armour Life Insurance.” I steeled myself for the inevitable pitch. Various estate planners and financial advisors had crawled out of the woodwork ever since my windfall. “Ah’d like to make an appointment with you. “

“I’m not interested in any life insurance. I’m going to live forever.” It was the line that had given me the most luck in getting rid of pushy bastards.

“Ah’m not tryin’ to sell you somethin,’ Mr. Beaumont.” She sounded clearly affronted.

“Ah’m not a salesman. Ah’m a claims inspector.”

That caught my attention. “A claims inspector?” “Yes. Ah investigate death claims.”