Long Time Gone (21 page)

I put the phone down. Heather was staring at me from across the room. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Dad’s so mad at me that he doesn’t want me to come home, right?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I was trying to make sense of Ron’s seemingly disconnected answers and to formulate some reasonable course of action.

“Is there a chance that Dillon went back to your house looking for you?” I asked.

Heather stopped short. “You think he’s there? With Mom and Dad, waiting for me to show up?”

“It’s possible,” I said, but the wariness in Ron’s voice and his intentionally misleading statements spoke to something more ominous than simply having an unwelcome boyfriend hanging around the house.

“Does Dillon have access to any weapons?” I asked.

“He has a gun, if that’s what you mean,” Heather said. “I’ve seen it in his apartment sometimes, but I don’t know if he had it along with him yesterday in the car.”

“What kind of gun?” I asked.

“I don’t know exactly. It looked sort of like Dad’s.”

“A thirty-eight?” I asked. “A Glock, maybe?”

Heather shrugged. “I never really looked at it. Guns don’t interest me very much.”

That made Ron’s answers far more understandable. If Dillon was there, not only was the boyfriend violent, he was also possibly armed and dangerous. So what were my possible courses of action? Call 911 and tell the Seattle PD dispatcher that there was a potential hostage situation on Queen Anne Hill? They’d send in an Emergency Response Team, with sirens blaring and lights flashing. And if that happened, what were the chances that Jared or Tracy or Amy might end up caught in some kind of cross fire? That didn’t seem like a good option, but neither did sitting around doing nothing, not when my showing up even a few minutes earlier might have saved Sue Danielson’s life.

Lost in thought, I almost didn’t hear Heather’s question. “You don’t think he’d hurt them, do you?” she asked.

“You didn’t think he’d hurt you,” I returned.

She turned away from me and didn’t answer. A moment later she turned back. “Maybe I should call there,” she said. “That way I could find out if Dillon really is there, find out what he wants.”

It was a sensible suggestion. I picked up the handset, dialed the code to block caller ID, switched on the speaker option, and handed it over. “Be my guest,” I said.

“Dad!” Heather exclaimed when Ron came on the line. “It’s me, Heather. I’m fine.”

“This isn’t a good time right now,” Ron said brusquely. “If you’d call back later—”

“Is Dillon there, Dad? What does he want? Can I speak to him?”

The telephone clicked in Heather’s ear as Ron ended the call.

“He hung up on me!” a dismayed Heather said. “He wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“Couldn’t,” I corrected. “But calling again was the right thing to do. Things must be pretty tough at the house for him to drop your call like that.”

I was now more convinced than ever that Dillon was there. The trick was going to be getting him out of the house and away from the family. Only when Ron, Amy, and the kids were safe would it be time to bring Dillon Middleton to ground.

How well is he armed?
I wondered.
Does he have more than one weapon?

Heather had seen only the one handgun. If Mel Soames and Brad Norton had been doing their jobs, all of Ron’s weapons would have been confiscated and hauled away until the investigation into Rosemary’s homicide was concluded. That was a good thing. Facing down a deranged kid with one handgun at his disposal was bad enough. Dealing with one armed with a whole arsenal was out of the question.

Suddenly I had an idea. “Where exactly is the door you and Tracy use to sneak in and out of the house?”

“It’s on the north side of the house,” Heather answered. “On that side we’re close to the house next door, but there’s a trellis with a huge vine on it that covers that whole wall. If we stay behind that, we can get almost all the way out to the street without being seen.”

“Does Dillon know about it—the door, I mean?”

“I guess so.”

“And do you still keep it locked?”

Heather nodded. “Yes, but there’s a space right above the door. We keep the key in that. Why do you want to know? Are you going there? Can I come with you?”

“No,” I said. “You’re going to stay right here, out of the line of fire.”

“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” Heather demanded. “I mean, he hit me, but it was really an accident. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

That, too, was textbook domestic-violence-victim behavior. They’re often the abuser’s first line of defense.

“Look, Heather, if Dillon is at your house, causing trouble for your parents, then it’s no accident and it’s my job to see to it that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

She turned away from me and stared out the window at the lighted ships and ferries moving slowly on the darkened waters.

“I’ll try not to hurt him,” I added. “But if he has a gun and tries using it, I can’t make any promises. Does he have a cell phone?”

“Of course.”

“I need the number.”

“Why?” Heather asked.

“Because if we’re going to negotiate with Dillon, we need a way to reach him.”

Heather gave me the number. When I reached for the telephone, her face sprang to life. “Are you going to call him?” she asked.

“Not right now,” I said. “I’m calling for reinforcements.”

I had made the decision that I wasn’t going to call Seattle PD, but I was enough of a realist to know I couldn’t pull this off on my own. Knowing the girls’ secret entryway into the house gave me a possible edge, but I needed help. And so, for the second time that day, I turned to Mel Soames. We weren’t officially partners, but we could just as well have been.

When she heard my voice on the phone, however, she wasn’t exactly overjoyed. “What’s up?” she asked, sounding as though I had awakened her.

“I need your help with something,” I said.

“What?” Mel was all business. Maybe I had made up the idea that her feelings had been hurt earlier.

“Heather Peters is here—at my apartment.”

That got her undivided attention. “You mean she and Dillon didn’t go to Canada after all?”

“They tried,” I said. “But on the way they got into an argument. He claimed he was taking Heather there to protect her and keep her out of your reach. Heather said she hadn’t done anything wrong and had no reason to hide out in Canada. Things escalated and Dillon ended up slapping Heather around. She took off and came back here. When Heather said she didn’t want to go, Dillon was prepared to take her there by force. I believe he still is.”

“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.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

I handed her my old vest. “Put this on,” I said.

“You want me to come along?” Heather asked in disbelief.

I didn’t answer because I hardly believed it myself. Taking her with us was incredibly risky. There was always a chance that she could be hurt or even killed in what was likely to be an ugly confrontation. But leaving her alone wasn’t an option, either. That would give her far too much time to reconsider. It would give her time to decide to warn Dillon that we were on our way. Keeping a close eye on her would be far safer for Mel, Brad, and me than leaving Heather to her own devices.

“Yes,” I said. “You’ll be in one of the cars. You’ll be relatively safe as long as you stay in the vehicle. When we’re ready, we’ll need you to call Dillon and get him to come outside.”

“What should I say?”

“I don’t know. How about telling him you’ve changed your mind and that you’re ready to go to Canada?”

“But I haven’t changed my mind,” Heather objected.

“Tell him whatever you like, then. Just get him out of the house. We’ll take it from there.”

Naturally the vest was way too big. Rather than having it hang loose, I had Heather stuff two pillows in under her shirt, which she then tucked into her pants. Once the vest was cinched up tight, the pillows helped it stay in place. She looked like a henna-haired version of the Michelin Man. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical, but this was serious—a matter of life or death. I dragged one of my old jackets out of the entryway closet to cover the bulging mess so she wouldn’t look quite so ridiculous.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs and meet up with the others.”

Mel was appalled when she saw Heather and realized I expected to bring the girl along.

“Are you nuts?” Mel demanded.

“She’ll be staying in one of the vehicles,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “She should be perfectly safe, but we need her there.”

“Why?” Mel asked.

“To entice Dillon out of the house once we’re all in place.”

“In other words, you’re planning to use her as bait?” Mel asked. “What have you been smoking, Beau? I can’t condone this.”

“It’s all right,” Heather said. “I want to help.”

“You’re a fifteen-year-old civilian,” Mel countered. “Involving you in this is totally irresponsible. You could get hurt.”

“I already am hurt,” Heather said. “But I love Dillon, and I know I can talk him into coming outside.”

I didn’t want to explain in front of Heather that my biggest concern was the possibility that she’d warn Dillon of our intentions the minute we were out of sight.

“It’s what we have to do,” I said. “And it’s what we’re going to do. If you don’t want any part of it, fine. I’ll do it myself. If something goes wrong, then it’s on my head, not yours.”

Mel was unconvinced. “Right,” she said. “And I’ve got some great oceanfront property in Arizona.” Brad Norton pulled up and stopped behind Mel’s Beemer. “Okay then,” Mel added. “I suppose she’s with me?”

I nodded. She escorted Heather to the car, let her into the passenger seat, and then came back and joined Brad and me on the sidewalk. “So what’s the deal?”

After summarizing all I had learned in the course of the evening, I went on to explain my game plan. “I want you and Brad to take up defensive positions in the front yard,” I told Mel. “There’s a little-used back entrance that leads into the furnace room. The kids use that door to come and go when they don’t want their parents to know what they’re up to. I’ll go in that way. I’ll try to sort out where Ron and Amy and the kids are. If I can get some of them out of the house to safety before we make our move, I will. If not, I’ll phone Heather and let her know it’s time for her to make her call.”

“Will she?” Mel asked. “What if she doesn’t? I know more than a little about situations like this. If she and Dillon have been involved in an abusive relationship, she may well cave when it comes time to make that critical call.”

I remembered what Mel had told me about her own tumultuous home life, how she had grown up in a family where domestic violence had been a daily part of her existence. Much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right. It was more than possible that Heather would let us down at the last minute.

“Then we’ll flex,” I said. “It’s the best we can do.”

Mel was studying me intently. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “These are good friends of yours. Are you sure that isn’t clouding your judgment?”

“Maybe so,” I admitted, “but this seems like a better idea than sending the ERT guys in with guns blazing and tear gas flying. Ron and Amy and their kids still need a place to live when all this is over. I’m thinking the three of us can do a surgical extraction. Seattle PD will end up using the law enforcement equivalent of carpet bombing.”

“All right,” Mel said at last. “Show us what you’ve got.”

We caravanned our three vehicles up Queen Anne Hill to Ron and Amy’s neighborhood on West Highland. I parked several houses away and made my circuitous way to their yard by the same route I had used days before, when Tracy had called me to come help out. There was no snow on the ground this time, and it wasn’t particularly cold, but it was raining. That made for treacherous going in the steep spots. I was glad when I was able to duck into the relatively dry space behind the protective layer of vines that sheltered Tracy and Heather’s hidden door.

No lights from above shed any kind of illumination into that ivy-shrouded cave. I stumbled forward blindly in the darkness, found the doorknob, and tried turning it, only to find it was locked. Longing for a flashlight, I felt along the upper side of the doorframe until my searching fingers encountered the key Heather had said was concealed there.

It took a long time to locate the keyhole. The scratching of metal on metal as I struggled to insert the key sounded as loud to my ears as cracks of summer lightning. Once I finally succeeded in unlocking the door, I stepped inside. Slipping off my shoes, I tied the shoelaces together and then let the shoes dangle around the back of my neck while I moved forward in my stockinged feet. Again, I had to feel my way around the room until I located a doorknob. I blessed the silence of the well-oiled hinges as the door swung open.

I was in a corner of the house I had never seen before. This was a decommissioned laundry room that seemed to be directly under the kitchen. Here a glow of outside streetlights entering the dank basement offered some relief from the oppressive darkness of the furnace room and revealed a flight of rough plank stairs that ended at another closed door.

I tiptoed up the stairs and stood with my ear pressed against the door, listening. There was no sound from the other side, but I knew if anyone happened to be in the kitchen when this door opened, all hope of surprise would be lost. This was my last chance to use my cell phone. I pressed the return call number that would take me back to Mel’s phone. We’d made arrangements for Heather to answer, so I’d know the call went through, which it did.

“Okay, Uncle Beau,” she said. “I’ll call Dillon now.”

I wanted to tell her good luck, but I didn’t dare speak. Instead, I ended the call and turned the knob on the door that led into the kitchen. After the darkness in the basement, the kitchen seemed incredibly light. Standing there, I couldn’t help but be grateful that Amy was allergic to pet dander. Otherwise, there might have been a barking dog on the premises to announce my arrival.

I stopped just inside the door and stood dead-still once more, listening. At first I heard nothing but the slow drip of a leaky kitchen faucet. Behind me, on the counter, sat two open and empty pizza boxes. I had to remind myself that it was only a week ago when the Peters family’s Friday-night dinner tradition had been derailed by the arrival of Rosemary’s custody-battle summons. So much had happened since then, I felt as though years had passed rather than a single week.

I heard no sounds.
What if they’re all dead?
I asked myself.
What if I’m too late—again?

Just then a telephone screeched on the kitchen wall behind me. I almost jumped out of my skin. The call was answered after only one ring, followed by the rumble of a single male voice—Ron’s voice—speaking into the phone.