by Brenda Novak
There was an awkward silence, as if Lewis could tell his comment had been deemed meaningless. Then he said, “Look. You have to trust others to help you. You can’t do everything. I get that you don’t know me very well, and you can’t see everything I’m doing here in Minnesota, so you’re afraid to rely on the fact that it’s getting done.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m giving this case top priority, okay? Things don’t happen in an instant just because we need them to. So relax and let me do my job. It’s better to have two people on this than one, regardless of what your opinion is about how hard I’m going after it.”
Lewis had a point, but Amarok was unwilling to concede. He’d convinced himself that the real answers, the ones that might actually net him something, were to be found in Minnesota, since the kidnapping had to have been planned while Bishop was at Beacon Point.
“Were you ever able to reach Terry Lovett’s widow?” he asked Lewis. He didn’t want to waste time with a pep talk, regardless of whether he needed it. “Because I can’t get her to call me back no matter how many times I reach out to her.”
“I got her on the phone just a few minutes ago.”
“And?”
“She claims she’s never heard of Lyman Bishop or Evelyn Talbot and she has no idea who’d want her husband dead.”
“Did she say if Terry had been acting strange lately?”
“She wouldn’t say much of anything, wouldn’t give me more than two minutes of her time, but I’m not all that surprised, to be honest with you. She’s just lost her husband.”
“According to the article I read on Terry careening into that ravine, she wasn’t getting along with him.”
“Doesn’t mean she’d want him dead.”
“Then why won’t she call me back?”
“Who knows?”
“Did you ask her if you could at least text her a photo of our suspect? See if she recognizes him?”
“I already sent it.”
“And?”
“I haven’t heard anything yet, but I sent it only an hour or so ago. I’ll follow up as necessary. I’ll attend the funeral, too, see if anyone suspicious shows up. Maybe I can talk to her a bit more when it’s all over, bring a hard copy of the photo with me in case she doesn’t respond to the text.”
“When is the funeral?”
“On Friday.”
Amarok came to his feet. “That’s five days from now!”
“I know, but I can’t force her to talk.”
“Why wouldn’t she want to? Maybe she had something to do with it.”
“The murder of her husband?”
“And/or the kidnapping of Evelyn.”
“I’d be really surprised if she did. From what I’m getting from the neighbors, she’s a regular mom with two kids, and she has no criminal history.”
“They were having marriage problems, needed money, too. And we know Bishop withdrew the thirty-three hundred he had in savings.”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He’d need money to get to Alaska, too—although, as I’ve told you, his name doesn’t show up on any of the flight manifests.”
“You’re monitoring the major carriers to see if that changes, right?”
“Of course.”
Amarok rubbed his eyes. They knew Bridget Lovett was at her children’s school when her husband was killed, so she hadn’t been the one to stab him. Could she be involved in some other way? Or was she as clueless as to why her husband was now dead as she pretended to be? “She has to take a look at the photo I gleaned from the Quick Stop video. If she doesn’t get back to you, I’ll fly there myself and make sure she does.”
“Wait a sec. Something just came in. Hang on.…”
Amarok dug some old trail mix out of his drawer and tossed a handful of nuts and raisins into his mouth while he waited for Lewis to get back on the line. Makita trotted over because he knew Amarok kept doggy treats in the same drawer, and Amarok tossed him one.
“Sergeant Murphy?”
“Yes. What was it?”
“The surveillance video from the bank.”
“Lyman’s bank?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“Already did.”
Amarok waited for Lewis’s e-mail to come in and clicked on the attachment as soon as it did. “He’s getting around pretty damn good for a vegetable,” he said, his eyes glued to the screen image of Bishop walking into the lobby and approaching a teller.
“I noticed that,” Lewis responded.
Bishop had a limp. He looked heavier than before, too, but some of that could be attributed to the thick black sweatshirt he wore with the hood pulled up to obscure his face.
“Someone had to have helped him,” Amarok said. “You need to ask Bridget Lovett if her husband bought anything like that sweatshirt recently.”
“I’ll keep trying to get her to talk to me.”
Amarok froze the playback and enlarged the picture. What little he could see of Bishop’s face became so blurry it almost defeated the purpose, but he recognized those dark, lifeless eyes. “You bastard,” he mumbled.
“I assume you’re not talking to me,” Lewis said dryly.
“How did he recover?”
“I wish I had that answer. No one saw this coming.”
“So Bishop meets a janitor at Beacon Point, talks him into getting him street clothes and maybe a cell phone and letting him out.”
“Then he stabs Lovett so he can’t talk.”
“But how does the man with the scar fit in?”
Lewis mulled it over for a few seconds. “He has to have a connection to Beacon Point.”
“Or a connection to Terry Lovett.”
Amarok knew Lewis agreed with him when he said, “Right. I’ll keep working on the widow.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as Amarok hung up, he asked Phil if he’d look after Makita and Sigmund for a few days and went online to book a flight to Minneapolis first thing in the morning. As much as he hated to leave Alaska, he had to do it. He was convinced that the answers he needed to save Evelyn were in Minnesota.
18
Anchorage, AK—Sunday, 3:40 p.m. AKDT
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I was in the area, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to meet you.”
Bishop wiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d caught his landlady—Edna Southwick—with her keys out. She’d been just about to go in through the store.
Or maybe she was coming out.…
He watched her closely, trying to determine how long she’d been on the property and what she might’ve done before he arrived. Had she seen anything that might put him at risk?
He didn’t think so. She would’ve been far more nervous if she had. He’d come upon her just in time.
“I’m glad you did,” he lied. “But it’s a good thing I arrived when I did, or it would’ve been a wasted trip. Next time, I hope you’ll give me some notice.”
“Of course.”
When she glanced at her keys, still dangling from the lock, he got the impression she was hoping he’d invite her in, but he had no intention of doing that. He’d have to lead her to the staff room in order to sit down—it would seem strange if he let her into the store only to keep her standing in the garbage that littered the floor—and that meant she could easily see that the freezer had a slot in the door Emmett hadn’t gotten permission to put there, as well as a chain and padlock on the handle so it couldn’t be opened.
Bishop didn’t want to have to come up with some way to explain those things. It was bad enough that, if he was reported missing and the police made a big deal about finding him, she might see his face splashed across her TV screen and recognize him.
“Are you finding that you have everything you need here?” she asked as she returned her keys to her purse. “This location isn’t too remote, I hope?”
She looked like the TV actress Betty White—sw
eet and small, with white hair and a sweater over her turquoise shirt and matching slacks, even though it was plenty warm today. She took care of herself. He admired her for that. He could smell her lavender perfume, which brought back a vague recollection of his grandmother. Mrs. Southwick came off just as harmless as Grandma Henning. He’d always thought his life would’ve turned out very differently had his grandmother not died when he was six.
But, unlike Grandma Henning, Edna had shrewd eyes. He didn’t believe for a second that she’d come by to “meet” him. She was checking on her property, that was all.
“I admit it isn’t ideal,” he heard himself say. “The smell can be a bit much at times. But, as we discussed on the phone, it’s only for three or four months. I can get by.”
“Where do you keep the dogs?”
“In one of the coops in back.”
“If you have a moment, I’d really like to see them.”
He hesitated. He wanted her to leave—to go and mind her own business. Emmett had paid the rent through the next three weeks. But Lyman knew the best way to make sure he wouldn’t have any trouble with her in the future was to allay whatever curiosity, concern or worry had brought her here in the first place.
“Sure. I’m just getting started, so there are only a few. Emmett already found homes for the others,” he said, covering for the fact that he had no idea how many dogs Emmett had told her he was sheltering.
“I’m surprised Emmett quit, especially so soon,” she said. “From what I could tell, he was completely devoted to saving animals.”
Bishop, doing all he could to minimize his limp, led her around the building instead of through it. After all, the back door was boarded up, and she had to be aware of that. “It came as a surprise to me, too, but his father just died. He had to go back to Montana, where he’s from, to help his mother.”
“Oh, I see. So … you’re not going to replace him?”
“No. I’m here now, so I might as well stay. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find good help.”
“Oh yes I would.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how my ex-manager left this place. I’ve been meaning to hire someone to get it cleaned up. That’s part of the reason I was hoping to meet you in person today. I know you’d be more comfortable here if that happened, and it would help me sell the property, as well. I wanted to see if you might be interested in doing the cleanup yourself, in exchange for a reduction on the rent.”
“Ah—no.”
“I understand.” She lifted one thin-skinned, blue-veined hand. “I can find someone else. I just don’t know who to call. I’ve been so overwhelmed by all the things that have to be done when you lose a loved one it’s been hard to think of anything else.” Her eyes grew misty. “Bernie and I were together for fifty-four years—since I was sixteen. I almost don’t know who I am without him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Bishop mumbled. That was what he was supposed to say, but he was hardly sympathetic. She thought she’d had it rough? He was tempted to tell her what he’d been through, what his mother had done to him and Beth, the way he’d been bullied all through school, what the brain hemorrhage had cost him. But he knew he couldn’t divulge anything about himself—nothing real, anyway.
“And then to find out we were so deeply in debt…” She shook her head. “He couldn’t bear to tell me, I guess. Didn’t want me to worry.”
“It must’ve come as a blow.” Bishop noticed some blood on the ground—probably from when he was wheeling Emmett’s body around back—which was wet, thanks to the light rain they’d had this morning.
He made sure he retained eye contact with his landlady so that she wouldn’t notice it. He’d thought he’d done a better job of cleaning up than he had, but he’d been so tired and hadn’t had a chance to come out and check his work. He’d been too eager to go buy what he needed to camouflage the stolen van—which he hoped she hadn’t seen parked under the tangled vines shrouding the carport.
“It did. I inherited this ranch from my father. I should’ve stayed involved on the management end. But times were different back then. I was expected to stay at home and raise our kids, and that’s what I did. I don’t regret my choice. I love my four children.”
“That’s nice.” Bishop made an attempt to sound sincere, but he wasn’t sure if he was being successful.
“It’s just that being thrust back into the business world after such a long break … I feel like a fish out of water,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
She was obviously still mourning the death of her husband and their business. As a matter of fact, she was so caught up in her own personal anguish she hadn’t been paying as much attention to the ranch as he imagined she would otherwise—lucky for him.
“I doubt you could’ve done anything to save it,” he said flatly.
When her head jerked up, he knew his comment had sounded too harsh, too careless.
“Not to be insensitive,” he added. “It’s just … why beat yourself up for something you couldn’t help? That’s all. If your husband managed this place your entire married life, he must’ve done a decent job.”
“Oh, I’m not saying he didn’t!” she said. “He did all he could, of course. Small farms and ranches can’t compete with the big boys anymore. That’s all. I’m not blaming him. Just wishing I’d been more prepared for living without him.”
“What about your children?” He conjured an interested expression. He wanted to keep her talking, keep her distracted. There could be something he’d missed, like the blood he’d noticed himself, that would make her take a second look. “They were never interested in getting involved in the family business?”
“No. Maybe if we’d had a boy it’d be a different story. But the girls all went to college in the Lower Forty-eight and only one came back. She’s now married and works for a veterinarian.”
The sky was darkening, promising more rain. Bishop hoped that would motivate Mrs. Southwick to leave sooner than she might’ve done otherwise. “Some of the others could still return.”
“I doubt they will. It’s too hard to make a living here, unless you’re a pilot, a roughneck in the oil fields or a hunting guide. About the only thing left is the tourism industry, and they’d tired of that by the time they got out of high school.”
“There’s the vet clinic, right?”
“Ada works there because she loves animals. She makes very little, but she doesn’t have to earn a lot. Her husband’s an ob/gyn and he has a thriving practice.”
The dogs, who’d started barking as soon as they came around the building, began to whine and jump against the walls.
Bishop opened the door and, careful not to let them out, held it so that Mrs. Southwick could look in.
“There are just five left, huh? What are their names?”
Bishop tightened his jaw. She was too damn nosey. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d be rotting right along with Emmett Virtanen in the coop closest to the fence on the far end.
He rattled off a few popular pet names and said he couldn’t remember the last one, simply because he couldn’t think of a fifth.
“How do you find homes for them?” she asked.
Bishop had reached his limit. He wasn’t going to indulge her any longer. He shouldn’t have to. He’d paid his rent. She had no reason to bother him. “Mrs. Southwick, I’m sorry, but I have groceries waiting in the car. Is there any way we could discuss this some other time? It’s not as though I was expecting you, after all.”
She blinked several times. “Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No problem. It’s been inconvenient,” he admitted, “but I’ve been very accommodating. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not sure I’d say that at all,” she mumbled, and hugged her purse to her chest as she began to march back to her car.
“You can’t just drop in and expect me to be happy about it!” he called after her.
She turned, a lo
ok of wonder on her face. “This is my property!”
“I’m paying rent. I deserve a little privacy.”
“It’s too bad Emmett quit,” she said. “I liked him a lot better than you.”
That was the story of Bishop’s life. No one liked him, and he couldn’t figure out why. He had a right to draw some boundaries, didn’t he? Others did it all the time, and somehow they retained their friends. She was in his way, had interrupted his morning without any warning—so how was he in the wrong?
“I tried to be nice,” he said as he followed her back around the plant.
“I’ve been through a harrowing ordeal the past six months. The least you could do is indulge me with a fifteen-minute visit. I was asking about the dogs because I was thinking of adopting one. I need something else in my life now that Bernie’s gone. Sometimes, late at night, I think I might be losing my mind.” Her voice broke, prompting him to say what everyone expected when someone started to cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m just … busy and … and stressed.” What was more stressful than having a dead man in the coop in back and a kidnap victim locked in the cooler? He was doing something few people attempted and even fewer managed to pull off, right after recovering from a massive stroke. “With Emmett gone, I had to change my plans at the last minute. And I still haven’t found a home for these dogs, even though I’ve got more coming.…”
At his conciliatory tone, her steps slowed. “Of course. I understand that I’m not the only one with problems.” She seemed to be softening, making an attempt to see the situation from his point of view. He thought he just might have a chance to repair the damage he’d done.
But then she stepped on something—maybe a soft or muddy spot on the ground—that made her look down.
And when he followed her gaze, he saw what she saw: there was blood all over the hem of her turquoise pants.
Anchorage, AK—Sunday, 4:00 p.m. AKDT
If Evelyn had had the slightest inkling that Bishop was showing a visitor around the plant, any warning at all, she would’ve rushed the door. But she was busy trying to make another shiv when she heard a whoosh and the door swung open.
