by Gregg Olsen
“All righty,” she said. “You take care.”
He smiled. “Will do.”
Inside there was no smile. There was nothing to be happy about. He’d made a very big mistake four years before and he’d never been able to get it out of his mind. He’d left the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department because of it.
The Davenport Hotel had been resurrected. Opened originally in 1914, it closed in 1985, and had been saved from the wrecking ball in 2000 by a Spokane couple who wanted to bring it back to its former glory. In doing so, they brought back the heart and soul of an inland city that had bragging rights to a gilded past born of mining money that turned a former Indian village into an impressive city. The crown jewel was the Davenport.
After a uniformed valet took her keys and handed her a claim ticket, Kendall found Nick in the bar. She’d known him casually when they were in the department together, but she was working her way up and he was, unfortunately, working his way down. He waved her over to his table and stood to greet her.
“Been a while,” he said.
“Yes, it has. How you been, Nick?”
“Can’t complain,” he said as they both sat down. “You?”
She could complain about a million things, but none that she’d share with him right then.
“I’m fine. I wish I could say that about the Katy Frazier case.”
“Yeah. Saw that in the paper.”
Carla poured her coffee and asked if they wanted menus. Kendall hadn’t eaten for hours and ordered the Crab Louis, a salad that had been originally created at the Davenport. Nick had a four-cheese grilled sandwich. While they waited for their food to arrive they talked about Port Orchard, the department, and its grab-bag mix of personalities.
“I miss that place,” he said.
“Why did you leave, Nick? What happened?”
Carla delivered the food and asked if they needed anything else.
“We’re good,” he said. “Thanks, kiddo.”
“Are you a regular here?”
“Kind of,” he said. “I mean, I’m not a cop anymore, Kendall. After what happened in Port Orchard, I just couldn’t do the job.”
He undid his jacket showing the same valet uniform Kendall had seen on the attendant when she arrived.
“Nick, I didn’t know. I thought you were in law enforcement in Post Falls.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told everyone.”
Kendall took a bite of the crab. It was delicious, but she didn’t savor it as she would have in other circumstances.
“What happened, Nick?”
“Brit happened. That’s what.”
Kendall’s eyes widened. “Katy’s mother?”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes cast downward at his plate. “We had a thing. It was before I had Katy’s case, but it heated up again when she went missing.” He stopped and picked at the fries next to his sandwich. “I know it was wrong, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“It’s more than wrong,” Kendall said, setting down her fork and facing him with riveted eyes.
“You can’t beat me up any more than I have already.”
She knew he was probably right about that. He’d gone from a good job, one with prestige and a future, to parking cars for well-heeled hotel guests in Spokane. That likely wasn’t a single person’s dream for a career trajectory.
“What happened? How did it affect the investigation?”
“She was going through something. So was I at the time. I was drinking a lot at the time. Been sober for three years now.”
“Go on with it, Nick. Just tell me.”
Nick Mayberry stood motionless when he saw Brit. It had been more than a year. Brit had called him over fifty times since he broke it off. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. It was that she was married to a nice guy. He didn’t want to be party to a divorce. He’d had his own and never recovered. They’d met in a downtown Port Orchard martini bar. He was drinking Scotch. She was mainlining cosmopolitans. He recognized her from the work she’d done with troubled kids.
“This was before her coffee shop. She talked about it back then. I listened. I listened to everything she said. When I’m loaded on Scotch, I’m a very good listener,” he said.
“From there, you became involved?” Kendall asked.
He ate some more of his sandwich and shook his head when Carla lifted the coffeepot from the other side of the room.
“Not that night. But not long after. Look,” he said, “I liked her. I felt sorry for her. She seemed anxious, angry. A mix of both. She told me that her husband had let his dreams supersede her own. That her kids were sucking the life out of her and she needed a way out. We met a few times after that. At my place because I lived alone and she had Roger and the girls.”
“How long did this go on?” Kendall asked.
“Not very,” Nick said. “She was clingy and, basically, too much work. We stayed together for six months, but I knew it was wrong from the outset. I kept trying to break it off, but, you know, the sex was good and I was a lonely drunk with few options.”
“So you had an affair with her,” Kendall said. “And you broke it off. Is that right?”
“Yeah. But there’s more to it.” He pushed himself away from the table. “Brit was my downfall. Not kidding. I know that I should be accountable for what happened. I know that in my heart of hearts, but damn, she just led me over the edge.”
Nick Mayberry knew the address. He’d actually been inside the house twice when Roger was gone and the girls were in Seattle doing whatever a twelve-year-old and sixteen-year-old could do. He was glad he didn’t have kids. He’d seen so many come through the justice system with futures written in erasable ink.
“It’s you,” Brit said, her eyes rimmed in red, as she opened the door. “I’m glad it was you. Roger’s here,” she said, this time her voice low.
Nick followed her inside the “Flash Cube,” looking around as though it was the first time. Roger Frazier got up and introduced himself. Nick took out a small black notebook—one that he now used to calculate tips he’d received from his job as a valet. Back then it was an investigative notebook.
The couple told him that Katy hadn’t been seen for hours and they were worried.
“Normally we don’t start a missing persons case this soon.”
“She’s a good kid,” Roger said. “Star athlete. Top-ten student. Something is seriously wrong, Detective. Seriously.”
“He’s right,” Brit said, crumpling a tissue in her hands. “Katy is the apple of our eyes.”
Nick knew that was a lie. Her daughter was the scourge of her life. She’d said so many, many times.
He made some notes. Captured the names of those who most likely had seen the girl before she vanished. Looking around her bedroom showed just what Roger Frazier had described. A very good girl. A desk set up for homework. A bed with white eyelet sheets, crisp and neatly made. In the bathroom, he detected some small drops of blood.
“What’s that?” Roger said, though he likely knew what the oval droplets were.
“Don’t know,” Nick said. “Could be blood. Lab techs will be down. Don’t touch anything.”
Carla took their plates and offered dessert, but both declined.
“I interviewed her friends and they told me that they’d planned on seeing her after class, but she was a no-show.”
Kendall kept her eyes locked on him. She didn’t understand what happened. She pointedly asked him.
“Why did the investigation stall, Nick?”
“Brit and me. That’s why. Honestly, that’s the truth. In the middle of her daughter missing she needed comfort and I stupidly went there. I know with every fiber of my being that it sounds completely predatory on my part, but the roles were reversed. Honestly. I just let her cry on my shoulder and one thing led to another.”
“So are you thinking she got rid of her daughter, is that it?”
“Hell, no. She didn’t have a thing to do with it. I’m su
re of it. The funny thing was that she wasn’t all that broken up about it. She told me over and over that when Katy came back she was going to beat her ass with a yardstick. Does that sound like a mother who killed her kid?”
Kendall thought it sounded like a Port Orchard version of Mommie Dearest, but she didn’t say so.
“That’s all you got, Nick?” she asked. “A feeling that because she was going to discipline her child that she couldn’t possibly have made her disappear?”
“I guess so,” he said.
“You really screwed up here,” she said.
“I told you I know that already. Park some other guy’s Lexus for the rest of your life. Drive your Hyundai home every night to your walk-up apartment in a crappy part of Spokane. You’ll be reminded every day that you screwed up.”
“What happened with Brit?” she asked.
“We broke it off. We kind of had to. One of the kids saw us kiss. Said she’d tell the sheriff and Roger what she’d seen.”
“Who was it?”
“Alyssa Woodley. She’d moved into Katy’s bedroom. Said she was there to help Naomi and Brit, but I think she might have had other motives.”
“Like what? What are you getting at?”
“I’m not sure. Really, I’m not. Part of me thought that Katy had run away from her mother because she couldn’t stand her. The other part of me thought that Alyssa had something to do with it. She was just too involved. Always there, listening, checking in on the investigation. A regular junior detective, that one.”
“Too helpful?”
He folded his arms. “Like the firebug who befriends the firemen in his neighborhood and is always there when the sirens sound.”
“I know the type,” she said.
“I didn’t like that girl. Not one bit. But when she caught me and Brit making out I was a little relieved. I knew I’d crossed the line and that I’d compromised the investigation. I gave notice two days later.”
“I remember your departure seemed sudden. I thought you’d taken a job in Post Falls that was more to your liking. A better fit.”
Nick’s face was grim, but his eyes were full of repentance.
“This was my better fit, Kendall,” he said. “I’m parking cars and staying away from law enforcement.” His voice trailed off to a whisper as Carla came with the check. “There’s no forgiving the cop who screws the missing girl’s mother.”
He reached for the check.
“I’ll get this,” he said. “I have an employee discount.”
“You know that I’ll have to report what you told me,” Kendall said. “The affair will probably wind its way into the papers. Nothing I can do about it.”
He nodded. “I know. I’ve got nothing to lose anyway. Lost everything that was important to me with I went to bed with Brit Frazier. I just didn’t know it at the time.”
Kendall waited for the attendant to bring her car into the covered entrance to the hotel. She noticed that she’d received a call from Birdy and dialed her back.
“How did it go with Mayberry?” Birdy asked right away.
“Just got done,” she said, stepping away from a young couple in the valet queue. “Said he was having an affair with Brit Frazier. Said his judgment was clouded by alcohol. Said that Alyssa is a puppet master. Did you know she moved in with the Fraziers?”
Birdy didn’t. “I guess your trip to Spokane has been fruitful.”
“I guess so. It feels a little sad, a little after the fact. Brad is going to have to earn his paycheck when it gets out that one of our own was bagging the mother of a potential murder victim.”
“We don’t know that she’s dead, Kendall.”
“I know. But I think she is. And I think that Alyssa knows more than she’s saying.”
“I know you want to get back here, but I have an address you might want to check out.”
“Whose?”
Birdy didn’t say. “Texting it to you now,” she said.
A beat later, Kendall looked down as the text message appeared on the small screen of her phone.
“No shit? She’s here? You’re right. This might be fun.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Spokane’s South Hill is rightly known for its stately homes and beautiful parks, the highlight of which is Manito Park, a sprawling oasis of trees, trails, and play spaces for children. Kendall parked in front of an olive green Craftsman-style home sandwiched between a Tudor and a Victorian. The low-slung front porch was painted white and looked clean enough to dress a baby on. Kendall knocked on the door and watched through the window as a woman approached, the cherry-tip glow of a cigarette dangling from her lips.
The woman yanked the door open. “Who the hell are you?” she asked, before giving Kendall a chance to introduce herself.
It was a startling way of greeting a visitor.
“I’m Kendall Stark, investigator for the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department,” Kendall answered, half watching for the cigarette to fall from the homeowner’s crinkled lips.
“So?” she said. “What do you want?”
Kendall had been greeted with more friendliness from a meth dealer in Seabeck than from this lady.
“Is Pandora your daughter?”
“Pandora. Hmm . . .” The woman smiled and shook her head a little. “I guess you could call her that.”
“Good,” Kendall said, although she had let it cross her mind that it might not have been altogether bad if she’d been at the wrong address. “I’m investigating a case,” she said, keeping her tone even and as warm as she could. Given the circumstances and the older woman’s attitude, that wasn’t easy. “It’s related to your daughter.”
The woman sucked on her cigarette again and blew smoke out her nostrils. She looked like a dragon.
“Is the little bitch dead?” she asked.
This was no “Mommy and me” session here.
“No,” Kendall said, taking a slight step backward. “She’s not. She’s fine.”
The woman removed her cigarette and let the ash fall to the floor, where it smoldered. “Too bad. She done me so dirty I don’t have much feeling for her.”
“Mrs. Kirkowski, may I come in and talk to you?”
“Kirkowski was like . . .” the woman said, pretending to count in her head. “Like four marriages ago. I still use it. But there is no Mr. Kirkowski.”
Kendall persisted. “Can we talk?”
Rose Kirkowski—or whatever last name she preferred—looked at the interloper on her doorstep with a wary eye.
“You sure you’re not with the Globe or something?” she asked. “My no-good daughter said that if I talk to you guys she’ll, you know, you know.”
Kendall didn’t know, but she didn’t ask. “No, as I said, I’m with the sheriff’s department.”
Rose Kirkowski swung the door open. The smell of smoke and cat urine nearly knocked Kendall to the gleaming wood of the pristine white porch. It was repugnant and shocking at the same time. Everything outside the shell of Rose Kirkowski’s life was perfection. Inside the house, inside her life, was another matter altogether.
“You want a Bud?”
Kendall shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said.
“I’m having one. It’s hot today.”
Kendall stood in the cluttered and smelly foyer while Pandora’s mother went into the kitchen and took the top off a beer bottle.
“Come in here,” Rose called from the hall to the kitchen. “If you see my Siamese, La Choy, please grab the little bastard. He’s a terror and I can’t catch him. I think he has worms.”
Kendall was not about to catch that cat. She made her way to the sofa while Rose bent over to scoot aside a stack of Spokesman Review newspapers.
Rose was wearing a curious outfit. She had an aqua-colored terry bathrobe over a pair of jeans and house slippers. Her hair was the same length and color as her daughter’s.
“Yes, we look alike,” she said, catching Kendall’s gaze.
Kend
all started to say something, but Rose cut her off.
“I’m not psychic,” she said “I just get that now and then since my daughter became such a famous bitch.”
“You don’t like your daughter,” Kendall said.
“That’s an understatement. If you’re here to get the goods on her for something she did, I say it’s about time and I’d like to help you.”
Kendall tried not to gag as her eyes caught a pile of cat feces in the corner next to a deader-than-a-doornail mother-in-law’s-tongue plant in a cracked white chamber pot. Kendall knew the plant with its green and yellow blades. In another moment, she’d allow herself to be drawn back to her family home in Port Orchard, reliving a happy memory of a household in which there was boundless love for everyone within its walls.
That clearly wasn’t Rose Kirkowski’s home.
“I’m just doing some background,” Kendall said.
Rose wiped the condensation off the long neck of her beer bottle “She’s got a lot of background,” she said. “Lots she wouldn’t like anyone to know about. Not now. Now that she’s all that.”
Kendall glanced around the room. A layer of dust covered most of the furniture on its perimeter. A TV in a cherry entertainment center looked as if it was the center of all attention—a worn trail in the carpet suggested plenty of trips back and forth. Kendall wondered if Rose couldn’t find her remote control. There were no personal photos out. The only art on the wall was a Navajo-style blanket and a mirror with a cracked frame. In the farthest corner from the sofa, in the window that looked out at the street, was a cat gymnasium. Three cats sat on top, though none were Siamese or the long-lost, worm-infested La Choy.
“I like cats better than people,” Rose said, catching Kendall’s gaze on her collection of felines. “I like them better than my daughter, but before I tell you anything about her, you’ll need to tell me why you’re here.”
“Just some background on a case, that’s all.”
Rose tightened her smoker’s lips. “That’s crap,” she said. “And you know it.”
