by Don Weston
I hopped onto the bed in my nightgown and called Angel again.
“Hello?” A husky male voice answered.
“Ah, is Angel there?”
“I’ll check . . . some broad wants to talk to you,” he said.
“Billie? Is that you? Are you okay?”
I laughed. “You’re the one who got run off the road.”
“I know. But I’m all right. I’ve been worried about you, but they had me all doped up last night. I would have called you this morning, but I’ve been slightly distracted by my guest.”
“Yeah, who answered the phone?”
“It’s Earl,” she said. “He walked into my room a couple hours ago, saying he was worried about me.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Yes, he’s a very nice man. Very charming in his own way. Not what you’d expect at first sight. I like him.”
Earl said something in the background I couldn’t make out and the sound was muffled when Angel responded to him.
“He’s going to give me a ride home,” Angel said. “The doctor will be in soon and then I’ll be cut free.”
“Good,” I said. “Did they find anything wrong with you?”
“Just some bruises on my chest and legs. Oh, and some face burn. Those airbags might save lives but they leave hellacious marks.”
“Well, I can come and get you.”
“You stay there and rest. Earl’s going to take me to lunch, and I don’t want to tire you out. Did your brothers get the GPS tracker working?”
“Yeah. Steve’s here now. The boys have been tracking him all over town. I’m letting him cool his heals for a while.”
“You shouldn’t treat him that way,” Angel said. “He’s probably worried about you. Maybe you can play it to your advantage.”
“He doesn’t think that way about me, and I’m not so sure I have feelings for him anymore. He seems distant. Besides, he almost got me killed yesterday, and he seemed more concerned about where you came from than he did about me.”
“Sweetie, I know you still like him. What’s not to like? He’s tall, handsome, and muscular and his voice could put me to bed anytime. He likes you, too. But you have to come on softer with him. He wants to feel he’s a man. Show him your feminine side for a change.”
I decided to change the subject. “By the way, I have this message on my machine from Stella Fleming saying she’s flying in on flight three-forty-three on Alaska Airlines. My dumb brothers erased the message so I don’t know if she’s coming today or tomorrow.”
“She’s supposed to be here today at two-thirty,” Angel said. “I checked the messages from the hospital last night and called her before they doped me up. Earl and I will meet her. She’s going to stay at a hotel near the airport.”
“You’re just getting out of the hospital. You should go home and rest.”
“I’m fine. Besides, Earl has offered to do all the driving. All I have to do is give directions.”
I learned a long time ago you can’t argue with Angel. “Did Stella happen to know her husband’s cause of death?”
“Not yet. The coroner’s being mum on it until she arrives.”
We argued for a few more minutes about Steve, and I hung up the phone receiver and wondered about Angel’s new man. It was obvious she liked him. Maybe she was right, I thought. Maybe I did need to be nicer and softer with Steve. I went into the bathroom to apply some perfume. After I finished drying and combing my hair, I slid into a playful dress with fall colors and found some sandals.
Jason met me at the bottom of the stairs and eyed me suspiciously.
“Steve’s here. What’s with the getup?”
“Nothing. I just felt so good after my shower I thought I’d celebrate by sprucing up.”
“This is the second day in a row you’ve worn a dress,” he said. “Yesterday I can understand. You were going to arrange Darrin’s funeral. But today there’s no reason. Is there?”
“Where’s Steve?”
“He’s in the kitchen getting some more coffee.” Jason glanced at me sideways.
“Ask him if he’ll get me a cup too and meet me in the living room.”
“I’ll be glad when you get better so I don’t have to wait on you hand-and-foot.”
I winced, sauntered into the front part of the house, and sat on the only piece of furniture, a white wicker settee with plump yellow cushions. Steve entered a minute later with a coffee mug in each hand. He looked yummy in his brown slacks and an Argyle vest sweater under a brown sport coat.
He gawked at me for a moment. “Uh, how you feeling this morning?”
“Surprisingly good,” I said, patting the cushion next to me. “Sit down.”
He approached the settee from a couple of angles before deciding on a course of action. “I’ll just stand. Here’s your coffee.”
“Come on, sit down. I don’t want to strain my neck peering up at you.” I took the cup and forced myself to sip the bitter stuff with a smile. He glanced around the room for another place to sit, and seeing none, squeezed in next to me.
“This is cozy,” he said.
“Isn’t it? I find it’s nice sometimes to slow down a bit and appreciate what we have. Don’t you?”
“I guess. The job does get wearisome. Are you telling me you plan to let us handle the investigation on your brother?”
“Well, yes, I think so.” I fidgeted on the settee a bit. “I mean, who is better qualified to find Darrin’s killer than you?”
He blinked. “I’m on top of things. You really mean you’re going to butt out?”
“Of course. Why do you act so surprised? I have every confidence in you, Stevie.”
“Stevie?”
“I mean, I’ve always thought you were extremely capable.” I think I overplayed my hand. I’m not a good flirt.
“Really?”
“Sure. Why would you think otherwise?”
“It could be because you always tried to override my ideas when we were partners. Or it could be because you went around my back when we didn’t do things your way.”
“I know. And I feel terrible about it. But this brush with death has softened me. I don’t want to go through life alone anymore. Do you know what I mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. I put my hand on his wrist and his coffee cup rattled on the saucer. I could see I made him nervous so I changed the subject.
“Why don’t you tell me about yesterday? I’m sure you have it all sorted out by now. Did you ID The Jet? Do you know who hired him? I bet that’s why you came to see me. You can’t wait to give me some good news.”
Steve put his coffee cup down on the wicker coffee table in front of us. “We identified one of the two who died in the crash. He was known as Sammy Nygyen, a known Laotian gang member in the San Francisco area about ten years ago. He was believed to be a Portland recruiter for the Irving Street Boys, a hard-core gang specializing in murder, extortion and street shootouts with rival gangs.”
“Are you telling me this is gang related?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Maybe the local gang set up a murder-for-hire business. We don’t know for sure yet if Nygyen was even still in the gang. We’re still trying to piece that together.”
“Well, The Jet looked Asian too. Did you get anything on him yet?”
Steve’s face reddened. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“You haven’t found who hired him yet? That’s all right. I’ll wait. It’s a relief just knowing he won’t be gunning for me anymore.”
“Yeah, about that.”
“What? You know you can tell me anything. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to. Ha, ha.” Steve didn’t laugh at my awkward attempt to flirt. In fact, it went right over his head.
“There was a bit of a mix-up,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. The two guys found in the blue Honda were dead all right.”
“Yes?” I waited for the other shoe to drop
.
“But The Jet wasn’t one of them. It appears there were three people in the car. Things happened so fast, we didn’t realize it. The car door was open when we got to the scene. The Jet must have gotten out on the way down the hill.”
“What? But you’ve got him in custody, right?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?” The sweetness was gone from my voice and the phrase came out like an interrogation.
“I mean, he got away. It took a while for us to respond and set up a perimeter and there was confusion about what had happened. Somehow he just slipped through our net.”
“What do you mean there was confusion? Dan told the dispatcher what the situation was. He was clear and to the point. We were nearly run off the road and shot at. The cops should have detained anyone they came across. How could he get away?”
“It seems one of our officers came across a boy wearing an oversized baseball cap at the edge of the crime scene and he . . .” Steve displayed a crooked smile. “Well, he told him to go home, that there could be trouble.”
“Are you telling me one of Portland’s finest shooed a hired killer home?”
“That’s just about the size of it.” He tried a wry grin at his little joke.
“I can’t believe this. Weren’t you in command of the situation? Didn’t you give a description of the suspects? Shit, Steve, this is dumb even for you.”
“I didn’t have a radio until the first unit arrived at the top of the hill, remember, mine was broken. By then the officer already sent what he thought was a boy, enamored with a dangerous crime scene, on his way.”
“It’s still a colossal error,” I said. “Cops are supposed to be trained observers.”
“If I remember right, his little boy act fooled you too,” Steve said.
I flashed back to the empty warehouse, where the evil grinning childlike man sat up with his wicked smile and gunned me down, and I shuddered. He waited out there somewhere now for another chance.
“Damn it. You’re supposed to be in charge of this investigation. Are you screwing it up on purpose?” I jumped up from the settee and stormed out of the room. When I turned back, his face was an angry red.
Shit. So much for showing my soft side.
Chapter 12
Steve nearly knocked Dan to the floor with an elbow and slammed the front door on the way out. Dag and Jason, who had been tracking Steve’s car on the computer in a back room, joined Dan and me at the dining table a few minutes later.
“What in the heck did you say to Steve?” Jason said. “He clocked the first three miles in under a minute. He must have blown five stop lights to get that far.”
“Not now,” Dan said. I saw him make a cut-it sign with his hand at his throat out of the corner of my vision.
“Um, okay I think we need to upgrade Billie’s security,” Dag said.
“What security?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Dag said. “When you go out sleuthing you’re an easy target.”
“Yeah, I wonder how The Jet and his gang always seem to know where you are,” Jason said.
“Let’s stay with what we know,” Dan said. “I’ve drawn up a list of everyone who might have a reason to hate, maim or kill her.”
“Jeez, how many pages is that thing?” Jason pinched at his thin mustache and chuckled.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I can’t have that many enemies.”
Dan peered up from the hand-scrawled pages. “Relax. I’ve separated them into categories. The first category is arrests. These are all the people you arrested the last two years before you ah, retired.”
“It’s been two years since she’s even been on the force,” Dag said. “Do you really think someone would harbor a grudge that long?”
“Well let’s see,” Dan said. “Joe Buczkowski was arrested by our dear sister in commission of a convenience store holdup. She knocked out most of his front teeth, handcuffed and hobbled him, and threw into him into the back of the squad car that way.”
“I remember that one,” Jason said. “When they got to the station, she bowled him across the parking lot on his stomach, hands and feet cuffed behind him.”
“He shot that little store clerk,” I said. “If I had been there a minute earlier, I could have stopped him.”
“We don’t need to go through all of these,” Dan said. “I’ve already been through the list quite a few times and I’ve narrowed it down to a manageable group of suspects. First there’s The Jet. I’d love to get a hold of that guy and find out who put the contract out on you.”
We all nodded.
“Then there’s Chris. My money’s on him at this point.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “He’s done nothing but small stuff. Murder would be too big of a jump.” The suspicions I tossed at Chris in the hospital were imaginary. After his initial bluff in my hospital room, he had proven to be harmless.
“Not according to some of his associations in the state prison,” Dan said. “He spent half his time telling anyone who would listen he was going to get even with you for the way you roughed him up. And he wasn’t talking about financial payback. He meant physical harm. He talked to some of the inmates to see what they would charge for a contract kill.”
“That clicks with what I’ve turned up so far, which wasn’t much,” Dag said. “I talked with Chris’s mother and she hasn’t seen him since he went to prison. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ was what she said. Claims if he shows up she’d shoot him herself. Apparently, he’s burgled her place a few times.”
“What about the sister?” Dan asked.
“Maribelle? She spent most of the time trying to put the moves on me,” Dag said. “I was lucky to get out of her apartment with my shirt on.”
“A real uggo?” I suggested.
“Nah, she was alright. Blond, nice figure, smart. I have a hard time believing she was related to that creep brother of hers.”
“He could be handsome,” I said. “He’s just slimy and crude and not very smart.”
“Hey, big brother,” Jason said. “If his sister is so well put together, why don’t you like her?”
“She’s too aggressive for me,” Dag said. “And she’s short.”
I stretched my neck to view my six-foot-seven-inch brother’s face and asked? “How short?”
“I’d said about five-one.”
“Ouch,” we all said in unison.
“You could use her head for an armrest,” Jason said.
Dan snickered. “She’s shorter than that redhead who used to kiss you on navel when she had to leave in a hurry.”
They waited expectantly for my retort. “Oh, no. That’s as low as I go.”
“Anyway,” Dag said, anxious to change the subject, “she did give me one lead. He likes to hang out at a little club in the Old Town area. I stopped by, but no one wanted to talk to me.”
“Well I can understand that,” I said. “You’ve probably made a few arrests in that neighborhood. Anything else turn up?”
“Not yet,” Dag said. “Maybe Jason would have better luck at the club. He’s more of the playboy type that would hang out there. It’s called The Boiler.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times,” Jason said. “Pool, loud music at night, some card games in the back room. It’s a little too seedy for me. But Chris would fit right in. I think they have some rooms for rent upstairs. Maybe he’s hiding there. I could check it out sometime when Steve’s not around.”
“You don’t want to wait,” I said. “We need to find him ASAP. Bring him here and sit on him if I’m not here. I don’t think he’s involved, but he knows something and he’s scared.”
“Okay,” Dan said. “The other suspects are either involved in the city’s lawsuit or in one of Billie’s cases. This Fleming guy who’s dead: What were you supposed to be doing on this?”
“I was supposed to find him for Stella Fleming, preferably alive,” I said. “He was in Portland thr
ee months ago for an insurance convention. His wife said he planned to renew an acquaintance with an old friend who made good here in Portland. That’s all he told her. Not who, not where, not how he made good. He just told her it would be quite a surprise when he showed up.”
“Then what?” Dan said.
“He disappeared. He attended the convention for two of the three days and went missing. I talked to a couple of insurance agents who saw him. One of them said he bragged during drinks that he was going to see an old friend who owed him some money. He said he thought this friend of his had died years ago. That was supposed to be Saturday night. Sunday was half a day and he was supposed to drive back to Idaho.”
“No one saw him Sunday?” Darrin said.
I shook my head. “He never called his wife Saturday night like he promised, and she never heard from him again. Here’s the interesting part. One of his convention buddies said he told him he saw this friend’s picture in a news article in his local newspaper. It was some kind of election picture of somebody running for a local government office.”
“In Portland?” Dan shook his head “That narrows it down to three county commissioners, four city counselors, the Metro board, judges, congressmen, senators and the state legislature.”
“I know. I went to City Hall and checked with a community relations person to see all the press conferences during a six-month period leading up to the May primary. Do you know those damn politicians sometimes have three news opportunities a day? And most of them are out in the community not at City Hall. I stopped at the security checkpoint just on the off chance someone might remember seeing Fleming at City Hall. No luck there either. I was set to fly to Pocatello to research the news story and interview his wife when I got shot.”
“This one has possibilities,” Dag said. “Probably not connected, but we have to follow up on it. Fleming’s death smells like foul play. Terminal Six is an odd place for an out-of-town insurance agent to turn up dead.”
“Okay, this next suspect’s name never leaves this room,” Dan said. He wrote the name on a yellow legal pad.
Jason let out a shrill whistle. “Mayor Clemons? That’s ridiculous. Where did you get this theory?”
