by Diane Capri
“You still think that Peter Whiting might be your son?” He paused as if to think through the implications.
“We’re at Norah Fender’s house.” Jess took a deep breath. “There’s a body in the bathtub. We think it’s her.”
“You’ve called the police.”
“Yeah. They’re here now.”
“Natural causes?”
“No.” Jess bit her lip. “What do you know about Charlene’s daughter, Crystal?”
Nelson skipped a beat. “She went missing before my time. There was an investigation. I read up on it when I arrived. A lot of rumor and speculation, but no results.”
“Rumor and speculation about what?”
He sighed. “Charlene’s not an easy woman. Some folks say it’s no surprise that Crystal ran away and never came back.”
“People don’t just disappear into thin air.” Jess pressed the ice pack over her eyes to stop the twinkling lights. “Charlene told me Crystal was pregnant.”
Nelson took a deep breath. “Why is this important right now?”
“Because Charlene thinks it’s her daughter’s handwriting on Peter Whiting’s original delivery record. Charlene thinks Peter Whiting is Crystal’s baby.”
“I, uh, see.” He paused almost a full second. “Crystal was pregnant around the time she went missing, but the last witness to see her wasn’t sure whether she’d given birth. But if she did, I’d be amazed if that wasn’t discovered at the time. Portland isn’t that far from Randolph, and it’s one of the biggest cities within driving distance. Someone would have checked hospitals there. People looked for her for quite a while. Her name was all over the local news.”
“The birth mother checked into Kid’s Own using Barbara Whiting’s name. But Charlene says it’s Crystal’s handwriting on the delivery record.”
“How do you know what Charlene says about that?”
Jess blinked. Maybe she wasn’t making herself clear enough. “Charlene’s here with me.”
“You took her along?”
“I didn’t. You sent her.”
Nelson uh-huh’d. “I didn’t send her anywhere. She went home sick this morning. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“Well, she’s here.”
“Let me give a word of warning, Jess. Crystal’s disappearance has played on Charlene’s nerves for all these years. She’s wound pretty tight. Just be careful you don’t set her off.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Jess watched the paramedic head toward the house and another officer approach Charlene in the Crown Vic. They talked for a few moments and then Charlene got out. The officer took her gun.
Their discussion continued, but Jess’s concentration was broken by Captain Gonzalez’s approach. “That your gun in there? On the table in the hall?”
“Yes.”
Gonzalez nodded. “We’ll have to take it, but if everything checks out, you’ll get it back.”
She’d expected as much. She nodded.
A large white truck arrived and parked behind the ambulance. A crime scene investigation unit. From Portland, not Castleford. Gonzalez looked at it and back at Jess. “We’ll need your elimination prints, too.”
She nodded again. “My prints are on file lots of places.”
“It’ll be quicker if you give us an elimination set. Any problem with that?”
“No.”
“We found your bag. We’ll catalog it and then you can have it back, too.”
“Did you find my ID?”
“Journalist with Taboo Magazine, but they tell me you’re on the side of the victims, not looking to make victims out of the criminals. That true?”
“Absolutely.”
“FBI database says you’re licensed for concealed carry in Colorado, but not here in Oregon.” He gave her a stern look but didn’t say he planned to arrest her for unlawful possession of the gun. “No outstanding warrants. Quite a few arrests in several states. Charges usually dismissed. No convictions. Most recent arrest two days ago in Randolph, Washington. I’ve got a call into Randolph PD.”
“Captain Nelson. I talked to him a few minutes ago.” She pointed toward Charlene in the Crown Vic. “Officer Mackie is one of his.”
Gonzalez cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to interview Norah Fender.” She nodded to the house.
“Can you give us a positive ID? Was that her in the bathtub?”
Jess shrugged. “I’ve never seen her before, but that makes sense.”
“Why’d you want to talk to her?”
“Her name came up in a case I’m investigating. About selling babies.”
“We checked her prior criminal history.” He seemed satisfied with her answers. “So tell me what happened here.”
“There was a man standing behind the bathroom door. Very strong.” She took a deep breath. “He twisted my gun to point at Norah Fender, and pushed my finger against the trigger.”
Gonzalez nodded. “Who let you in the house?”
She paused.
“Anyone invite you in?”
“The lights were on. A saucepan on the stove was on fire. I was concerned that the fire might take down the whole house.” She swiped a hand through her curls. “Where I come from, lawyers call that exigent circumstances. It’s as good as an invitation.”
“Yeah, for cops and first responders. Not for civilians.” Gonzalez glanced back at the house. An officer by the front door made hand signals.
She looked at Gonzalez. He had big brown eyes, a buzz cut, and a square jaw. He didn’t look like the sort of person who worked in anything but facts.
“The case I’m working on?” Jess pointed at Charlene again. “The disappearance of her daughter and her grandson.”
Gonzalez’s eyes locked on hers. “Sounds like a police matter.”
“It was.” Jess nodded. “Crystal Mackie disappeared more than a decade ago.”
He grunted. “You think you have a new lead, you hand it over to the police. That’s our job.”
“We didn’t know we had a lead until we got here.”
He looked over at the officer talking to Charlene. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Gonzalez and Charlene talked for a while. Charlene gazed down. She nodded from time to time. Jess was too far away to hear the conversation.
Three crime scene technicians in white overalls exited the truck. They carried bulky cases of equipment into the house.
Jess was sore, and a dull ache had settled in the front of her head, but she was fine. Fit enough. She wasn’t under arrest. She could move.
She’d known entering the house was dangerous. She’d done it anyway. The only thing she’d accomplished was stopping the fire before it got out of hand.
She lifted the ice pack to her face again. It was cold and damp, and it felt good against her bruises. Gonzalez was right. If she’d phoned the police instead of going inside, the house would have sustained more damage, Norah Fender would still be dead, and her killer might still be in the wind. But Jess would have been a lot better off right now.
She closed her eyes. The woman had been in the tub when she’d opened the bathroom door. It might be hard to prove Jess hadn’t shoved Norah into the bathtub first and then shot her.
Jess hadn’t been arrested, but she probably should have called Miller already. He’d be reading her the riot act when he found out about all of this. Too much cooperation could produce evidence that ended up being used against her. She knew that, too. But she wanted to get out of here, and the only way that was going to happen was if Gonzalez agreed. Stonewalling definitely wouldn’t produce the desired result.
As if he’d read her thoughts, one of the white-coated crime scene techs came out of the house and asked to swab her hands for gun powder residue. Jess held out her palms. Gonzalez watched from the Crown Vic.
The tech took two samples from each hand. Different types of swabs with various pungent chemical odors.
“Better chance
of positive detection,” he said. The tech left, and she saw Gonzalez walk toward the house again.
Jess lifted her head. She’d done the right thing. In fact, if she’d been a few moments earlier, Norah Fender might still be alive.
She drew in a sharp breath. She felt like slapping a palm to her head, but she had been slapped around enough today. In fact, her brain must have been bruised or something. Otherwise, she’d certainly have recognized the improbable coincidence a lot sooner.
Just exactly how did she manage to arrive at exactly the same time that man decided to kill Norah Fender? She could think of only one answer.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A gray-haired woman wearing a white coat approached the ambulance. She was tall and rail thin, emaciated almost. Her face and neck had no hint of fat. Gonzalez was with her. His square jaw set. His gaze trained on Jess.
“I’m Doctor Edna Alison,” the woman said. “And you’re Jess Kimball?”
Jess nodded.
“You found the body, right?”
“Yes.”
Alison nodded toward the house. “There were two close-range gunshots. Both went into the body, through the plastic bathtub, and into the floor. We haven’t found either bullet yet.”
Jess nodded, listening carefully.
“Which means she was already in the tub at the time she was shot. The first shot didn’t kill her. It hit her in the abdomen. Second shot was to the chest. Each entry wound, exit wound, and bathtub hole lines up. Which means she didn’t move between or after the two gunshots.”
Jess looked at Alison. “That seems extremely unlikely. Somebody’s shooting at me, I’m scrambling to get out of the way.”
The woman held out clenched fists. “Grip me.”
Jess didn’t move.
Alison smiled. “It’s not a trick.”
Jess looked from Alison’s fists back to her face and nodded. She reached out with both hands, wrapped them around Alison’s fists and squeezed.
“Harder,” Alison said.
Jess squeezed harder. She could feel the bones in Alison’s hands clicking over one another to absorb the force. Alison uncurled her fingers, enlarging her fists. Jess squeezed harder trying to crush the doctor’s hands back into a clenched fist.
The doctor smiled. “Enough.”
Jess let go. The woman was strong. Far stronger than her fragile appearance implied.
Jess shrugged, questioningly.
“Thank you.” Alison and Gonzalez turned and walked back into the house, heads bent together.
Jess pulled out her phone. She dialed her editor.
“Carter Pierce, here.” His warm tone exuded confidence, as always.
“Carter, I’m afraid I need help again.”
“Why is it that I only hear from you when you’re in trouble?”
Her mind searched for a witty rejoinder, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I found a nurse who was selling babies, but a man overpowered me and used my gun to shoot her. Now it seems I’m suspected of murder.”
“That’s a bit more interesting than arson now, isn’t it?” She heard the cap on Carter’s Mont Blanc pen click. “You think this is all somehow connected with Peter, right?”
Jess closed her eyes and sighed. “A boy named Peter, yes. But it looks like he’s not my son.”
She heard the pen land on Carter’s mahogany desk as he laid it down. Followed by a long silence before he exhaled. “Are you sure?”
“Believe me, no one is more upset by that reality than I am.”
“Yes, of course.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Jess. I really thought you might be onto something this time.”
“I did, too.” Jess squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.
Carter remained quiet for several moments. “Tell me what you need, Jess.”
She looked over at the Crown Vic where Charlene remained seated with one of Gonzalez’s team leaning on the door. She needed to find out what had happened to Crystal Mackie. She needed to find out if Peter Whiting was Charlene’s grandson. She needed to get back to work, back to looking for her own Peter.
She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to find the answer to her son’s disappearance here, but she was going to do everything she could to find out about Charlene’s daughter.
And she wasn’t going to do that by sitting here.
“I need Miller.”
“No problem.” The warm tones of Carter’s voice took on a new quality. Satisfaction. “Thought he might come in handy. I had him camp out in Seattle. I’ll call him now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Jess waited while the crime scene techs walked boxes in and out of the house. Gonzalez returned to his squad car and sat in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t see what he was doing there. After a few minutes, he came over to talk with her again.
“You’ve been in touch with your legal people? Miller, right?”
Jess nodded.
“He’s been making phone calls all over.”
She said nothing.
“I have a dead body and a suspect that admits shooting her. That’s a tricky legal position for Miller, I guess.” He cocked his head. “Me? I’m a cop. I don’t deal with legal positions. I collect facts and make logical deductions and find the killer. Let the lawyers sort things out after I’m done.”
Jess did not reply, but she sensed a different vibe coming from him now and she didn’t know what that meant.
“I’ve got probable cause to hold you. At least until we’ve got more facts.” He reached out a hand to help her down from the back of the ambulance. They walked toward his cruiser. “So I could take you down to the station. But I don’t really believe you killed Norah Fender. And Dr. Alison doesn’t think so, either.”
She looked at the house. The front door was half open. She wanted to know what was going on inside. “We both want the facts, don’t we?”
“We do,” Gonzalez said.
Jess believed Miller would figure out a way to get her out of jail if she went back to the station with Gonzalez. But she couldn’t wait the hours or days it would take him to accomplish the feat. She’d waited too long already.
“Let’s go inside. Maybe we can help each other out,” Jess said.
“You’ll lead us through what happened? Complete blow-by-blow. Word for word.”
“And you’ll answer my questions. Sounds like a plan.” She looked over at Charlene.
“We’ve got too many people in there already.” Gonzalez shook his head. “Just you for now. We’ll get her take on things later.”
Jess could feel Charlene’s eyes boring into her back as they walked into the house.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jess followed Gonzalez to the front door of the house. He handed her a pair of booties to slip over her shoes and a pair of latex gloves from his pockets.
When they walked inside, she noticed that her Glock was no longer resting on the hall table. Its outline was marked with fingerprint dusting powder.
“Don’t touch anything,” Gonzalez said. “We’re still processing.”
Jess nodded. “I put my gun there just before I walked out.”
“Let’s start in the kitchen.” Gonzalez led the way.
Doctor Edna Alison was in the kitchen, examining the splintered wood around the backdoor lock with an eye loupe.
Jess stepped closer to the back door. “It opened pretty easily.”
Gonzalez replied, “The chains on both the front and the back doors were cheap. Easily broken.”
Jess turned to the stove. The burnt saucepan and scorched towels were exactly where she remembered placing them. Black soot stained the ceiling. “There was a good risk of a bigger fire.”
Jess could hear Miller’s voice in her head, chiding her for talking before he’d arrived. She shoved the voice away.
“Show us how you broke the door,” Alison said.
Jess motioned bumping it with her hip. Alison glanced at Gonzalez and nodded. “That’s consistent wit
h the damage.”
“So you’re inside. What then?” Gonzalez said.
“I called out to Norah Fender. There was no answer. No creaking floors. No radio or television.” She pointed to the stove. “I threw a wet towel over the flames and shut off the gas.”
Alison pointed to the controls. “What was the setting?”
“High.” Jess looked at the black mass that had boiled over and was now welded to the stovetop.
“Did it smell in here?”
“Burned, slightly sweet smell.” Jess approached the stove. “What was in these pots?”
Alison stood beside Jess. “Sugar and some sort of foaming agent. I’ll get the results from the lab. Hydroxymethylfurfural.”
Jess raised her eyebrows.
“Sugar doesn’t burn well unless it’s powdered or heated to high temperatures very quickly. This was a combination. High heat and foam to cover a large surface area. Makes a compound called Hydroxymethylfurfural, which does burn easily and can actually explode.”
“He meant to burn the house down.”
“What happened next?” Alison said. “After you put out the fire.”
Jess led them to the living room. They stood between the sofa and the armchair. Two table lamps had been switched on since she was last there, one on either side of the sofa. They gave the room a warm and welcoming glow. There were two plants and several sun catchers on the window and over the fireplace. There was no sign of dust.
She pointed at a cupboard. “May I?”
Alison nodded. “Don’t use the handle.”
Jess stooped and opened the cupboard door from the bottom. There were five shelves, all stuffed with books. Hardbacks filled the upper two shelves and paperbacks the lower.
“Alphabetical by author,” Alison said.
Jess studied the names and nodded. She pointed to occasional books that were shelved spine-in. Their titles were hidden and the creamy white of their pages exposed. “Odd.”
Alison nodded. “Leave them for us to examine.”
Jess eased the cupboard door closed. She pointed to the book on the armchair. “She was disturbed.”
