The Book of Judges

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “Not even if they brought him up here, already dead?”

  “Maybe so. If he had been brought here dead. But it looks to us like he was killed here.”

  “Ahh.” I liked this guy. Real chatty. His name tag said Chapman. I’d need to remember him. “What time do they think he was killed?”

  “His body was found here at seven in the morning by a volunteer. The doctors estimate he had been dead at the most…five hours.” He paused, looking unsure. “I think that’s what they said. Anyway, five hours dead at seven in the morning, but alive in Portland at one in the morning. Around an hour to drive from the bar up here.”

  A couple of other officers approached. Chapman shut his mouth.

  “Can I help you?” A plain clothes officer, her dark hair pulled back in a severe pony tail, spoke.

  “Thanks.” I held out my license. “I’m a private investigator. I was hoping to see where the body was found.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, we haven’t opened the scene yet.” She glanced at her phone. “To be honest, it might not be available today at all. But call tomorrow or come by. Either way, we should be able to let you in.” She gave me an apologetic smile as she spoke—hers was a very personable way of shutting me down. So much so, that I was already back in my car before I realized I would probably never get into the Vista House to look around. Not with her in charge, whoever she was.

  Chapman, on the other hand, was worth the drive out. I would definitely be calling on him later.

  Adam Demarcus may have been alive and well in Portland at one in the morning, but his killer could have gone East after dumping the body, so I drove out the back way to see if any houses were close enough to the road to have seen something.

  Two looked like good candidates to me, one a dumpy little ranch real close to the road, and the other a charming mansion with huge windows.

  Nobody answered my knock at either house. Perhaps they were tired of questions already, or they weren’t home. I’d have to come back. No stone unturned, and all that.

  I turned the car around in the u-shaped drive of the mansion and headed back to Portland. I had been hired to ferret out Adam Demarcus’ shady secret life, not to catch his killer, but that was a worthless distinction. The one would lead to the other, no matter which direction you went at it from.

  * * *

  I drove through Muchas Gracias for a big box of carne asada chips and holed away in my office to google Adam Demarcus and the rest of names Linda had given me. Also, to avoid calling Rick.

  Google was less than satisfying. No matter how many ways I typed in the names of Adam Demarcus’ known associates I never did get “how to destroy your cheating spouse” in the results. I found myself staring at the headshot of Adam Demarcus on the city website. He reminded me of Rick, but less smug. Just a nice, handsome brunette who wanted to make the city a better place.

  The notes I was taking weren’t much help either. As hard as I tried to focus on anything but Rick, pretty much all I had written down were various ways to get through the call I had promised Linda I would make—and was running out of time to get done.

  I dialed Linda twice to tell her I couldn’t do it but didn’t hit send. I dialed Rick once to tell him but threw my phone across the room instead of completing the call.

  This “have self-control and don’t go crazy” business I had promised my friends at the retreat was a lot harder when I had every single right on earth to go crazy.

  Rhoda sat on my desk, purring. Her waving tail had knocked my sticky-note pad to the floor. I think, like me, she had a tough side, and that throwing stuff around was her love language.

  I pushed her gently off the desk. Didn’t want her to get too comfortable.

  I retrieved my phone and dialed my best buddy, the one who had introduced me to Rick in fact.

  “Christine. Keep me from killing my husband.”

  “Why?” She had long stopped being a fan of Rick’s.

  “Because I was right.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Why didn’t you back me up this week? Tell the other women that I was right, and that Rick was a dog?”

  “What good would it have done?” Christine asked. “They see what they want to see. Even if Rick hadn’t been sleeping with Izzy. That’s what you are talking about, right?”

  “Yes.” Christine's calculated assessment of my situation was not a comfort, but it was the reason I had called her. Other girls could offer me shock and surprise and tears. Christine was the only one who would bolster me up with reality.

  “Even if he hadn’t been, he was massively checked out from you and giving his positive attentions to her in a way that indicated who he wanted to be sleeping with. The other women didn’t see this as a world-shattering problem. What good would it have done if I had told them they were wrong?"

  I gritted my teeth. The truth was good medicine, but hard to swallow. “What am I going to do with him?”

  “Serve him papers.”

  “When you put it like that…”

  “When I put it like that it makes sense. Listen oldest and dearest, you have been a sister to me my whole adult life, but you know what I think of your husband, who is also my boss. The retreat is still in full swing. Everyone is wandering around, possibly listening in. We cannot talk about this here, like this. Later. Tomorrow at your place with a bottle of something nice and a couple of boxes of Kleenex.” Her voice softened a little. “Whatever you need, you can have. Just buck up until tomorrow night, yes?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow.” I made a face at Christine, the logical one, the happily married one. Too bad she couldn’t see it.

  She ended the call.

  I stared at my phone. Christine. My long-standing best friend. The girl who had dragged me to her youth group when we were seniors in high school. The group where I had met their fearless leader, Rick.

  This was probably all Christine’s fault.

  Rhoda leapt gracefully back onto my desk, absolutely sure she belonged there even though she had never been here before. She had Rick’s self-assurance. If she could talk, she’d probably have his smooth way with words, too.

  I couldn’t call him just yet. He’d talk his way out of this, somehow. Or around this. Or just, talk enough to put me in a corner I couldn’t back out of. Somehow, he’d twist things. He could do that when I was angry. I had to get…less angry. I checked my watch. Almost four. I had to get less angry in just a couple of hours, so I could call him and make sure he was at Linda’s meeting.

  I went back to my computer and my nachos. Linda wanted to know what Adam had done to get himself murdered. If he had been a bit of an exhibitionist, his “secret life” would have been one he wanted discovered. I had seen it before.

  Recently.

  This morning.

  I banged my fist on the desk. The nachos jumped.

  I had better just call the rat. Get it over with. I wasn’t going to make any difference in the case until I did something.

  I dialed.

  My heart thundered.

  Voicemail.

  I gritted my teeth.

  “Rick. Call Linda Smith. Stat. Very important. Your friend…” I choked. I could not tell this man his friend was dead in voicemail. “Okay. So, call me, or call Linda. No, call me.”

  I hung up.

  I closed my eyes and forced myself to visualize Izzy in her underpants so that I could stay mad because I was very close to having a little sympathy for him.

  My phone rang. “This is Maura.”

  “Babe.”

  His voice. One word. I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but he sounded like he was going to lecture me. I bit my tongue, hard.

  “Babe. I should have spoken to you. I should have told you how I was feeling. I shouldn’t have let you come home to my mess.”

  I could taste the blood. He was starting already.

  “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to speak until you are ready. Izzy is gone. She w
on’t be back.” He cleared his throat. A put on, probably, but it stood in well for emotion.

  “You need to be at Metro at seven for a meeting with your homeless committee. Your friend Adam has been killed.”

  “Maura, you don’t have to take care of me right now. Allow yourself to be mad. You need it.”

  “Oh, I’m more than mad.” Through my clenched teeth the words were a hiss. I hung up. He was so concerned about how to spin our situation that he hadn’t even registered his friend was dead. How…like him.

  * * *

  When it was time to get to the meeting I pulled together the best outfit I could from my overnight bag—black cigarette pants, and a well-tailored suit jacket over a camisole. A bit 2005, but I didn’t buy new clothes often. And it showed off my main assets as well as anything else would.

  I wasn’t about to let Rick forget what he had just lost.

  I nudged Rhoda into the bathroom and shut the door. I had gotten the necessaries for cat care—a litter box and some food—earlier in the afternoon, so I told myself my petty vengeance wasn’t also animal cruelty.

  Rick was never getting that cat back.

  A quiet knock on my door pulled me away from my thoughts.

  Ethan stepped in. “I just saw the boss’s Jag drive up. Cat situation handled?” He smiled, like the cat mattered.

  “Yup.” I grabbed my satchel and my jacket and let him follow me out. I locked the office door and made my way downstairs.

  A circle of folding chairs filled the small lobby and two thirds of the tenants were seated.

  Becky who ran an insurance agency from an office suite on my floor was on her phone. She looked up and pushed a chair out for me.

  The six o’ clock tenants’ meeting. I sat. I’d cut out in time to get to Metro.

  Ethan sat next to me. “If you’re headed somewhere, I can take notes.” He leaned back tipping the chair.

  “She can’t go anywhere. I need someone to vote with me.” Becky shoved her phone into her pocket.

  “What are we supposed to vote on?” I checked my watch. Five after six.

  “Don’t know, but I bet rent is going up.”

  “Ah.” I did not want to be at a meeting about rent. Not with my current record of untimely payments.

  Before I could make my escape, the landlord came in.

  Six feet tall and covered in leather, Everly Brown knew how to make an entrance. She paused in the center of the ring of chairs and looked at each of us, her cold eyes set into a clearly Botoxed face. No way a woman in her sixties was completely free of crow’s feet. “I’ve sold this building.” She didn’t mince words. “The new owner takes possession on New Year’s Day. I believe they will begin demolition as soon as it is warm enough. Possibly February.”

  I was completely transfixed by the way her thin, red, lips could upend all our plans with so few words. She unzipped her creamy brown motorcycle style jacket, revealing a red cashmere sweater. “I’ll be here all week with Ethan. We’ve got a lot of work to do, so don’t bother us.” She looked at us again, each one in turn, like we might have been specimens in a museum. Then she flicked her fingers at Ethan and left, right out the back door.

  The color drained from his tan face. He jumped to his feet, and his chair fell to the ground with a crash. “I didn’t know, I swear.” He flinched like we might jump him, but before anyone could respond, he ran after Everly.

  Becky muttered something that sounded like a serious curse. She grabbed her bag and flung it over her shoulder. She looked at me, shook her head, and left.

  I was glued to my seat. I guess back rent wouldn’t be a problem after all. At least we had a couple of months to plan our exit.

  I wasn’t going to be staying here for two weeks, much less two months. It couldn’t matter. Couldn’t possibly matter. Just…get a place to live. Update my website. Update my business license, update my PI license info, update my business cards. Whatever. Cost of doing business.

  Though if it was really no big deal, why did it feel like a rock was sitting on my chest?

  Chapter Three

  The “committee to end homelessness,” or whatever they were calling themselves, met in a glass-walled conference room at the Metro building.

  Rick was there already, as was Linda. I also recognized Mac Barber from the Old Paris Theater Mission. I’d worked with him before.

  Another member—a man I hadn’t met before—took a seat. He had a thick beard and the sexy, deep set eyes of a Middle Eastern man.

  The third man at the table was a dumpy, middle-aged white guy I’d also never met. As I took my seat, a scrawny young man in a hand knit sweater and long pony tail joined us.

  “You all know what happened.” Linda’s voice broke. She leaned on the edge of the table.

  Heads around the table nodded.

  “And we all know how tenuous our position is.” Her eyes darted to the handsome bearded man with the dark eyes.

  He drew his eyebrows together in a look of pain.

  “If we want to survive the media frenzy that comes with a murder investigation, we need to find out what Adam was involved in that led to his murder and then erase all connections.”

  “You want to interfere with a murder investigation?” The bearded man narrowed his eyes.

  “It’s not how it sounds.” Linda held her hand out, pleading with him. “Will, of all people, you know how careful our committee has to be.” Linda closed her eyes like she wanted to center herself.

  “You’ve called the right person.” Rick’s voice broke the tense silence with all the sincerity of Rob Lowe. “Maura is the best private detective in the city.”

  “I agree one hundred percent.” Mac threw his support in. He had reason to know, even though the investigation I handled for him had led to his divorce.

  “Maura, what do we do now?”

  My stomach churned as I looked at Rick. As long as I could see his smug, self-satisfied face I would not be able to conduct a proper investigation. “I want to talk to each of you alone. Is there a room where we could do that?”

  “Certainly.” Linda’s hand shook as she gestured to a door outside in the hall. “My office is right there.”

  “I want to talk to you alone because I need you to feel free to speak openly. I want to know what you all know about Adam Demarcus that no one else knows.” I leaned forward, making eye contact with each person around the table, one at a time. “Most of us tell parts of our stories to people who will be sympathetic to that part, but very few people hear the whole thing. Whatever you know that you aren’t supposed to share, that’s what you need to tell me, okay?” Heads nodded.

  I went across the hall to Linda’s office and settled myself in one of the extra chrome and pleather chairs. I didn’t want the barrier of the desk between me and the committee members. They had to feel comfortable enough to spill all of Adam’s secrets. I left the door open and could see Linda and the committee chatting—apparently deciding who to send in first. Of course, it was Rick.

  Linda led him into the room and lingered in the door.

  Rick pulled a chair up right next to mine and placed his hand on my knee.

  “Not on your life.” I hissed.

  Linda didn’t seem to catch what I said. Rick, however, removed his hand and leaned back in his chair, giving me a little breathing room.

  “Linda, why don’t you join us?” I gestured to her desk, glad that I wouldn’t need to be alone with…. him.

  She exhaled slowly and took a seat. “Thank you.” She glanced at me, and then let her eyes settle on Rick.

  “Adam was seeing me professionally.” Rick filled the room with his syrupy voice. “He was still grieving his recent break-up.”

  Linda followed his words, her eyes glued to his lips, mesmerized by Rick.

  “He and Trisha had been together for seven years. He had a lot to process about how he had ended things.” Rick leaned in like this was a big secret.

  “Poor Adam,” Linda murmu
red.

  I tapped my pen on my notepad. My mind was swimming with ideas: Shove the pen through his eye socket. Kick his chair out from under him. Bite him. Helpful ideas like that. I was drawing a line on my paper, over and over and over on it until the dent was so deep the pen point was sunk in it and the paper ripped. I gave it a good shove. “Is that all? Nothing come up in your sessions that might be pertinent to his murder?”

  “Oh Maura…” He lowered his lids and gave me the half-asleep look that he liked to pretend meant hurt feelings.

  “You wouldn’t want him to break doctor patient confidentiality, would you?” Linda’s voice seemed to take on a more girlish tone as she spoke about Rick.

  “Rick isn’t a real doctor, and Adam Demarcus is dead, so yes, I definitely want him to tell me everything he knows.”

  “I know Adam had a big heart to help others, in any way he could. He was a strong advocate for the voiceless in our community.” Rick tilted his head, so he could look up at me, almost puppy like.

  “Enough with the sales pitch. What do you know that he would never want anybody else to know, ever?”

  “Nothing. Adam was a man with nothing to hide, and nothing to lose.”

  “Right. Fine.” I set my pen down. “Linda, I’m ready for the next person.”

  Linda shifted her way past us.

  Rick lingered. “Maura, I need you to come home. Talk with me. Please.”

  I leaned in very close, almost nose to nose. “Go to hell.”

  Linda led Mac into the room.

  “Hey buddy.” Rick offered Mac his chair. “Sit with us and talk.”

  Us? I grimaced. “We will be talking alone.” My tone of voice spoke professionalism rather than vengeful wife. I was proud.

  “I don’t have any secrets from these two.” Mac spoke with a deep, fatherly voice, gravelly with wisdom. “And they might help me piece things together, too.”

  “Fine.” Apparently even men were under Rick’s spell. I turned the page on my notepad. “Where would you like to start?”