West Seattle Blues

by Chris Nickson

  “You think they might be connected?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s a line of investigation, don’t you?”

  He smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  The last time I’d been called that it was by a high school boy bagging groceries. I didn’t like it any better now than I did then. It made me feel old.

  “I may be way off base here. I don’t know what Kyle Adams had been up to. But I have to say, he didn’t seem like the most upright citizen when I talked to him. Anyway, I don’t want to be involved in any of this.”

  “I understand.”

  “I think you need to look at Rick Deal, too.”

  “Why? Do you think he might be the killer?”

  “No,” I answered quickly; I hadn’t even considered that. “I don’t think so, anyway. I know he has a record, but these days he’s quit drinking. Also, he was at work when James Clark was killed. I guess your guys already checked that out?”

  Andersen sat back and steepled his hands under his chin.

  “I’ll talk to him and make sure. Do you mind if I give you some advice?” His eyes had taken on a dark, serious look.

  “What’s that?”

  “Whatever you’ve been doing in all this, stop now. For your own safety.”

  “Why do you think I’m here, Detective? I really don’t want any part of this.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and for a moment I thought he might be flirting with me. “I thought I knew your name, and it just clicked. There was something a few years ago, wasn’t there?”

  “Craig Adler.” The name felt tight in my throat.

  “Yeah, that’s it. I was a rookie back then.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” I held up my left hand to show the wedding ring. “But I’m married now. I have a young child. You see what I mean?”

  “Of course.” He reached out to shake my hand in a brisk, businesslike way, rising from his chair. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Benton. Believe me, we need more people like you in this city. I already have your details in case I need to reach you again.”

  That was all, then I was back outside. It hadn’t taken long. He’d been good, better at his job than he looked, and I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Not even ten yet. I decided to wander around Capitol Hill for a while; Dustin wouldn’t mind if I took a little time for myself. He’d been as eager as me that I came here and told them everything I knew. Kyle’s murder had been too real, too close, for us both.

  I walked down to Broadway and then up past the faceless brick of the community college, toward the stores. There was a time when I’d been a regular up here. Back then I knew every place to eat or find a drink. Now I didn’t even visit the area twice a year.

  A few of the upscale restaurants had taken on different names and trendier menus. Fred Meyer was long gone. But up on Roy Street the small places looked as cute and kitsch as ever. The window display at Bailey/Coy Books was slick and eye-catching, while Orpheum Records was playing some roaring Husker Dü. Only the gas station and the down-at-heel frontage of Andy’s Diner was a reminder that Capitol Hill wasn’t all gays, lesbians and wannabe musicians up here. Not every waiter was really an actor or a bass player earning a dollar while they searched for a break. There were still quite a few ordinary working families who’d lived in the neighborhood for a generation or two, and probably hated the Broadway arcade just as much as everyone else.

  Thirty minutes later, feeling a little depressed, I started the car and headed back to West Seattle. I could still remember the days when being up on the Hill excited me, when I knew I’d always see something different. It had seemed like the next step after hanging out in the U-District. More adult, more open. But too many years had passed since then. Whatever edge it had once possessed had vanished. Now everything seemed a variation on the theme of money and there was far too little laughter around. I’d try again in June for the Gay Pride march, and bring Ian with me. I might find more happiness there then.

  “It’s over?” Dustin asked, as I sat down with a cup of coffee. I’d arrived home just before Ian’s nap, and found sweet relief in putting him down and watching his eyes close and the little silent mutterings of his mouth as he fell asleep.

  “For me it is,” I said firmly. “The pros can handle it now. The cops are going to talk to Carson.”

  He looked at my face, staring carefully to see if I really meant it. I did. I’d already pushed things too far and I was starting to regret being involved at all. Too late for that, though. It had happened. Now it was up to Detective Andersen and whoever else would be on the case. Finally Dustin gave a quick nod. I was glad that he believed me.

  “And we’re going out to see Ben Harper tonight,” he reminded me. I’d been looking forward to the show for weeks, but I’d gotten so caught up in all this stuff that I’d completely forgotten.

  “Did you check the sitter?” I asked in a panic.

  “Already done.” He smiled. “She’ll be here at eight.” The plan was for us to have dinner and a drink before heading on to the show. I’d been sent Ben’s debut, Welcome to the Cruel World, and fallen in love with it; I’d given the album a glowing review in The Rocket. It was some of the best American roots music I’d heard in a long time and I was hoping he’d be as good on stage. “I got to tell you, Laura, I’m glad you’re out of this Carson thing.”

  I squeezed Dustin’s hand. It was a good enough response.

  “I’ll go take a shower,” I said. “Then get my glad rags on for tonight.”

  My glad rags were all old, most of them from my single days. Everything was black: my jeans, the Docs on my feet, and my old Young Fresh Fellows tee shirt. Nothing fit quite as well as it had five or seven years before, but I didn’t really mind. I wasn’t dressing to impress anyone except myself. When we headed out I’d top it off with the biker jacket I’d found in a trash can several years ago: the one with Sexual Anarchy written on the back.

  Wearing these clothes, I felt like a different person, someone younger, whose only obsessions were music and writing. I could still sense her in me, even if she wasn’t front and center any more. I was just glad she hadn’t vanished completely. Now Ian was the main thing in my life, while the music journalism was relegated to one of the back burners. Still important, still providing a living, but mom came first these days. As I put on my make-up, I stared into the mirror. Normally I never looked closely, just swiped on some eyeliner and lipstick. This time I could see the lines around my mouth and eyes, the skin getting slacker than I’d realized. Older. I saw a couple grey hairs that I pulled out and held in my hand before throwing them in the garbage.

  It didn’t feel as terrible as I might have expected. I could still pick out more than a few traces of that younger me, just below the surface. And the longer I looked, the more I saw that I was happy with who I’d become. She seemed like a cool lady. The light caught on the reflection of the wedding ring. It was nothing fancy, just a simple, narrow gold band. It made me smile. Marriage felt liberating, not the prison I’d once imagined it would be.

  Ian’s crying as he woke from his nap brought me sharply back to reality. Taking care of him, and helping him grow to become a good man was the most important thing I could do. And bringing him into the world was the best thing I’d ever done.

  As clubs went, RCKCNDY was pretty good. It was far enough from the downtown core to be able to park close by, and it stood near two other places, Re-Bar and the Off Ramp, under the shadow of I-5. If there was nothing much happening at one of them, there was always more entertainment close at hand. The place called the Off Ramp also hosted bands, while Re-Bar was mostly a dance club. But they both played music that could get even me moving.

  We arrived while the opening act was playing, walking down the sticky ramp from the RCKCNDY lobby into the music space. It was big and high, with a bar at the back and a hard concrete floor. I shivered because I almost always felt cold here, at least until it filled up. Right n
ow the place was mostly empty, but Ben hadn’t received much airplay so far. A little on KCMU, a bit more on The Mountain; his career would probably be a slow burn. Maybe that was good. He’d want to wow us tonight, so he’d have a bigger audience next time he came through town.

  During the break I talked to a few familiar faces. Dustin stayed at my side, quiet and content as I chatted about music and mentioned names he didn’t know. Then the lights went down and I could feel the buzz start in my soul.

  It wasn’t a young crowd. Most of them were in their thirties, with just a scattering of those who’d need to show ID to buy a beer. At least there’d be no crowd surfing. Not that it was likely with this music. Then Harper came to the stage and I was all attention.

  Ben sat, sang and played his slide guitar, along with a drummer and a fat bass player who possessed some of the most agile fingers I’d ever seen. There were all the tracks from the album, stretched out with inspired, spiraling improvisation, as well as some Bob Marley and a cover of Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” that oozed sensuality right across the floor. Enough for me to grab Dustin and start slow dancing with him, rubbing up close and making it clear what was going to be on my mind later. Two encores later, it was over, a stunning performance that had lasted almost an hour and a half. I was glad we’d come and I smiled all the way back to the car. I’d managed to lose myself in the music and forget about Kyle, Carson and everything bad.

  While Dustin drove the babysitter home I glanced in on Ian, sleeping calmly, then noticed the light flashing on the answering machine.

  “Ms. Benton, this is Detective Andersen from the Seattle Police Department. I wanted to let you know that Rick Deal was found dead. It’s been on the news tonight. Can you come into the precinct again in the morning?”

  Nine

  I scrambled for the remote, flipping through channels and hoping for local news. There was nothing. The radio wasn’t any better. I’d have to wait until the half hour.

  Christ. Rick? He was a big guy, and he knew how to use his fists. What had happened? And where? I was still pacing around the living room when Dustin returned.

  “What is it?” he asked immediately.

  “There was a message. The cops. The other guy I talked to is dead, too.”

  “Shit.” All the color drained from his face. He was clearly thinking the same things as me. It wasn’t a coincidence. This had to do with James Clark. Someone knew they’d both talked. And that meant whoever killed them knew they’d talked to me. Dustin put his arms around me and pulled me close.

  I didn’t feel safe. I was shaking, close to tears. I didn’t want any of this. Christ, couldn’t it all go away? We stayed like that for a long time, until the shivering passed, and then he kissed and wiped away all the tears. I didn’t feel like me at all; I felt limp and very, very small.

  “Come on,” he said finally, “let’s go to bed.”

  I lay there until four, then rose as quietly as I could. If I’d slept at all, it had only been for a few minutes. My eyes were gritty and my skin felt tight over my bones. I ached from exhaustion, but my mind was racing. Out on the deck the morning was cool, steam rising from my coffee. I took the pack of cigarettes from my robe and lit one. Guilt was cutting right through me. If I hadn’t gone around asking questions, Rick and Kyle might still be alive.

  I couldn’t have known what would happen. That was what I kept telling myself, but it didn’t stop the churning in my gut or all the thoughts spinning through my head. I could see mental pictures of them both as they sat and talked to me. Whatever they’d done in their lives, they didn’t deserve to die like that.

  It wasn’t as if they’d even told me anything worthwhile. But what really terrified me was that the killer must know about me. He must have followed me and he was out there somewhere, watching.

  There was enough of a chill in the air to bring up goosebumps on my arms, and show the threat of rain only an hour or two away. I drew my robe closer and took another sip of the coffee. Finally I stubbed out the cigarette, blowing a final trail of smoke into the air and went back inside to put the heat on.

  I found a parking space on Twelfth, this time outside the veterinarian’s office and across from the mini-mart. It was just half a block along the street from East Precinct. Much of Capitol Hill had been gentrified, with houses selling for well over a million. Go north of Denny and it was all desirable property, and trendy, the home of Seattle’s pink dollar. But the money stopped at the Denny intersection. Around here it was still run down, dirty, filled with cooking smells and the sense of poverty. The faces were white, brown and black. All they had in common was poverty. The only money they were spending was whatever little they’d scraped to earn.

  Detective Andersen was still wearing yesterday’s clothes; his suit was crumpled and his shirt looked limp and creased. His face was tired and drawn, made up of sharp planes and bloodshot eyes. If he’d slept at all, it had been on a cot here and for only a few hours.

  “What happened to Rick Deal?” I asked the question that had been gnawing at me all night.

  “It was over in Bellevue. Best as we can figure it, he was on his way back to his truck after work. The night before last, he never made it home. When I didn’t find him there, we started looking.” I waited. “He was found in some bushes by a parking garage close to Bel Square mall. His vehicle was still parked there. It looks like someone came up behind him, shot him in the head and dragged him out of sight.”

  “Jesus.” My stomach lurched.

  He picked up a pen and threw it back down on the desk, before he looked up.

  “You know that brings it all back to you.” I nodded, understanding it all too well. “You talked to the pair of them, so you’re the connection.”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “But I told you everything I know yesterday.”

  “Are you sure?” He leaned forward insistently. “There’s nothing you forgot?”

  “I’m positive. I’ve spent the last few hours going over and over it all in my head. Believe me, there was nothing in anything we spoke about that could help you.”

  “No names you haven’t mentioned?”

  “Nothing. They used to hang out at the Mirror Tavern with James Clark. Maybe you should try there.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Andersen promised.

  “Have you talked to Carson?”

  “I went out there last night. Nice guy. I’ve talked to Everett police, too.” He sighed. “We’ve now got a double homicide and one attempted murder. You’ve got to agree that’s pretty serious, Ms. Benton.”

  “I’m not disputing it.”

  Andersen stared at me. “Like I said, you’re the connection between them all.”

  “So’s Carson.”

  He shook his head. “You saw Adams and Deal. He didn’t.”

  “So someone was following me?” It was the only thing that made sense and it scared the hell of out me.

  “How else would anyone know about Carson and the pair of them?”

  “He got their names from someone in Everett.”

  “He told me,” Andersen confirmed with a sharp nod. “That’s possible, but I just don’t buy it. Nothing happened until you visited them. You see what I mean?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again because I didn’t have anything to say. It meant that the killer knew where I lived.

  “But why?” I asked eventually, although I already knew the answer. “James David Clark.”

  “Just James,” I corrected. “That’s what he liked.”

  Andersen shrugged. “James, then. It looks like it all turns on him and his murder, doesn’t it?” He ran hands over the thin stubble on his cheeks and stifled a yawn. “Tell me once more what you found out about him.”

  I laid it all out, even the dead man’s brief career as a country musician. Everything I’d told him the day before. I simply didn’t have anything to add to it.

  “And his friends had no idea who killed him?” Andersen asked, wh
en I’d finished.

  “That’s what they claimed.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “I don’t know. Like I told Carson, it happened four years ago, so they’ve had plenty of time to get their stories straight. Even if they were lies, they might have believed them by now. Anyway, it all seemed genuine enough to me.”

  “Whatever you did, you and Mr. Mack have stirred up something. Someone’s scared enough to kill.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed quietly.

  “You know what I’m going to say next, don’t you?”

  I nodded. I’d followed his train of thought: I could be next on the killer’s list. I’d realized that as soon as I heard of Rick’s death.

  “What should I do?”

  “Keep a low profile. You live in West Seattle, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll alert West Precinct and make sure they have a patrol car swing by your place regularly. If you see anything suspicious or dangerous, call them and they’ll get someone right out.” He sighed. “I’d assign an officer to you if I could.” He extended his hands helplessly. “But there’s no money in the budget, I’m sorry.”

  I was out there on my own. That was what he meant. The cops would come if I called, but by then I could be dead. It was no comfort at all.

  “Do you have any leads?”

  “Not yet,” he told me. “We’re looking. We’ll find him.” To my ears he sounded more hopeful than certain.

  I stood up. “Just find him soon, okay?”

  As I walked out onto the street, I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I stopped to look around, taking in the cars that were parked, the faces of the people walking by. I wondered if the murderer was one of them, just waiting for me.

  All the way home I was checking the mirrors, trying to see if anyone was following me. Traffic was light on the Viaduct and the bridge, and no one was behind me as I turned off Delridge. But why would he bother? He’d know exactly where I was going. Home - where I should be able to feel safe.