Failure to appear jpb-11

by J. A. Jance

  "Because you held out on me, for one thing. Why didn't you tell me Tanya Dunseth had some kind of beef going with Daphne Lewis?"

  "Because I didn't know."

  "Like hell you didn't!" Fraymore returned more forcefully. "We've talked to several people who were in the Members' Lounge the other night. They all tell me the same thing-that Tanya Dunseth fell all apart as soon as Daphne Lewis walked into the room. You were there. You must have seen it."

  He had me dead to rights. I nodded. "There was a reaction, but I couldn't tell for sure if it was because of Daphne or because of Guy," I returned. "They came in together. For all I know, it could have been either one of them or both."

  "You should have told me about it," Fraymore insisted.

  "You're talking twenty-twenty hindsight," I said. "At the time it happened, nobody was dead yet. Later, after Martin Shore died, there was no way to tie those two incidents together. Besides, it didn't seem like that big a deal. I still don't see any connection."

  "The connection is none of your business, but it is a big deal," Fraymore countered. "A woman's dead, dammit. I'm tempted to file obstruction charges against you."

  "Give me a break. You know as well as I do that if I had volunteered any information, you would have climbed my frame for violating your turf."

  Fraymore frowned and seemed to consider. Finally, he said, "I'll think about giving you that break. In the meantime, you'd better tell me everything you know."

  "Like what?"

  "Like what the hell happened at that party-and I do mean everything."

  "We were still in the Members' Lounge waiting for Henry to get out when Tanya came in with that young actor who plays Romeo. She happened to sit down next to me. We started visiting."

  "Another coincidence, I suppose?" Fraymore ventured dryly.

  "Hardly. She and my daughter are friends. Kelly takes care of Amber, Tanya's daughter. We were still chatting when the Lewises came in. When Tanya saw Daphne and Guy, she looked like she'd seen a ghost. She was so startled she spilled her drink."

  "Did she say anything to you about them?"

  "No."

  "Did she talk to them?"

  "No, not at all. As soon as she saw them, she took off. I thought she was going to the bar to refill her drink, but she left the party completely."

  "And didn't come back?"

  "No."

  "Did she show up later at the Bowmer?"

  "She might have, but I didn't see her there."

  "Let's go back to the Lewises. Did they speak to you?"

  "Briefly. We exchanged a few words."

  "What about?"

  "Mostly about cars, as I recall."

  "Cars? Did they say anything to you about Tanya?"

  "Not really. Guy mentioned that he had seen her play Juliet and thought she was very good."

  "He didn't hint around that something might be going on between either himself and Tanya or Daphne and Tanya?"

  "No, not at all. Why don't you ask Guy Lewis about it?" I asked. "Maybe he knows."

  "Guy Lewis left town."

  "Oh," I said. It didn't seem wise to mention to Gordon Fraymore that I already had spoken to the desk clerk at the Mark Anthony and had learned that very thing. If the detective discovered I'd been nosing around on Guy Lewis' tail, my already shaky situation would deteriorate immeasurably.

  "So tell me how it is that you, a lowly Seattle homicide dick, happen to know people like Guy and Daphne Lewis in the first place."

  "From the Seattle Rep," I said.

  "What's that?"

  "The Seattle Repertory Theatre. We're all donors," I explained. "We met through Alex-Alexis Downey, the Rep's director of development. She organized a benefit auction a few months back. My partners and I donated a car to the auction, and the Lewises bought it."

  "What kind of car was this?" Fraymore asked.

  "I've seen that hot little number you're driving around down here. Or does that 928 belong to your girlfriend?"

  "Why don't you run a check on it and find out?"

  "Why don't you save us both time and effort and tell me?"

  "The Porsche is mine. The Lewises bought a Bentley."

  "My, my. Porsches. Bentleys. For a city cop, you do run with a rich crowd."

  "Who I run with doesn't concern you," I snapped. "What does this have to do with who killed Daphne Lewis or Martin Shore?"

  "Just trying to sort out the players, Beaumont. You know how it is. We've gone eight whole years without having a murder here in Ashland. Longer in the county. This is usually a pretty peaceful and quiet community. Then you appear on the scene. All of a sudden, we're the murder capital of southern Oregon, with two vicious homicides in as many days. You can see how a poor small-town cop might wonder about a high-living Seattle police detective who happens to turn up in the same general vicinity of both crime scenes."

  He ground out his cigarette. "Tell me, Beaumont, if you were me, what would you make of someone like you? Seems like a hell of a coincidence that I keep tripping over you wherever I turn, especially since I have a funny feeling you're still not telling me everything you know."

  "But I have," I said. Well, almost everything.

  "Tell me about Guy Lewis."

  "What about him?"

  "Did you know he was going to be in Ashland this weekend, or is it the same story you gave me about Martin Shore, another one of those odd flukes that you just happened to land here at the same time."

  "You got it."

  "The first you saw him was at the donors' party after the play?"

  I didn't want to mention the N.A. meeting, because I knew that would send Fraymore off on another wild-goose chase. People who aren't in the program don't often understand people who are.

  "No," I said. "We ran into each other during the Green Show before the play-another fluke."

  The corners of Gordon Fraymore's mouth twitched ever so slightly, warning me of trouble. "Don't screw with me, Beaumont. I don't believe in flukes, especially not when I know damn good and well it's a lie."

  "How so?"

  "I may be small potatoes in your book, but I'm nobody's dummy. While you've been out walking the streets the last few hours, I've been doing my job. I spent some time talking to one of our officers who was out directing traffic Saturday night. We were having trouble with the stoplight going up to the Festival. Remember?"

  Now that he mentioned it, I did remember waiting to cross the street.

  "Jack's a good cop," Fraymore continued. "Young, but very observant. He remembers you and Lewis walking across the street together. Jack says Guy Lewis was huffing and puffing and all out of breath. He say Lewis was packing a red down jacket."

  "All right. So we ran into each other on the street before the Green Show. What difference does that make?"

  "A hell of a big difference," Fraymore answered. "You know it as well as I do."

  Actually, I did. As a homicide cop, I knew exactly how Gordon Fraymore's mind worked. For one thing, even under the best of conditions, cops hate coincidences with an abiding passion. Right that minute Gordon Fraymore's conditions sucked. He was under tremendous pressure. Here it was, opening weekend of the summer season in Ashland-the biggest weekend of the entire year-and Fraymore had his hands full, with not one but two separate homicides. Everyone in town, from the president of the board of directors of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival down to the lowliest busboy in the least expensive restaurant, had a vested interest in Gordon Fraymore's solving those two crimes. Unsolved multiple murders are real bad for tourism.

  In order to fix the problem, Fraymore was doing what any right-thinking cop in the world would do-looking for someone connected to the murders whose story contained some small discrepancies. We both knew my story about meeting Guy Lewis at the Green Show was shot full of holes, which meant I was hiding something. Worse, in both murders, I happened to be the only common denominator. Well, not the only one. There were actually two. The other was Tanya Dunseth.


  "So you've decided I'm your man?"

  "Not entirely. I still haven't figured out what your connection is to all this," he said, "but you can rest assured I will. Since you're a fellow cop, I was more than half inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. Right up until you lied to me. Now all bets are off."

  "Is that a threat?" I asked.

  "More like a promise. Take it however you like. All I'm telling you is, if I were you, I wouldn't leave town. You stay right here in Ashland until I say you can go, got it?"

  "Come on, Fraymore. Don't go dishing out orders. Remember me? I'm the one who brought you that videotape the minute I saw it. If I weren't on the up-and-up, why would I do that?"

  "You tell me. To throw me offtrack maybe? What I can't figure out for the life of me is why a man in your position would get involved with that little two-bit piece of baggage in the first place. Seems to me as though someone with Bentleys and Porsches out the kazoo wouldn't bother with someone like her."

  So that was it. He thought I was messing around with Tanya Dunseth. "I already told you. Tanya's my daughter's friend."

  Fraymore smiled a mirthless, chilly smile. "Tell your daughter from me that she should choose her friends a little more wisely next time. And so should you. I don't know who Tanya Dunseth is, but I can sure as hell tell you who she isn't. I've been checking into the bio information she gave the Festival. None of it adds up."

  My mind zipped back to the lunch at Geppetto's with Jeremy and Kelly talking about Tanya Dunseth's blighted childhood. "You're saying none of it checks out? Her parents didn't die in a house fire when she was a little kid?"

  "That's exactly what I mean. The parents Tanya Dunseth listed on her job application aren't just deceased. They never existed in the first place. And, according to the hospital in Goldendale, neither does she. Not only that, I have physical evidence linking her to both victims."

  "What kind of evidence?"

  "Now, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it. So take this as a warning, Detective Beaumont. If you're somehow in on all this, I'm going to find out and nail your ass to the ground. And if you're not, then stay the hell out of it!"

  I could feel the circle of proof tightening around Tanya Dunseth's neck. I couldn't tell for sure if Fraymore actually believed I was in on it, or if he was using me to carry a message to Tanya, hoping to provoke her into doing something stupid.

  "Are you going to arrest her?" I asked.

  "You just don't understand, do you, fella? You just don't comprende the words MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. Let me put it another way. Stay the hell out! I may not arrest Tanya Dunseth today or tomorrow or even next week-but I will eventually. In the meantime, I'll be watching her very closely. I wouldn't want Little Miss Porno Flick to slip away.

  "I'm not booking her today, and not because I think she's innocent, either. I'm what you might call a fiscally responsible cop. I don't want the city of Ashland to have to pay room and board on her until it's time-until I've built an airtight case. When I do get around to arresting her-and you can count on it that I will-then you can bet I'll make it stick. Watch yourself, Beaumont, or some of her crap will land on you."

  "Wait just a minute. What if Daphne Lewis and Martin Shore were in on something together? What if they were trying to blackmail or discredit Tanya Dunseth?" I asked. "Why else would that video show up here after all this time?"

  "So what if they were?" Fraymore agreed. "Blackmail's no reason to rub people out. That's not the way it works. Maybe you should take Tanya Dunseth aside and explain the facts of life. That's why we have courts of law in this country, so people don't have to go around killing other people just because they've got their noses out of joint."

  "Is there a connection between Shore and Daphne?"

  Fraymore shrugged. "You tell me. I'm looking. I haven't found one yet, but I will. I'm that kind of guy."

  The hospital door opened, and Ralph Ames emerged. He's from sunny Arizona. Unlike the rest of us, he keeps a pair of sunglasses in his pocket at all times. He slapped them on his face before taking two steps into the glaring sunlight.

  "I understand that guy's your attorney," Fraymore growled, watching a tanned and fit Ralph Ames stride confidently toward us across an expanse of grassy lawn. "What's he doing here?"

  "He came for the wedding."

  "Not because you had some idea you might need him?"

  "No, because he's a friend of the family," I replied.

  Nodding sagely, Fraymore stood up. "Sure he is, and I'm a goddamn monkey's uncle. Do me a favor. Tell this ‘friend of the family' that he should stick around for a day or two. If I get lucky, he may wind up doing some legal work after all."

  Fraymore walked away then, leaving me alone. The emotional turmoil of the past few days had taken its toll, but I wasn't in such a fog that I didn't recognize a barefaced threat when I heard it. The oversized detective crammed his bulk into the Lumina and slammed the door, speeding away in a spray of gravel.

  As I watched him go, a very real sense of apprehension settled over me. I didn't worry that he'd find any evidence linking me to Tanya Dunseth. There wasn't any. Not yet. But, given sufficient imagination and vindictiveness, damning evidence could easily be manufactured. From the way he acted, the things he said, I knew for sure that Gordon Fraymore was a vindictive man-vindictive and probably jealous as well.

  He was a moderately successful detective on a tiny police force. In terms of official rank, we were on much the same level. But there are hazards connected with being a big fish in a very small pool.

  Not only that, the guy drove a damn Chevy. It's both laughable and sad, but the American male has not yet escaped the mental trap of believing you are what you drive. A Lumina doesn't stack up very well against a Porsche 928. I had given away a Bentley for the hell of it as well as for a sizable tax deduction, while Gordon Fraymore would most likely never even touch one.

  With someone like him, an old-fashioned, piss-in-your-soup-type threat can be ignored only at your own peril.

  Sure as hell, Tanya Dunseth wasn't the only one in what the Laredo Kid would have called deep caca. So was J.P. Beaumont.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ames joined me on the concrete bench, nodding in greeting. "What was that about?" he asked. Your friend Fraymore looked distinctly unhappy when he rumbled out of here."

  "He's no friend of mine, and don't let appearances fool you. He's happy as can be. He just threatened to throw me in jail."

  "Well," Ames returned mildly, "in that case, it's a good thing I'm here."

  I scowled. "Funny, those were his very words. You two must be on the same wavelength."

  Ralph grinned. "How come he wants you behind bars?"

  "For interfering in his investigation."

  "Oh," Ralph said. "Too bad, but that being the case, I could just as well go tell Alex it's no deal." He got up and started away. I couldn't figure out what was going on.

  "Wait a minute," I said. "What's no deal? What are you talking about?"

  Ralph stopped in midstride and turned back. "I've decided to look into Tanya Dunseth's situation. Alex thought maybe you wouldn't mind riding along out to the farm to make introductions. But it's not necessary, certainly not with Fraymore on your tail. It isn't worth it."

  "Hold on. Are you saying you intend to drop everything and hang around here to personally handle whatever criminal charges Fraymore may lodge against Tanya Dunseth?"

  Ames nodded. "If there are criminal charges, yes."

  "You'd do that for someone who A: You don't know and B: Is probably guilty as sin?"

  "That's pretty much the size of it," he replied cheerfully.

  I decided the man had gone off his rocker. "How can you, when you don't even know what the charges are?"

  "No problem," Ralph smiled. "Fraymore will tell me eventually. He has to, you know."

  Usually, I appreciate Ralph Ames' droll sense of humor. Sometimes I even enjoy it. This was not one of those times.

  "But, Ralph�
�"

  "Don't ‘But, Ralph' me," he interrupted. "I'm a member-in-good-standing of the Oregon State Bar. After years of practicing glorified accounting, of doing nothing but reading and analyzing corporate balance sheets and annual reports, I'm ready for a change of pace. It'll be fun to try my hand at criminal law. I was damn good at it once upon a time, and I believe I still am. Actually, I'm looking forward to it."

  Dumbstruck at the whole cockamamie idea, I tried to dissuade him. "Listen, Fraymore as good as told me it's only a matter of time before he places Tanya under arrest. He claims he has physical evidence linking her to both murders. He told me all that minutes ago."

  Ralph remained adamant. "So what? She's still entitled to the best possible defense. That's exactly what I intend to provide."

  I tried hitting him in the pocketbook. "Come on now, Ralph," I reasoned. "I happen to know your services don't come cheap. I may be able to pay, but Tanya Dunseth is a twenty-something single mother who can't even afford her own apartment. Defending her is going to require a hell of a lot of time, effort, energy, and money. How is she going to pay you?"

  "She isn't," Ralph replied. "Nobody's asking her to. I wouldn't take money from her even if she had it. I haven't done pro bono work for a long time-years, in fact. I meant to all along, but I'm always so busy that I never quite get around to it. I've made up my mind. This time I am."

  The voice of sweet reason wasn't going to convince him otherwise. Ames may have decided, but I suspected Alex Downey of behind-the-scenes manipulation. "How'd she do it?" I demanded.

  Ames frowned in assumed innocence. "How did who do what?"

  "How did Alex flimflam you into this?"

  Caught in a classic case of gotcha, Ralph Ames was sheepish but not the least remorseful. "Never mind," he said. "Since you're not going to be involved, it doesn't matter."

  "It does, too. Let me guess. Alex has spent the entire afternoon playing amateur detective. With her vast background of policework experience, she's convinced Tanya Dunseth is an innocent victim who's being railroaded by the justice system. Somehow or other, she's suckered you into believing it, too. Don't feel like the Lone Ranger, Ralph. For a while, back when Martin Shore was the only victim, Alex almost had me believing it, too. Now I've changed my mind. Fraymore brought me to my senses."