by J. A. Jance
Heather shook her head and looked unconvinced.
“Let me ask you a question, Heather. Have you given any thought as to why Dillon was so frantic to get you to Canada?”
“Dillon loves me,” she said. “He wanted to protect me.”
“Isn’t it possible he wanted to protect himself?”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me before that Dillon was jealous of other guys. Rosemary wanted you to move to Tacoma to live with her. What did Dillon think about that?”
The doorbell rang as Fred arrived to deliver the box that contained years of accumulated miscellaneous car debris. I dug through it, extracted my Kevlar vest, and began strapping it on.
“Are you saying you think Dillon had something to do with Rosemary’s death?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Mel Soames and her partner have been looking at suspects who had access to your house and, as a consequence, access to your father’s very distinctive vehicle. You just told me that Dillon knew all about the secret entrance in and out of your furnace room. You also told me he has a handgun. That means he also most likely knows how to use it, which means he’d also know how to use a similar one that belongs to your father.”
“But why?” Heather asked. “Why would he?”
“Because getting rid of Rosemary would mean you wouldn’t be moving to Tacoma. And you’ve told me yourself that your father didn’t approve of Dillon. In trying to frame your father for Rosemary’s death, Dillon might have expected to unload two inconvenient people at once rather than just one. Kill two birds with one stone, as they say.”
“No,” Heather said. “I’m sure that’s not true. He could never kill anybody.”
“By fleeing to Canada he knew he’d be delaying extradition, if not avoiding it altogether. Has it occurred to you that maybe the whole idea of taking you along was to implicate you, rather than protect you? What if he wants to turn you into a patsy so you share the blame?”
Heather was shaking her head in firm denial when my phone rang.
“I’m on the Mercer exit,” Mel said. “And I asked Brad to meet us at your place. It sounded to me like calling for reinforcements was a good idea.”
She was right. “Three-to-one odds are better than two to one,” I said.
“He’s about ten minutes out,” Mel said. “I’m five. Do you have a game plan yet?”
I looked at Heather. She was still so adamantly convinced of Dillon’s innocence that I was afraid she might try to alert him to what was going on. The rough outline of my plan called for me to gain access to the house through Heather and Tracy’s secret door while others lured Dillon outside. Success in my getting inside depended on maintaining the element of surprise. Success in bringing Dillon out depended on Heather.
“Not yet,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
I put down the phone and turned to Heather. “Will you help us?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “No way! What if he gets hurt? What if something bad happens?”
“Heather, think about what might happen if we have to call in Seattle PD. It’s possible lots of people could get hurt. The guys on the Emergency Response Team are great, and they’ll do the best job they can. They’ll be focused on saving your family-your parents and brother and sister-far more than they will be focused on saving Dillon.”
“Would they shoot him?”
“If he’s holding your family hostage? Absolutely. Believe me, Heather, you and Mel Soames and I are Dillon’s best shot. The best thing that could happen would be for us to persuade him to come out of the house and surrender. We need to do that without jeopardizing his life or anyone else’s.”
I could see my words had made an impact. At least Heather was thinking about it rather than dismissing the idea entirely.
“How would you do that?” she asked at last. “Get him out of the house, I mean.”
“Why do you think he went there?” I asked in return.
Heather shrugged. “Looking for me, I guess.”
“Exactly. And he’s waiting there, hoping you’ll return.”
“Maybe he just wants to talk to me,” Heather said hopefully.
“Maybe so,” I agreed, although I didn’t think that was all Dillon wanted. “And in that case, you’re our best bet for getting him out of the house. When everyone is in position, I want you to call him on his cell phone and ask him to come outside. Once your family is safe, we’ll deal with getting him to surrender.”
“For what?”
For kidnapping you, for starters, I thought. And for beating you up. But those weren’t things I could say to Heather Peters, not right then.
“Dillon is unstable,” I said. “He needs help.”
“You think he’s crazy?”
“It’s possible,” I said.
Again there was a long silence. Finally Heather looked up at me. Behind the garish hair and the body piercings I caught a glimpse of the little blue-eyed heartbreaker who had sold me cases of Girl Scout cookies and charmed me into helping her dog-sit.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
I handed her my old vest. “Put this on,” I said.
“You want me to come along?” Heather asked in disbelief.
I didn’t answer because I hardly believed it myself. Taking her with us was incredibly risky. There was always a chance that she could be hurt or even killed in what was likely to be an ugly confrontation. But leaving her alone wasn’t an option, either. That would give her far too much time to reconsider. It would give her time to decide to warn Dillon that we were on our way. Keeping a close eye on her would be far safer for Mel, Brad, and me than leaving Heather to her own devices.
“Yes,” I said. “You’ll be in one of the cars. You’ll be relatively safe as long as you stay in the vehicle. When we’re ready, we’ll need you to call Dillon and get him to come outside.”
“What should I say?”
“I don’t know. How about telling him you’ve changed your mind and that you’re ready to go to Canada?”
“But I haven’t changed my mind,” Heather objected.
“Tell him whatever you like, then. Just get him out of the house. We’ll take it from there.”
Naturally the vest was way too big. Rather than having it hang loose, I had Heather stuff two pillows in under her shirt, which she then tucked into her pants. Once the vest was cinched up tight, the pillows helped it stay in place. She looked like a henna-haired version of the Michelin Man. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical, but this was serious-a matter of life or death. I dragged one of my old jackets out of the entryway closet to cover the bulging mess so she wouldn’t look quite so ridiculous.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs and meet up with the others.”
Mel was appalled when she saw Heather and realized I expected to bring the girl along.
“Are you nuts?” Mel demanded.
“She’ll be staying in one of the vehicles,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “She should be perfectly safe, but we need her there.”
“Why?” Mel asked.
“To entice Dillon out of the house once we’re all in place.”
“In other words, you’re planning to use her as bait?” Mel asked. “What have you been smoking, Beau? I can’t condone this.”
“It’s all right,” Heather said. “I want to help.”
“You’re a fifteen-year-old civilian,” Mel countered. “Involving you in this is totally irresponsible. You could get hurt.”
“I already am hurt,” Heather said. “But I love Dillon, and I know I can talk him into coming outside.”
I didn’t want to explain in front of Heather that my biggest concern was the possibility that she’d warn Dillon of our intentions the minute we were out of sight.
“It’s what we have to do,” I said. “And it’s what we’re going to do. If you don’t want any part of it, fine. I’ll do it myself. If something goes wrong, then it’
s on my head, not yours.”
Mel was unconvinced. “Right,” she said. “And I’ve got some great oceanfront property in Arizona.” Brad Norton pulled up and stopped behind Mel’s Beemer. “Okay then,” Mel added. “I suppose she’s with me?”
I nodded. She escorted Heather to the car, let her into the passenger seat, and then came back and joined Brad and me on the sidewalk. “So what’s the deal?”
After summarizing all I had learned in the course of the evening, I went on to explain my game plan. “I want you and Brad to take up defensive positions in the front yard,” I told Mel. “There’s a little-used back entrance that leads into the furnace room. The kids use that door to come and go when they don’t want their parents to know what they’re up to. I’ll go in that way. I’ll try to sort out where Ron and Amy and the kids are. If I can get some of them out of the house to safety before we make our move, I will. If not, I’ll phone Heather and let her know it’s time for her to make her call.”
“Will she?” Mel asked. “What if she doesn’t? I know more than a little about situations like this. If she and Dillon have been involved in an abusive relationship, she may well cave when it comes time to make that critical call.”
I remembered what Mel had told me about her own tumultuous home life, how she had grown up in a family where domestic violence had been a daily part of her existence. Much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right. It was more than possible that Heather would let us down at the last minute.
“Then we’ll flex,” I said. “It’s the best we can do.”
Mel was studying me intently. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “These are good friends of yours. Are you sure that isn’t clouding your judgment?”
“Maybe so,” I admitted, “but this seems like a better idea than sending the ERT guys in with guns blazing and tear gas flying. Ron and Amy and their kids still need a place to live when all this is over. I’m thinking the three of us can do a surgical extraction. Seattle PD will end up using the law enforcement equivalent of carpet bombing.”
“All right,” Mel said at last. “Show us what you’ve got.”
We caravanned our three vehicles up Queen Anne Hill to Ron and Amy’s neighborhood on West Highland. I parked several houses away and made my circuitous way to their yard by the same route I had used days before, when Tracy had called me to come help out. There was no snow on the ground this time, and it wasn’t particularly cold, but it was raining. That made for treacherous going in the steep spots. I was glad when I was able to duck into the relatively dry space behind the protective layer of vines that sheltered Tracy and Heather’s hidden door.
No lights from above shed any kind of illumination into that ivy-shrouded cave. I stumbled forward blindly in the darkness, found the doorknob, and tried turning it, only to find it was locked. Longing for a flashlight, I felt along the upper side of the doorframe until my searching fingers encountered the key Heather had said was concealed there.
It took a long time to locate the keyhole. The scratching of metal on metal as I struggled to insert the key sounded as loud to my ears as cracks of summer lightning. Once I finally succeeded in unlocking the door, I stepped inside. Slipping off my shoes, I tied the shoelaces together and then let the shoes dangle around the back of my neck while I moved forward in my stockinged feet. Again, I had to feel my way around the room until I located a doorknob. I blessed the silence of the well-oiled hinges as the door swung open.
I was in a corner of the house I had never seen before. This was a decommissioned laundry room that seemed to be directly under the kitchen. Here a glow of outside streetlights entering the dank basement offered some relief from the oppressive darkness of the furnace room and revealed a flight of rough plank stairs that ended at another closed door.
I tiptoed up the stairs and stood with my ear pressed against the door, listening. There was no sound from the other side, but I knew if anyone happened to be in the kitchen when this door opened, all hope of surprise would be lost. This was my last chance to use my cell phone. I pressed the return call number that would take me back to Mel’s phone. We’d made arrangements for Heather to answer, so I’d know the call went through, which it did.
“Okay, Uncle Beau,” she said. “I’ll call Dillon now.”
I wanted to tell her good luck, but I didn’t dare speak. Instead, I ended the call and turned the knob on the door that led into the kitchen. After the darkness in the basement, the kitchen seemed incredibly light. Standing there, I couldn’t help but be grateful that Amy was allergic to pet dander. Otherwise, there might have been a barking dog on the premises to announce my arrival.
I stopped just inside the door and stood dead-still once more, listening. At first I heard nothing but the slow drip of a leaky kitchen faucet. Behind me, on the counter, sat two open and empty pizza boxes. I had to remind myself that it was only a week ago when the Peters family’s Friday-night dinner tradition had been derailed by the arrival of Rosemary’s custody-battle summons. So much had happened since then, I felt as though years had passed rather than a single week.
I heard no sounds. What if they’re all dead? I asked myself. What if I’m too late-again?
Just then a telephone screeched on the kitchen wall behind me. I almost jumped out of my skin. The call was answered after only one ring, followed by the rumble of a single male voice-Ron’s voice-speaking into the phone.
This can’t be Heather calling? I told myself. She’s supposed to call on Dillon’s cell phone.
Using the noise of the call as audio cover against any possible floor-board squeaks, I crept through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Moving slowly, I inched forward past the dining-room table until I had a partial view of the living room. Tracy and Amy sat like bookends at opposite ends of the couch. Jared, stretched out between them, was sound asleep with his head in Amy’s lap. Ron’s chair was parked close enough to the couch so he could, if needed, reach out and touch his wife’s hand, but right now he was busy speaking into the phone. Molly Wright was nowhere to be seen, but it was possible she, like Dillon, was sitting just outside my range of vision.
“No,” Ron was saying firmly. “We have absolutely no interest in buying a vacation time share. Please remove us from your list.” And then he hung up.
A thick fog of cigarette smoke filled the room. Since neither Amy nor Ron smokes, I knew the stench had to come from whoever was with them. I was still standing there like an idiot, waiting for the sound of a ringing cell phone when the front door slammed open and a Kevlar-vest-covered Heather stormed into the living room.
My stomach lurched. My plan had called for her to stay safely in the car. Instead, she had now blundered into a room where the tension was so thick it was difficult to breathe.
“Heather!” Ron exclaimed.
What the hell is she doing here? I wondered. And how did she get past Mel?
At the sight of her stepdaughter, Amy made as if to rise to her feet. Jared whimpered and half awakened. “Don’t move.” I recognized Dillon’s voice at once. “Stay where you are,” he commanded. Saying nothing, Amy subsided back into her seat and patted Jared’s shoulder until he settled again.
Without a glance in her parents’ direction, Heather walked as far as the middle of the room and stopped. Yes, it was stupid for her to be there. It was also terribly dangerous, but even as I feared for Heather’s life, I couldn’t help but applaud her courage as she stepped into the noman’s-land between her family and her troubled boyfriend. Standing deathly still, she fixed her unseen boyfriend in an unwavering gaze.
“I tried to call you,” she said. “You didn’t answer the phone.”
“I lost my charger,” Dillon said. “The battery ran down.”
Both Mel and I had been afraid Heather would fall apart when it came time for her to confront Dillon. At the sound of his voice, Heather’s cheeks, flushed from being outside in the cool air, paled suddenly, but she didn’t back off.
>
“What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here? And what are you doing with that knife?”
A knife! I felt a surge of panic. Kevlar can protect someone’s chest from flying bullets, but the soft armor would do little to protect Heather if Dillon came after her wielding a knife.
“Why did you run away?” Dillon asked in return and without answering any of Heather’s questions. “Why did you leave me?”
“Because you hit me,” Heather replied matter-of-factly. “Don’t you remember?”
Ron must have missed the bruising on Heather’s face as she hurried past him. Hearing the news that his daughter had been assaulted hit Ron hard. His hands darted reflexively toward the wheels on his chair. I had little doubt that his first fatherly instinct was to charge across the room and smash Dillon Middleton’s face into a million pieces. Had I been in Ron’s place, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have, but with amazing self-control Ron forced his hands back into his lap and left his chair parked next to the couch. Only fear for his daughter’s life could have forced him to stay where he was.
“I didn’t mean to,” Dillon replied. “Hitting you was an accident, but that’s why I’m here. I came back to get you. I need you with me, so I came back.”
“All right,” Heather said. “I’m here. Let’s go.”
“No,” Ron said. “Heather, you can’t do this. You can’t go with him. If he’s already hit you, what do you think he’ll do with that knife?”
“I have to go, Dad,” Heather said. “Leave me alone. Come on, Dillon.”
I realized then that Heather was still trying to keep to our original game plan. When Dillon’s cell phone hadn’t worked, she had somehow eluded Mel and Brad and come inside to carry out her part of the deal. And she was absolutely right in doing so. Whatever was going to happen next couldn’t take place in a living room full of people.
Before Ron could raise another objection, I moved into the doorway far enough that he could see me. I mimed that he should zip his lip and then mouthed the words, “Let them go!”
Turning away from Dillon, Heather walked as far as the front door and held it open. Then she turned back to Dillon. “Well,” she said. “Are you coming or not?”
