by Nancy Radke
Ryan shook his head, his mouth dry. That would’ve been just like Warren, to come to the aid of a friend without any regard for his own safety. Angie squeezed his hand, and he looked down at her fingers, feeling the warmth flowing from her to him. He hadn’t realized she had drawn so close to him, standing on one foot with the crutch propped up against her side.
He squeezed her hand in return. It felt good to have her next to him at this moment. Silent comfort in a time of loss, the understanding touch of someone who says with their presence, “I’m sorry. I understand your pain. I wish I could help”— which offers more comfort than a thousand meaningless condolences.
She couldn’t be involved in this mess, she just couldn’t.
Officer Granger pocketed his tape recorder. “Can you make a positive ID of the thief?” he asked George.
“Yes. Want me to do it now?”
“Might as well. He isn’t much to look at— didn’t have his seat belt on. If you don’t mind?”
“Sure.”
“You too, Miss. I’ll bring his shoes out so you won’t have to go all the way into the morgue.”
“Thanks.” She released Ryan’s hand— he felt the loss— and took hold of her crutch again.
He followed her down the stairs to the Medical Examiner’s area. Angie handled the crutches with expert ease.
They waited at the counter until the clerk slid back the glass to see what they wanted. Officer Granger asked him for Fairweather’s shoes.
Ryan looked at Angie, wanting so to believe her innocence. Computer thieves didn’t do hard crime— although, if they had really broken into Scott’s office, it disproved that. He shook his head, wondering what to think. If she had just made up the robbery in the first place to protect herself, she wouldn’t be able to identify the shoes. The more elaborate the story a person made up, the easier it became to catch them in a lie.
He must find out the truth about her before he fell in love. He could feel the warning signs— the need to be near her, the desire to help her. His heart so wanted her to be innocent, it’d believe anything. He mustn’t listen to it until he had proof.
Proof. He had to have proof. Could Angie give it to him? “Bring several pairs,” he requested. “Sort of like a shoe line-up.”
Angie shot him a glance that said she knew he was testing her, but he acted like he hadn’t seen it.
They waited until the clerk reappeared with four bags in his hands. “Here they are,” he said, holding up the bags. “You want to check them out?”
“No. Just look.”
The clerk pushed them through the window and Officer Granger opened one and started to pull out the shoes.
“Wait,” Ryan said, and turned to Angie. “Describe them before you see them,” he asked, since he had forgotten what she had told him earlier. “Then you won’t be influenced by what you see.”
She looked up at him and he saw the hurt in her eyes. She knew he was still checking her out. Well— he had to.
“Of course.” She looked at Officer Granger and said, “One wore brown shoes with scuffed toes. Loafers. Not suede, although they were stitched like moccasins. You know, a half circle around the toe area. That guy wore brown pants and had a raspy voice. Also, his heels were run down, on the insides.”
“Pretty good,” the officer nodded, looking in the bags.
“The other guy wore a gray suit, or at least gray suit pants. He had on black, highly polished shoes, bat-wings. Probably size eleven, eleven and a half. The brown shoes were probably tens.”
The officer pulled out the shoes and set them on the counter, a pair in front of each bag. Three pairs black, one brown.
“Look,” she exclaimed, pointing to the instep on a black pair. “See this mark— a large “Z”— like someone cut across the leather. He must’ve kicked something sharp.” She paused, looking puzzled. “The backs are scuffed. I don’t remember that. But I remember the “Z.” It’s perfect. And notice how he laced them, starting from the outside in. I remember that.” She handed the black shoes to the officer and picked up the brown pair. “These sure look like the other pair, but there were no distinguishing marks on them. Anyway, you said one of the thieves got away, so it must’ve been brown shoes.”
“No. The brown pair belonged to Fairweather,” the patrolman said, re-checking the bag’s label.
“Then who wore the black pair? They’re the shoes I saw. I know it.”
9
“Can you tell us anything about the man who wore the black shoes?” Ryan asked the clerk. The Medical Examiner’s office was quiet this evening, so their small group remained undisturbed.
“They belonged to a gunshot victim, just brought in,” the clerk said. “Shot three times and dumped in a street in South Seattle. Been dead an hour, maybe less.”
“And Ted died earlier?”
“Yes. In the car crash.”
“So no connection.” Ryan shrugged in disappointment. “Did Fairweather have a CD in his possession?” he asked the clerk.
“No.”
Officer Granger helped re-bag the shoes. “We’ll find where he lived and check there. See if he has any other stolen property. Can you describe your CD?”
“Yes. It’s marked with a number: 183-200.” Ryan gave each client a number and used it for all their files. 183-200 and 183-201 were his codes for MXOIL.
He gave the officer his business card. “I’m working on a case in Alaska that involves the CD. I’d appreciate knowing what you find at Fairweather’s home.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
“Actually, I’d like to look at what he has on his computer. Just in case he was the cracker.”
“I’ll call you before we make the search.”
“Thanks. Do you need us here any more?”
“No. Thank you.” The officer turned to George Patterson. “You can look at him now to see if you can identify him. We’ll also need you to come down to the West Precinct later and give a full statement.”
“Sure.”
They entered the morgue area, leaving Ryan and Angie outside. He turned to Angie, expecting her to look tired. Instead, she looked like she could keep going for quite a few more hours. This must seem a short day compared to some she had had as a gymnast. “We’ll check on Warren. If we can’t do any more, we’ll go home.”
“Sure. But Ryan... those shoes.”
“What about them?”
“The black pair. I’m positive.”
“How could it be, Angie? That person was shot an hour ago. There’s no connection.”
“I don’t care. It was him.”
“But it makes no sense.” He smiled down at her. She didn’t know how many “eye witnesses” were positive, yet wrong. “You just want to ID them so badly, you’ve fooled yourself. It happens all the time.”
“It does? Well, maybe you’re right.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I don’t know anymore. I felt sure of the black pair of shoes— much more than the other. Maybe I’m mistaken on both.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
At the nurses’ station he asked about Mary and Warren.
“Mr. Brown is still alive, but critical. We’ve got Mary sedated. Her two friends are with her. I’ll show you the room.” She started down the long corridor.
Angie stopped. “Shall I wait here, or come?”
“Wait in the lounge. I won’t be long,” he promised. The room was close by and he looked in at his sister, Robyn, sitting next to Alison.
“Rob, I’m taking Angie home. Is there anything more I can do?”
“No. But we’re dying to know... who is Angie?”
“My new assistant.”
“Come on, Ry, there’s more than that. Where did you meet her?”
“She used to work part-time for us.”
“Oh. Nothing more spectacular?”
“Did you want there to be?”
“Of course. You never trusted anyone to be your assistant. Except me. When I qu
it to drive busses— to get regular hours and a social life— I figured you’d never find a replacement.”
“You were wrong.”
“So I see. I hope Angie measures up to your standards.”
“So do I.” If only he could shake his nagging distrust. Hopefully time would prove her out. He was willing to give her that.
“They’re going to keep Mary here. We’ve talked about that. Alison has to be at her school to interpret for the student she’s working with. She’ll need to go home and be ready to work tomorrow if the school’s open— which it probably won’t be. Can you take her?”
“Sure. And you?”
“I’ll call Metro and tell them I won’t be in to drive my route. They can get someone else. I’ll just claim my personal leave day.”
“That’ll be okay?”
“I haven’t used it this year. And I really don’t want to drive in the snow with my bus. The middle section of an “ar-tic” acts like an accordion, so that the end tries to say hello to the front. I lucked out by having yesterday and today off. I’ll stay with Mary. Alison can spell me after work tomorrow.”
Alison pulled on her coat and gloves. “By then they should have the parking lot in our apartment dug out enough we can get our own cars.” She paused in the doorway. “Be sure to get a little rest, Robyn. It won’t help Mary if we’re too tired for her when she needs it.”
“I will. They’ve an area here for family members. Even though I’m not family, we’re all Mary has.”
Both Angie and Alison were silent on the return trip, each weighed down with their own thoughts, and Ryan turned the radio to an FM station playing classical music. It relaxed him and helped him focus on his driving. After making sure Alison had entered her building safely, he headed home.
“There’s a pizza store open. Are you hungry?” Angie asked, breaking the silence between them.
“No, not really.” He kept driving, thinking about the way some folks, like Mary, seemed to get all the hard knocks. If Warren didn’t pull out of this, she was going to be alone in the world. He had thought of having Angie stay with Robyn and Alison, but now Mary would have to—
“I am.”
“Huh?” He glanced at Angie sitting beside him and tried to remember what they had been talking about.
“I’m hungry.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” He slowed the car and looked around. They were still in the Northgate area where there were lots of places to eat. He eased out of the lane that would have put them on the freeway, turned around, and drove slowly back, searching for a place.
“Something fast, if you don’t mind.”
“Pizza?”
“That’s fine. I don’t care what.”
He pulled into a pizza place and ran inside. “You have anything ready?” he asked the acme-marked young man behind the counter. “I don’t want to wait.”
“Cooked or uncooked?”
“Either. Preferably cooked. I don’t care what’s on it.”
“Well...”
“I’ll pay extra.”
“Sure.” The youth pulled a pie from the oven, cut it and placed it into a flat box. “The folks who ordered this are busy with the arcade games. They won’t notice. I’ll make them another.”
“Thanks.” Ryan paid, added a good tip, carried it outside, and put it in Angie’s hands.
“Ooh. This smells good. What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh?”
“I took what they had. Let’s eat.”
She flipped back the lid, inhaling deeply. “Umm. Double cheese with pepperoni and tomatoes.” She touched the crust and jerked back her hand. “It’s hot.”
“Right from the oven.”
“I guess so.”
He turned onto the freeway, headed south, delighting in watching her wanting to eat a piece of pizza before it had cooled off enough. She would probably end up with a burned mouth, but was too hungry to care. Actually, the smell made him hungry too, and he was glad he had ended up with an extra large.
“Want a bite?” she asked, finally getting a slice separated.
“I’ll wait till we’re home. It’s not much further.”
She bit into it, backed away smartly, then tried again.
He turned off the freeway, headed up the well-plowed arterial, then down the side street to his place.
Once back inside the houseboat, he helped Angie out of her coat and boots. She walked over to the couch and he pulled some ice out of the freezer to pack around her ankle, which was swollen and purple.
He should’ve brought her back and left her here while he took Mary to the hospital. But it really meant a lot to have Angie close as he dealt with the tragedy. Her presence had been a comfort.
Pulling up a chair next to her, he placed the pizza box on the coffee table and pulled off a piece. “Want anything to drink?” he asked.
“Just water, thanks. But eat first.”
“I will.” The hot food renewed his energy, although it seemed to work the opposite with Angie, as she kept nodding off. She revived to drink the glass of water he brought her, but then drifted off again. He chewed thoughtfully on the pizza, relishing its warmth as much as its taste.
He felt confident she wasn’t mixed up in the robbery. After all, how could she have known what Fairweather’s shoes looked like? He stopped. Her knowing or not knowing what Ted’s shoes looked like didn’t clear her. The policeman had said Ted’s name— and she recognized it. If she knew Ted, she’d have known that he wore brown shoes. The clerk had only brought out one pair of brown shoes, yet she picked black.
Why try to ID Ted in the first place? What had she to gain? Or had she spoken without thinking, when Ted’s name first came up?
It might be that Ted wasn’t involved in the office robbery, but she had used him to keep Ryan from suspecting anything. And what about the other guy whose shoes she claimed to recognize? If he was involved— and dead— there had to be a third man. One capable of murder.
He couldn’t see a connection. There might be one. He’d be a fool to count it out completely. What was so important in an oil company in Alaska that people died in Seattle?
He had dealt with murderers before. He knew strange things caused them to kill. Pride, envy, money, rage— sometimes nothing more than a weird chain of events.
He wanted Angie to be innocent. Wanted it in the worse way. But he had thought Kathleen loved him. She had been so sweet and eager to learn what he did, milking him for all the information she could get. He had ignored the things that didn’t add up. She ended their engagement abruptly. Her marriage to Scott hadn’t lasted long, either.
Kathleen had made him distrust his feelings. His heart told him Angie was innocent, but his heart wasn’t very smart.
Grandfather struck the hour of eleven, reminding Ryan of the passing night.
“I think...” Angie said, stretching, still half asleep, “I think I’d better go,” she yawned, “to bed.”
His photographic mind immediately pictured her last night, wearing his blue checked shirt, and remained there, delighting in her image. Much better than pizza.
“Good idea,” he said.
Determined not to be swayed by the lovely image he had conjured up, Ryan helped her stand and handed her the crutches. He followed her up the circular stairs, ready to catch her if she slipped. She didn’t. Disappointed, he ran back down to lock up the house and set the alarm. The air outside remained below freezing, so he left the faucets at a drip.
Next he called Harborview to check on Warren and Mary. Warren was in a coma, unresponsive, and Mary was sedated and asleep. Knowing he could do nothing, Ryan went upstairs to bed. Things would have to wait until tomorrow— or at least later on today.
As he came down the hall, Angie emerged from the bathroom, luminous eyes sparkling. She wore a pair of cut-off blue jeans under his blue shirt, somehow ending up more enticing than his earlier picture of her. Her new confidence had ble
ssed her with a warm glow that bloomed fresh and lively. He looked at her animated features, her dainty feet and silk-smooth legs, and he came to an abrupt halt.
“You look better in that shirt than I do,” he commented, trying to lighten things with humor. “Even those shorts.” His gaze blazed upward to meet hers. “I’m going to have to get you a granny gown. And even that won’t— “
He took one step forward— a man compelled— to draw her freshness into his arms. She met him, willingly.
10
Dropping her crutches on the hallway floor, Angie answered Ryan’s need with her own. Her lips met his for an instant, brushed away, then returned to seek answers to the many questions that were beginning to arise. Warmth responding to warmth.
Can this be happening to me? she wondered, as their kiss deepened. Even as her emotions exploded, one tiny part in her cried out to beware. She trusted him, but he didn’t trust her. He still had doubts. How could a relationship be built on that?
“No.” She pushed herself away before the fire within whirled out of control.
* * *
Feeling her resistance, Ryan stepped quickly back and, without a word, picked up her crutches and handed them to her. He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, his blood racing.
He turned on the cold water and splashed his face, willing himself to cool down. He stared at himself in the mirror. Just an average guy— nothing special about him that would attract Angie. He was smart, but that didn’t seem to count with women. He had gone to college early— fifteen, doing computer programming for companies on the side. At that time he had looked much older than his age, causing some girls to force themselves into his space.
Once a girl kept asking him to go to a movie, and he had taken the plunge and said “Yes.” He would never forget her look of disgust when he stammered that he didn’t have a driver’s license.
He prepared for bed, then went into the office and again read his notes from his trip to MXOIL. He had found that if he looked at a problem just before going to sleep, he often woke up with an answer.
