Improbable Cause

by J. A. Jance

  "Beaumont?" Howell's voice came over the intercom. "Time's up."

  I pressed down the control button. "I'm placing you under arrest, Larry," I said, loudly enough so Perez and Howell could hear. "Give me the bat."

  "Not for Nielsen's murder? For this?"

  "That's right, Larry. For this. Give me your bat."

  He handed it to me. "It's not mine," he said.

  "It's not?"

  "It's Dick's."

  I looked down at the bat in my hand and then back at Larry. "Where was it?"

  "He pulled it out from under the couch when I came in the room. When I told him I wanted my money, he came after me with it. He said he'd burn the mother-fucking place down before he'd give me one thin dime. I wasn't about to just stand there and let him knock the shit out of me."

  "If you didn't have the bat, what were you carrying when you came in? Cindy said she thought you were packing a gun. That's why she called 911."

  "It was part of the kicker extender. She said he wouldn't let me have my check until I brought back all my tools. The extender's all I had left. Everything else was still locked up in Nielsen's office. See? It's over there in the corner."

  I looked where he pointed. A yard-long, chrome-plated, steel tube lay in front of the kitchen sink.

  "There's one thing about it," I told him. "You sure as hell know how to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  He nodded his head sadly. "It's the story of my life," he said.

  I pressed down the button on the intercom. "All clear, guys," I announced to Howell and Perez. "You can come on in now."

  CHAPTER 15

  Howell and Perez were understandably wary as they entered the room, Uzis at the ready. With his eyes riveted on Larry Martin, Howell stumbled over a plastic garbage pail in the middle of the room. Water slopped over the top of it, splashing onto Howell's foot. He jumped back as though he'd been shot.

  "The fish from the aquarium," Larry explained. "I saved as many of them as I could."

  The poor bastard. Anyone who'd try to rescue dying goldfish sure as hell wasn't a candidate to shove a dental pick into somebody's throat. I was convinced, but I didn't bother to test the idea on Howell and Perez. They weren't buying.

  Perez whipped out a pair of handcuffs and put them on Martin, while Howell handed me my Smith and Wesson. "Thought you might want this back eventually," he said.

  I put my .38 back in its holster and went to the door to retrieve my discarded jacket. By the time I came back, Perez was reading Larry Martin his rights.

  "I'll give Logan the all clear," Howell said.

  When we walked out the door of Damm Fine Carpets a few minutes later, the street outside was wall-to-wall people—relieved police officers, eager reporters and television crew members, and a whole slew of just plain folks—ell of them craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the crazed killer, Larry Martin— the guy who'd gone to the trouble of trying to save Richard Damm's worthless goldfish.

  Larry walked beside me with his head bowed, his hands handcuffed behind his back. My heart went out to him. I knew how that felt from firsthand experience. Since I had helped get him into the mess, I figured I'd better do what I could to get him out.

  While Perez locked Larry in the back of a patrol car, I went to find Captain Logan. "Look," I said. "I think we're making one hell of a mistake. Martin told me Damm attacked him with a baseball bat as soon as he walked into the office."

  "Wouldn't you? He was carrying a gun."

  "It wasn't a gun. He was carrying a carpet kicker extender, one of his tools. That secretary's blind as a bat. She couldn't tell the difference. Where's Damm? Ask him."

  "Medic One packed him off to Group Health in an ambulance. He was complaining of chest pains." Logan started to walk away from me, then he turned back, looking annoyed.

  "Now, see here, Beaumont," he said. "Are you suggesting that after this joker threatened to burn down a building, after he held his boss hostage for an hour and a half and tied up the entire western half of Seattle in a gigantic traffic jam, after all that, are you trying to tell me I should let him walk away scot-free?"

  "He's not a killer," I argued. "He even saved the damn goldfish in there."

  Logan snorted. "Big fucking deal. I've got probable cause to arrest him on assault with a deadly weapon, minimum, and maybe kidnapping as well. You do what you want with the murder charge you're working on, but this one is mine. I'm locking him up. Understand?"

  "How about taking him down to Harbor-view for psychiatric observation?"

  Dick Logan shook his head. "What's the matter with you? Has everyone on the fifth floor gone soft on crime these days?"

  "I'm telling you, Dick, that murder charge isn't going to stick, and the assault one won't, either. Cover your butt. Send him to Harbor-view. Don't put him in jail."

  For a long time Captain Logan stood there staring at me. Right up until he opened his mouth, I couldn't tell which way it was going to fall.

  Perez came up to us a moment later. "We're ready to take him downtown," he said.

  Logan answered Perez without taking his eyes off me. "Take him down to Harborview," he said. "Put a guard on him. Tell 'em he's there for psychiatric observation."

  Perez's mouth dropped. He started to object, but Logan stifled him.

  "That's an order," he snapped.

  Perez beat a hasty retreat. I backed away, too. "I'll take my car and go there too."

  "You do that," Logan said. "I think you're going to have some tall explaining to do if Sergeant Watkins ever catches up with you."

  "I wouldn't be surprised," I answered.

  Logan swung away from me, once more speaking into his mike. "Okay, you guys, let's see what we can do to get traffic moving again. It'll be rush hour before long."

  I was in no hurry to run into Watty. I beat it up the hill to Fulton, grabbed my car, and headed for Harborview without bothering to tell anyone else where I was going.

  Logan hadn't been kidding about the traffic. It was a mess. As I threaded my way through it, I had plenty of time for thinking, but only one question to work on.

  If Larry Martin and LeAnn Nielsen hadn't killed Dr. Frederick Nielsen, who the hell had?

  One question. Zero answers.

  By the time I got to Harborview and found a parking place, Martin had already been admitted and placed in the psychiatric ward under a police guard. I was his first visitor. He was lying flat on the bed staring up at the ceiling when I walked into the room. He looked over at me.

  "It's a hell of a lot better than jail," he said. "I thought that's where they were taking me."

  "I talked them out of it for the moment."

  He managed a small, grotesque grin as the lines of stitches wrinkled into a nightmare mask. "Thanks," he said. "I owe you."

  "How about answering some questions about Saturday? You don't have to, of course, not without an attorney present."

  "You believe me, don't you?"

  I nodded.

  "I don't need an attorney. I'll tell you whatever you need to know."

  "Is there a chance LeAnn Nielsen went back to her husband's office alone, after you left her?"

  Martin studied me for a long moment. I thought maybe he had changed his mind about answering. "I didn't leave her," he said finally.

  "You didn't what?"

  "We spent the weekend together. The first time we weren't together was this morning when she borrowed my car to come talk to you. I suppose that's going to look bad, isn't it?" he added.

  "It could," I said.

  "We didn't plan it like that. Things just worked out that way. She took me right from the office to the emergency room here at Harborview. She was so flustered that she ran the side of the van into a fire hydrant when she was trying to park. After they finished sewing me up, we went back to Cedar Heights for my tools, but we couldn't get in. I already told you that."

  "What time was that?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Three or three-t
hirty. I don't remember exactly. By then we were both hungry, so we stopped to have something to eat."

  "Where?"

  "Dag's Drive-In up on Aurora. We were on our way to the store to drop off the van. We were in no condition to go inside anywhere. And she was like, in shock, or something."

  "Shock? What do you mean?"

  "Like it was all too much for her. She was walking and talking and eating, but later she didn't remember anything about it. We dropped off the van and picked up my car. She was going to catch a bus, but I told her if she'd wait while I changed clothes, I'd give her a ride."

  "And that's what happened?"

  "Yes. On the way, she told me about her husband. He was a regular son of a bitch, wasn't he?"

  "Exceptional, not regular," I corrected.

  "Anyway," Larry continued. "She told me about going to see him to get the money for her apartment. She said she had to move out of the shelter that weekend, because they only let them stay for a month. Her time was up yesterday. She's a nice lady. I offered to help her move. She doesn't have a car."

  "And she invited you to spend the night?"

  "It didn't hurt anything. Her kids were still at the shelter that night. Besides, she needed the help. The shelter has a mini-warehouse with donated furniture and dishes and pots and pans. She rented a trailer and I helped her get her stuff moved."

  "Where to?"

  "A little apartment down in Tukwila. She got it pretty cheap. It's around the same area where the Green River Killer is supposed to be, that's probably why she got such a deal, but it's close to her job. I think she was scared to be there alone. The landlord told her she could put up wallpaper in the kids' rooms, so Sunday I helped her with that."

  "I thought you were too cut up to work. That's what Richard Damm told me."

  "I knew he'd give me all kinds of grief over the van and the tools. I just didn't want to have to put up with his comments about how I'd gotten scratched up. I didn't think he'd fire me over it, though."

  "Tell me about what went on in Nielsen's office, from the beginning."

  "It must have been about twelve when I got there. I was late. The first job that morning really held me up. There wasn't that much left to be done, though, just finish stretching the carpet in the one room, lay the carpet in the other, and put the molding back in place. Nielsen pitched a fit when I got there, but after he finished yelling at me, I went into the back and got started.

  "I heard a funny bell a little later—you know, a sort of ding-dong. That must have been when LeAnn came in, but I didn't see her then. I was in the back with the door shut. When I heard her scream, that's the first I knew she was there."

  "She screamed?"

  "Yes. I thought it was an accident out on the street, somebody hit by a car or something. I came running out of the back room to see if I could help. That's when she screamed again. By then I could tell it was coming from inside his little office. I was about to open the door when she came out with him right behind her. She looked scared to death. He'd already hit her once. I swear to God, I think he would have raped her if I hadn't been there."

  "I'm sure you're right," I said.

  There was a knock on the door behind us. The uniformed guard poked his head inside. "Detective Beaumont?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "There's somebody out here asking to see Martin. What do you want me to do?"

  "Who is it?"

  "She says her name's LeAnn something. She says you know her. My orders are not to let in any unauthorized people, but if you're willing to accept responsibility ..."

  "Have her wait," I said. "I'm not finished yet."

  The guard disappeared with my message, but moments later LeAnn Nielsen bounded into the room. The guard was right behind her. "Hey, lady," he was saying. "I told you, you can't go in there."

  The guard was followed by a young woman in a gray pin-striped suit with a brunette, Dutchboy haircut and huge dark-rimmed glasses.

  "Mrs. Nielsen," the woman was saying, "I must warn you—"

  LeAnn's face was desolate. She'd evidently cried until she couldn't cry anymore. She glanced briefly at Larry Martin on the bed, but she walked straight up to me.

  "You can't do this," she said, grabbing my jacket by the lapels and shaking me. "He was only trying to help. Larry didn't hit Fred, I did. Don't you understand that?"

  The guard reached out and took LeAnn by the arm, attempting to lead her from the room. At that, the second woman sprang into action. She grabbed his wrist. "You let her loose, you son of a bitch!"

  The guard swept her hand away, and she cut loose with an impressive stream of profanity.

  "Who's she?" I asked.

  "She claims to be this one's attorney."

  "Let them stay," I said. "It'll be all right."

  "If you say so," the guard said doubtfully, but he seemed only too happy to leave the room. He beat a hasty retreat while the attorney, still cussing, turned on me.

  "I don't know who the hell you think you are. Are you trying to question my client without allowing me to be present?" She was a belligerent cat, puffed up and spitting and hissing.

  "No, I'm not. Mrs. Nielsen came in here of her own accord," I said. "And I haven't asked her anything."

  "You damned well better not, either!"

  During this heated little exchange, LeAnn decided to let the attorney and me duke it out while she walked over to Larry Martin. "Are you all right?" she asked, leaning over the bed.

  He nodded, patting her hand when she placed it next to him. "I'm fine," he said.

  Satisfied, she came back to me. "You've got to let him go, Detective Beaumont. Don't you see? Larry didn't do anything. I'm the one who hit him. I just didn't know I hit him that hard."

  LeAnn Nielsen had spent long enough thinking she was responsible for her husband's death. Alice Fields had pulled her out of the Hi-Spot Cafe before I ever got a chance to tell her that Dr. Frederick Nielsen had died with a dental pick stuck through his throat, not from a crack over the head with a broken flowerpot. It was time to set her straight.

  "You didn't," I said.

  "What did you say?"

  "You didn't hit him that hard. The flowerpot isn't what killed him."

  LeAnn stepped away from me, looking first from me, then to Larry, and then back to me. "What did then?" she asked.

  "A dental pick. Somebody stabbed him with a dental pick while he was out cold in the chair."

  By then LeAnn had backed far enough away from me that she was leaning against the edge of Larry Martin's bed. It's a good thing. If she hadn't been, she would have fallen flat on the floor.

  "You mean I didn't kill him?" she asked. Her voice shook with disbelief. "You mean I really didn't do it?"

  "No."

  "Who did, then?"

  "Beats the hell out of me."

  "Why's Larry locked up like this, then?"

  "That's a whole other problem. We'll have to work on that one later. This is the best I could do on short notice."

  I turned to the attorney, who was standing, speechless, exactly where the guard had left her. "Any objections, Counselor?" I asked.

  She shook her head and didn't say a word.

  "Good," I told her, "because I'm going home. I'm off duty. It's been one hell of a day."

  CHAPTER 16

  I planned to go home. I meant to go home. I dropped the departmental vehicle off in the garage of the Public Safety Building, called upstairs to tell Margie I was gone for the day, and headed for Belltown Terrace with every intention of putting my feet up and settling down with a nice, cool drink.

  There's a free bus zone in downtown Seattle, an area where people can hop on and off Metro buses without having to pay a fare. It's designed to help reduce automobile traffic in the downtown core, although I can't see it's made much difference. There still aren't any parking places when you need one.

  That particular summer, they could just as well have posted Under Construction signs on the outskirts of
downtown Seattle. Massive construction projects were everywhere, from the convention center rising over the freeway to the transit tunnel burrowing under the city. It was a noisy, dusty, crowded mess. What had once been a pleasant, straight-shot stroll from work back to my condominium now meandered through a maze of wooden walkways past buildings going up and holes going down. Dump trucks, some empty, some full, rumbled past while the jarring racket of jack-hammers reverberated up and down the street.