Fields put down his knife and fork and wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Okay, but the question is, who killed her now? And, assuming you’re right about all of this—that she somehow did find out the husband’s plan to kill her and she set him up—it would all be reason why he might seek her out and kill her. So we’re back to the husband.”
“Possibly, though I’d still put his desire to get at the trust fund as the more likely motivation—if he did it, which brings me to the next thing I wanted to talk to you about. Someone was looking for Lynn Hoff and for Devin Chambers.”
“How do you know that?”
“I asked a friend in the business of finding people to ask around and let me know if anyone was looking for Lynn Hoff. Someone was.”
“Someone who?”
“He doesn’t know. The client used a guerilla e-mail account to ensure they remained anonymous.”
“So that’s a dead end.”
“Not necessarily.”
The waitress returned with Fields’s second beer and refilled Tracy’s glass of iced tea. Tracy waited until she’d departed.
“My contact said the person initially asked the skip tracer to search for a Lynn Hoff, but other than the Washington State driver’s license we found, he also came up empty.”
Fields squeezed the lime onto his steak, then shoved the rind into the bottle. “Right, so other than now knowing someone was looking for her, it’s a dead end.”
“It means someone knew Andrea changed her identity to Lynn Hoff,” Tracy said, feeling like she was spoon-feeding Fields his investigation, and no longer surprised that the initial investigation had not produced results. “And, when the skip tracer advised that the usual channels were not bringing up anything on a Lynn Hoff, this unknown client threw out the name Devin Chambers.”
“He knew the name?”
“Apparently.”
“And Devin Chambers disappeared about the same time Andrea Strickland disappeared,” Fields said. “That’s what the employer said, right?”
Tracy had included that information in her report of the interview of Brenda Berg. “Chambers told her neighbors she was leaving town for Europe. She asked someone at the complex to collect her mail but made no attempt to recover it, or her belongings. Apparently, she has a sister in New Jersey who said Devin had a money management problem likely related to a prescription drug problem.”
“You think she was after Andrea’s money?”
“The skip tracer found an address for a PO box inside a drugstore in Renton registered to a Lynn Hoff. The pharmacy also had a record of at least one prior prescription under that name. And Renton is where Andrea Strickland used the name Lynn Hoff to have her face reconstructed, and did her banking.”
“You think they were working together, Chambers and Strickland?”
“That’s one way of looking at it. There might be another. The ranger I spoke with was convinced Strickland had help getting off the mountain and getting away. Also, two days after Kurt Schill pulled the body up in the crab pot, somebody drained Lynn Hoff’s bank accounts, which means that person had to know the bank, the account numbers, and the passwords.”
“Right, so you’re thinking this Devin Chambers helped her off the mountain and either was working with her or conned her and eventually killed her?”
Tracy wasn’t going to go that far. She wasn’t going to draw conclusions from evidence she wasn’t supposed to have on an investigation she was no longer directing. “I think she might be a person of interest you’d want to talk with.”
Fields picked up his beer and sat back, sipping it. “So how come none of this is in your reports?”
Tracy shrugged. “Like I said, we didn’t have it yet. Just came in.”
“There’s no mention of an aunt or a shrink in your file. No mention you’d put word out on the street asking if anyone was looking for a Lynn Hoff. There’s no mention of it as work in progress.”
“We were told to close the file and get it down to you guys, then finish up anything we were working on. What difference does it make? You have it now.”
Fields set down his beer and lifted his napkin from his lap, placing it on his plate, though he hadn’t finished his carne asada. He clearly wasn’t happy Tracy had stepped on his investigation. Tracy didn’t care; she didn’t give a damn about Fields’s feelings. She cared about finding a killer.
Fields spotted the waitress, made eye contact, and motioned for the check. He reengaged Tracy. “Thanks for the information, and the lunch.”
Tracy shook her head. “Your rodeo,” she said. “Your credit card.”
When Tracy arrived home after her lunch with Stan Fields, Dan was sitting outside on one of the two chaise longues on the deck. Far from baking beneath the heat of an unrelenting sun, he looked comfortable in the broad shade of a freestanding patio umbrella. As Tracy stepped out onto the deck, Dan set down a legal pleading bleeding red from the pen in his hand. Rex and Sherlock, who looked like they’d died and found heaven in the same shade, saw her approach, but only Sherlock got up to greet her, tail whipping the air. Tracy didn’t blame Rex, who gave her a sheepish eyebrow raise.
Dan looked up from behind round, wire-framed glasses that gave him a professorial look but now would forever be associated with Harry Potter. He’d gone into the office early to catch up on paperwork and make sure there were no fires burning so they could spend the afternoon together.
“When did we get that?” Tracy asked. The umbrella was not only big, but a hideous rust color, though she refrained from saying so.
“It’s great, isn’t it? I bought it on the way home from the office. I figured with the weather this nice, there was no need to spend the day working inside, plus you’re supposed to stay out of the sun.”
“I’m supposed to wear sunscreen,” she said. “Never thought I’d see the day we’d be buying umbrellas in Seattle that had nothing to do with rain.”
“Global warming,” he said. “Glaciers melting, oceans rising, drought, famine, dogs and cats living together . . .”
“Are we getting our meteorology from Bill Murray now?” she asked, fairly certain the last part of Dan’s sentence was a rip-off from a line in one of the comedian’s movies.
“Where were you? Did you go for a walk?” Dan asked.
She sipped from his glass of ice water. “No, I had a meeting.”
“On your day off?”
She sat on the edge of the adjacent chaise longue, facing him. “I met with the detective from Pierce County who took over the woman-in-the-crab-pot investigation.”
“On your day off?” he asked again. “I thought you couldn’t stand the guy.”
She turned her attention to the view. “There was some information I had to give him, off the record.”
“On your day off?” Dan said again.
“Is this going to be a discussion of my being obsessed with solving every murder involving a young woman because of what happened to my sister?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep saying that?” she said, aggravated.
Dan set down the pleading and took a breath. “You told me the world crapped on this young woman, that she went from being the daughter of a doctor, to an orphan being molested by an uncle, to the wife of an abusive husband.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“So I’m wondering if your trip to San Bernardino has anything to do with you feeling some kind of connection to her.”
“Why, do you plan to abuse me?”
“I’m afraid of you, you know that.” He smiled to lighten the mood. “Look, I’m just saying that we both know life didn’t exactly play fair with you either, Tracy. Your dad was a doctor and you lost him and your sister very near to each other.”
“I’m not going to wallow in pity, Dan.”
“I’m not saying you should.”
“I had a vested interest in this case,” she said, thinking of Nolasco. “It was my investigation and yeah, y
ou know, sometimes they are personal. Aren’t some of your cases more personal than others?”
“Sure, but in what percentage of those investigations that you make personal is the victim a young woman?”
“A lot,” she said. “Because a lot of the people abducted and killed are young women. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that.”
“When it’s your case, I don’t think there’s anything you need to do about it. I’m sure it motivates you to do a better job. But when it’s not your case and you make bad decisions, then I think you have to question your motivation.”
“All I did was follow up on some things. How is that a bad decision?”
“Your trip to San Bernardino was unauthorized.”
“It wasn’t a business trip.”
“Really?”
“Look, I talked to her while you were in court and passed the information on to the detective taking back the investigation. It’s in his hands now. He gets the credit for good police work. I don’t see that as making a bad decision.”
“So you’re going to let it go?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
They sat in silence. Dan stood. “Okay. I have a few errands to run.”
She knew she was being defensive and she knew Dan was only looking out for her. She also knew she had trouble letting things go. She got up and hugged him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight about this. Yeah, okay, I feel something for this woman and I wanted to see it through. You’re right. There’s definitely a connection there and I’m pissed we didn’t keep it and I’m sorry if I’m taking that out on you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m a big boy. Listen, I’ll be out most of the afternoon finishing a few things, but we could take the dogs out later when the temperature cools.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.”
He started inside, then turned back. “Oh, and I talked to my doctor about what we discussed the other day on our run.”
“The vasectomy?”
“He says it can be reversed.”
She knew it was a lot to ask of Dan, not just the procedure, which would be a day or two of pain, but the lifetime commitment to being a parent. She didn’t want him to feel pressure simply because of her own sudden anxiety that she might never have a child.
“Take me out of the equation for a moment,” she said. “Would you still want to have children?”
“I can’t take you out of the equation,” he said. “I’m in love with you. I wouldn’t do it for any other person. The question is really one you have to answer. I hate to sound like a chauvinist, but since God didn’t give me a uterus, or breasts for that matter, the heavy lifting is going to fall on you for at least the first year. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“I always thought I’d have children,” she said.
“I know,” he said, “and live in Cedar Grove next door to Sarah and we’d all get together on Sundays for barbecues and our children would go to school together.”
She smiled, but a tear escaped the corner of her eye. “You thought about that?”
“We were best friends,” he said, embracing her, “and that was our world. They’re good memories, Tracy. They don’t have to be sad memories. Now we have the chance to make our own memories, together.”
“I’m not sure I deserve that chance,” she said.
He pulled back, looking down at her. “Why would you say something like that? Because of Sarah?”
She fought back tears. “She’s never going to fall in love, Dan, never going to get married or raise children.”
He hugged her. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to her, Tracy. You know that.”
Yes, she knew it, but that didn’t make her feel better about it. Sarah was always in the back of her mind. “I still think about her—that I never should have let her drive home alone.”
“What do you think Sarah would want for you?”
Tracy wiped her tears; more quickly followed. “I know she’d want me to be happy,” Tracy said.
“Of course she would.”
She wept, head on Dan’s chest. When she’d regained her composure she pulled back and said, “I think it’s like you said the other day, that we shouldn’t take the second step until we’ve taken the first step.”
Dan released her hand. “There’s that proposal again.” He made a goofy face. “I know I’m a stud and all, but really, you’re going to have to sweep me off my feet.”
Tracy laughed and playfully hit his chest.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll take it one step at a time.” He checked the clock on the inside wall. “I have a few more hours of work and some errands, and when I get back we can take Rex and Sherlock down to the beach?”
Tracy smiled. “I’d like that.”
Just after seven, with the temperature pleasant and a light breeze blowing from the north, Dan loaded Rex and Sherlock into the back of his SUV.
“We’re not going to walk?” Tracy asked.
“I think they’re still hurting a bit from their run the other day. I’m still hurting from the run the other day.”
“They don’t look like they’re hurting.”
Sherlock and Rex pranced with excitement, whining, tongues hanging out. “They would run until they dropped,” Dan said. “We can drive down and get a walk on the beach. I want to go out to the lighthouse.”
“Okay,” Tracy said, sliding into the passenger seat.
Dan drove down the hill and around the bend. Normally, with parking difficult in the summer, they pulled into a designated lane in the middle of the road, but today Dan drove past the storefronts and restaurants, out toward the lighthouse.
“Are we going to walk the dogs or drive them?” Tracy asked.
Dan turned right into a parking lot just past the V-shaped apartment complex that led to the Alki Point Lighthouse. A cyclone gate on wheels blocked the entrance, and a large sign warned that the area was restricted and trespassers would be prosecuted.
“It’s closed,” she said, not sure what Dan was expecting at that hour.
“Huh,” Dan said. “Let’s see if there’s a way down to the water.”
“Are we looking to get arrested to spice up the day?” Tracy asked. Smaller signs posted in the parking lot indicated the parking was reserved for apartment tenants, and violators would be towed.
“I’ve never been out here,” Dan said. “I just want to take a look. The worst they’ll do is ask us to leave.” He stepped from the car and opened the tailgate. Rex and Sherlock bounded out and followed him to the cyclone fence. Dan pulled on the gate and the fence rolled to the left.
“It’s open,” he said.
“No, it’s closed,” she said, still anchored in her seat. “You opened it.”
“Come on, let’s just take a look. They would have locked it if they didn’t want anyone to come in.”
“You won’t be satisfied until we’re arrested, will you?”
“Don’t be a namby pants.”
“Wasn’t I just getting a lecture about doing things that might get me in trouble?”
“That was different; you could lose your job. What are they going to do to us for looking?”
“Arrest us. Accuse us of being terrorists. Send us to Guantanamo Bay. Waterboards.”
“Come on,” Dan said. He walked away, down the street.
“Okay,” Tracy said, opening her door and stepping out. “I guess we’re doing this.”
She closed the gate behind her and hurried to catch up. The paved road continued past two homes, white with red roofs and porches. The homes reminded her of something out of a 1950s movie. The Seattle Times had recently run an article commemorating the lighthouse’s one-hundredth anniversary and noted that the two beachfront homes now housed senior Coast Guard officers. Farther down the road, Tracy and Dan came to maintenance buildings, also white with red roofs. A white gravel path led to the lighthouse, which marked the tip of the southern ent
rance, and the transition from Puget Sound into Elliott Bay.
Tracy followed Dan along the gravel path, half expecting armed guards to appear at any moment and order them to the ground. The door to the lighthouse remained open. Dan stepped inside. Tracy followed. The room at floor level consisted of a museum with photographs and equipment depicting the lighthouse’s history. Dan didn’t linger, climbing a narrow, winding staircase. Tracy followed him to the second level, figuring if they’d come this far they might as well go all the way. A metal ladder ascended to the actual room that housed the light. They’d need a crane to get Rex and Sherlock up the ladder.
“Stay,” Dan said.
Dan climbed the rungs. Tracy followed. Below, Rex whined. “Hush,” Dan said.
As Tracy climbed, she couldn’t see above her. Dan blocked the entrance. When he reached the top and cleared the ladder, however, she noticed a flickering golden glow. She reached the top rung and Dan extended a hand to help her into the cramped octagon-shaped room, the light beacon in the middle. The glow, however, did not emanate from the beacon. It came from a dozen flickering candles casting shadows over red roses. Out the windows, streams of light from the fading sun glistened on the surface of the water like hundreds of diamonds.
Tracy felt her eyes water and her knees weaken. Dan never released her hand. He dropped to a knee while reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, producing a small black box.
“Oh my God,” Tracy said, feeling herself becoming overwhelmed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Tracy Anne Crosswhite,” Dan said, opening the box to display a large diamond.
Her chest heaved and her breath caught in her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Will you marry me?” Dan asked.
They sat at a table in their favorite Italian restaurant just south of the point on Beach Drive. Out the window, the sunlight faded behind the islands and the distant Olympic Mountains. The red roses, now arranged in a vase, stood on the table, but Tracy couldn’t take her eyes off the ring adorning her left hand, or the man who’d placed it there. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “Everything was so beautiful. How did you get this all done?”
The Trapped Girl (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 4) Page 21
