In the Clearing (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 3)

by Robert Dugoni

  “You weren’t romantically involved?” Tracy was taking another shot in the dark. Reynolds was far too comfortable. She was hoping to shake him up.

  Reynolds chuckled. “Kimi and me? No. First of all, you didn’t try anything with Kimi.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she had a brother and a boyfriend—I forget the guy’s name, but I remember he was a Golden Gloves boxer and had a temper.”

  “Tommy Moore?”

  “That’s it. Tommy Moore.”

  “How do you know he had a temper?” Tracy asked.

  “He and Kimi’s brother got kicked out of school for fighting.”

  “Do you know what they were fighting about?”

  “Back then there was a beef about the school’s use of the name ‘Red Raiders.’ They said it was insensitive to Native Americans. I’m sure it was, though not as insensitive as a white kid wearing war paint driving a spear into the turf.” Reynolds lowered his chair. “Things were different back then. The old people in town got upset over the protests and dug in their heels. Me? I didn’t care what they called us. For me it was all about winning. I just wanted to finish undefeated and cart that state championship trophy off the field at the end of the season.”

  “You said you took buses to Yakima Saturday morning and returned Sunday morning.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do Friday night?”

  “That’s easy. I stayed home. You didn’t go out the night before a game and play for Ron Reynolds. He wouldn’t have cared that I was his son and the starting quarterback. He would have benched my butt.”

  “So you didn’t go out at all?”

  “No. I stayed at home.”

  “You’d be surprised then if I told you that Archibald Coe told me yesterday that you all went out together Friday night?” Again, Tracy was looking to rattle Reynolds and get him out of his comfort zone.

  “Very surprised,” he said, shaking his head. “You spoke to him yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he seem to you?”

  “Fragile.”

  Again, Reynolds paused, seeming to give this some thought. “Maybe Archie wasn’t thinking straight or got things confused in his head, given his apparent state of mind.”

  Tracy let Reynolds’s answer linger. The detective part of her again thought the timing of Coe’s death just too convenient after he’d lived years with whatever demons had tormented him. “Anyone who could vouch for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “For what?”

  “For the Friday night that Kimi died.”

  “Sure. My dad.”

  “He’ll say you were home?”

  “That’s what he told that deputy who came by the following week.”

  The answer surprised her. “A deputy came by and spoke to your father?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I recall. He came by and wanted to know if I knew Kimi and said he was just following up on some things. He asked if I had been out Friday night and maybe had seen her. I told him what I’ve told you—I was home and went to bed early. Like I said, winning that state championship was foremost on my mind. I imagine he would have filled out a report or something, wouldn’t he?”

  “One would think,” Tracy said.

  CHAPTER 28

  Tracy left the clubhouse feeling like she was in the middle of a game of chess and it was her move. Eric Reynolds’s statement about Buzz Almond paying a visit to his home the week after Kimi disappeared had thrown her off her game. No such report existed, at least not in the file Tracy had, and Buzz Almond certainly appeared meticulous about including everything in his file. If Reynolds was telling the truth, Tracy had little doubt Buzz would have documented their encounter and kept it. And if he had, that meant someone had removed the report from his file.

  Tracy considered the logic of someone doing that. If someone was aware Buzz kept a file, that person might be reluctant to destroy it, concerned that would draw too much suspicion. Instead, he or she could have opted to just destroy one essential element of the file, a portion that might have implicated a specific person but that nobody would have missed unless they knew it existed in the first place, a portion that might have been useful to an investigation but could not be duplicated. Lionel Devoe, Stoneridge chief of police, certainly would have known how to search for, and gain access to, a closed file.

  The alternative was that Reynolds was lying, and Buzz Almond had not driven to the house to question his whereabouts that night. That would have been risky, but not if Reynolds already knew, or at least believed, the file—or the incriminating portion of it—had been destroyed. As for any concern that telling a detective that Buzz Almond had questioned him about his whereabouts that night could cause people to speculate that Buzz Almond considered Reynolds a suspect, Reynolds had a ready-made alibi.

  Ask his father.

  In which case, Reynolds could have offered the information to convince Tracy that law enforcement had already been down that dead end.

  Still, if Buzz Almond had questioned Reynolds’s whereabouts, it meant he at least suspected exactly what Tracy suspected. That Reynolds and the other three Ironmen had some role in Kimi’s death.

  Tuesday, November 23, 1976

  Buzz Almond parked his Suburban in the driveway of the modest one-story home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Pine needles from the surrounding trees covered the wood shake roof and overflowed the gutters. The flower beds were barren, and the lawn was buried beneath leaves fallen from the now-bare limbs of the maple tree in the center of the yard. Parked in the dirt-and-gravel driveway was a Ford Bronco.

  Dressed in Levi’s and tennis shoes, Buzz zipped up his winter jacket as he approached the Bronco. The fall sunlight glinted off the windshield, which was clear but for dappled spots of sap from the trees. It didn’t have a crack, chip, smashed bug, or smudge on it. The rubber bead around the glass also looked new. Buzz circled, running his hands along the fenders and doors. Despite the recent weather—rain and snow—the Bronco also looked like it had just come out of a hand car wash, with not a speck of dirt on the body or in the cracks and grooves of the oversize tires.

  When he reached the passenger side, Buzz paused to remove his sunglasses, then stepped closer. After a moment he stepped back and took a different angle, comparing where the right fender met the passenger door, separated by a thin seam. He ran his hand between the two. The fender and the hood were a slightly different shade of yellow than the door.

  “You interested in the car?”

  Buzz Almond looked up as Ron Reynolds came out the side door of the house. Reynolds looked every bit the part of the high school football coach, in an Adidas sweatsuit and a white ball cap with the red initials SH woven on the front.

  “How much are you asking for it?” Buzz asked. The sign in the window simply said “For Sale” with a phone number.

  “Twenty-five hundred.”

  Buzz did his best to look disappointed. “That’s a little more than I was looking to spend.”

  “It was the last year Ford made the half cab, and it’s got all the extras—bucket seats, roll bar, running lights, front winch. Did you see the ad in the Sentinel?”

  “No,” Buzz said. “I was just driving by.” He’d first seen the Bronco in the Stoneridge High School parking lot, ran the plate, and determined it was registered to Ron Reynolds. He wasn’t so much interested in the car as he was the tires—oversize all-terrain tires.

  “How many miles you got on it?” he asked.

  “Just under forty-four thousand.”

  “Are you the original owner?”

  “No. I bought it used.”

  “Looks like it’s had some bodywork done,” Buzz said, pointing to the front right fender.

  “A little bit,” Reynolds said, stepping back and considering the front fender at the same angle as Buzz. “Runs like a top though. Interested in taking it for a spin?”

  “Could I hear the engine first?”

 
; “Sure.” Reynolds reached into his pocket and produced the keys. He didn’t bother climbing in; he just opened the door and leaned across the seat to insert the key in the ignition and turn the engine over.

  “Starts right up,” Buzz said.

  “Like I said, runs like a top.”

  “Where’d you have the bodywork done?” Buzz asked.

  “It wasn’t anything, just a few dings. I just took it up to Columbia Auto Repair.”

  “Looks like you also had the windshield replaced.”

  “Decided to kill two birds with one stone,” Reynolds said. “Same thing. One small crack from a rock chip.”

  “Where’d you get that done?”

  “Same place. Actually, just across the street. Also had the oil changed, new spark plugs, air filter. I don’t want any trouble for the new owner. I’m Ron Reynolds, by the way.” Reynolds stuck out a hand. “I’m the athletic director and football coach over at the high school.”

  Buzz shook hands. “Ted,” he said. “Congratulations. I read about your big win. Quite an achievement, I’m surmising, from all the excitement around here.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, pretty heady stuff for such a small school, but that’s just the start of things to come. That school has more championships in it. I just have to squeeze them out of the kids.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me talk this over with the missus, and I’ll call you back.”

  “You sure you don’t want to take it for a spin?”

  “Let me bring my wife back. She’s partial to yellow. I’m hoping if she sees it, that’ll seal the deal.”

  “I hear you. Do you hunt? Put on the all-terrain tires little over a year ago.”

  “No, but we like to hike.”

  “All right then. You need the phone number?”

  Buzz pointed to the number handwritten on the “For Sale” sign. “I wrote it down when I pulled up. I’ll be in touch.” He started to walk away but turned back as if having thought of something else. “Would you mind if I took a couple pictures to show to my wife? If she won’t let me buy it, I have a brother up north who hunts and fishes who might want it.”

  “No problem,” Reynolds said. “But I got another potential buyer coming by later this afternoon, so you don’t want to delay too long. I’ve priced it to sell.”

  “I appreciate you letting me know,” Almond said. He took out the Instamatic from his coat pocket and snapped a couple of photographs, careful to get the side of the tires, as well as the tread. He put the camera back in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

  When Tracy arrived at Jenny’s home that evening, where they’d agreed to meet, Jenny answered the front door looking harried. She held Sarah, who was in a bathing suit, her eyes distorted behind swim goggles, and holding a red plastic squirt gun. Tracy heard Trey laughing and shrieking somewhere in the house.

  “Sorry,” Jenny said, stepping back to allow Tracy inside and then shutting the door. “Neil’s stuck at work. He said to eat without him.”

  “That appears to be the least of your troubles,” Tracy said, watching as Trey came running down the hall in his bathing suit, also wearing swim goggles and holding a water pistol. He came to a halt when he saw Tracy, then dashed, shrieking and laughing into another room. “I’m just trying to get him into the bath so I can get dinner on for us. The nanny fed them earlier.”

  “Let me give you a hand.” Tracy held out her arms for Sarah, who smiled and went willingly.

  “I’m free,” Sarah said, holding up the correct number of fingers.

  “I know,” Tracy said. “May I borrow your squirt gun?”

  Sarah gave it up. Trey made another appearance, and Tracy said, “Halt right there in the name of the law, mister.” Trey froze. “I am a Seattle police officer, son, and I am about to arrest you for failure to stop at a four-way intersection.”

  Trey looked uncertainly to his mother, who kept a straight face but arched an eyebrow.

  “Now, I’m going to give you until the count of three to march up those stairs into that bathroom before I arrest you and put you in the back of my police car.”

  Trey wanted to smile, but with Tracy and Jenny poker-faced, he dashed up the stairs in a bear crawl.

  “I think you have everything under control,” Jenny said with a smile. “I’ll get dinner going.”

  After baths Tracy supervised Trey and Sarah slipping into their pajamas, and she tucked them into bed. They had separate bedrooms, but Sarah preferred to sleep in her brother’s trundle bed, which was adorned with a bedspread to make it look like a NASCAR stock car.

  She read them each a book of their choosing, held firm when they tried to negotiate a third book, and kissed Trey on the forehead, which made him scurry quickly under the covers. When she went to kiss Sarah, the little girl popped up, gripped Tracy around the neck, and gave her a peck on the lips.

  “Do you have babies?” Sarah whispered, as if sharing a secret.

  “No,” Tracy whispered back. “No babies.”

  Sarah poked at Tracy’s stomach. “What about in there?”

  “Nope. Nothing in there,” Tracy said.

  Sarah released her grip and lay back, scrunching down into the covers.

  Tracy went back downstairs and found Jenny in the kitchen, pouring what smelled like a potent lemon-and-garlic sauce over breasts of chicken on beds of rice with a side of broccoli.

  “Smells incredible,” Tracy said.

  Jenny set the pan down on the stove. “An old standby. Simple but healthy. You don’t look any worse for wear.”

  “They’re great kids.”

  “They can be a handful, especially when one of us works late.” Jenny handed Tracy a plate and a glass of wine, and they carried them into the dining room and sat at the table. Jenny let out a breath and sank into her chair like a balloon collapsing. “These are the moments of peace I treasure.”

  As they ate, Jenny updated Tracy on the investigation into the death of Archibald Coe. “No sign of a forced entry or struggle, and the coroner didn’t find any marks on the body to indicate that Coe didn’t act willingly. Nothing to indicate he didn’t kill himself.”

  “Except the timing.”

  “Except the timing.”

  “Any note?”

  “No,” Jenny said.

  Tracy took a sip of wine. “What about his employers? Did they notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing except you coming to speak to him, which was beyond rare. Coe didn’t talk much to anyone—just came in and did his work and went home. It was actually amazing how little they knew about him.”

  “Nothing in his apartment?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Jenny said. “We found an entire medicine cabinet—Vicodin, Zoloft, sleep aids. But he didn’t have a computer or a laptop, and he didn’t own a cell phone or a car. Apparently, he rode his bike everywhere.”

  “Further confirming he’s the man I saw in the clearing that night.” She set down her utensils, frustrated that she’d been that close and now the opportunity had evaporated. “Did you get ahold of his ex-wife and kids?”

  “The ex-wife thanked us. She sounded saddened but not surprised and said she’d call their children. I have their numbers if you decide you want to talk to them after this dies down a bit.”

  “I’d sure like to ask them if their father ever confided in them about what had caused his problems.”

  Tracy thought of the moment upstairs when Sarah kissed her lips and asked, Do you have babies? Tracy didn’t, but she knew enough to know you couldn’t truly appreciate what others went through, their joys or their sorrows, unless you had experienced it yourself, or something similar. If her current working hypothesis was correct and the Four Ironmen had something to do with Kimi’s death, Tracy suspected that neither Darren Gallentine nor Archibald Coe had fully appreciated the pain Earl and Nettie Kanasket had gone through until they had become fathers themselves, especially when their daughters h
ad reached the same age as Kimi. That appeared to be what put them both over the edge.

  Jenny pushed aside her plate. Neither she nor Tracy had finished. “Tell me about your conversation with Eric Reynolds.”

  “I’ll tell you as we clean up.” They took their plates to the kitchen, and Tracy ran them under the faucet and handed them to Jenny, who put them in the dishwasher. “He was very polished,” Tracy said. “Professional, polite. If he was anxious or nervous, he didn’t show it.”

  “And full of shit?” Jenny asked, finishing what was left in her wineglass and handing it to Tracy.

  “Maybe. He told me a deputy came by the house to talk to him about a week or two after they found Kimi.”

  “My father?”

  “He didn’t say that, but if it happened, it had to be.”

  Jenny set down the glass and dried her hands on a towel. “I don’t recall reading anything about that in the file.”

  “It isn’t in there.”

  “Did he say what my dad wanted?”

  “He said a deputy came by to ask him where he’d been the Friday night Kimi disappeared, whether he’d been out.”

  “So my dad suspected him?”

  “Maybe. Reynolds said he had the impression the deputy was just asking if anyone might have seen Kimi that night.”

  “What did Reynolds tell him?”

  “He said he’d been at home in bed resting for the big game and that his father would vouch for him. If you think about it, if it was a lie, it’s very low-risk because it’s simple, it’s believable, and it’s unlikely to be refuted.”

  “Why would Reynolds lie about something like that and potentially draw attention to himself? It seems counterintuitive.”

  “I thought about that also. It could be he’s using it to let me know someone already went down that path and nothing came of it. Or it could be that he knows, or at least he believes, that someone already removed that report from the file, so I can’t prove him wrong or question him. And like I said, his father is still alive to vouch for him.”