Dead Ringer

by Allen Wyler

  “Sure, but someone had to fill out the paperwork.”

  She hadn’t really considered that either. But it didn’t make sense. “I don’t know … doesn’t feel right.”

  He smiled. “Based on?”

  Was he mocking her? “Gut.”

  “Right or wrong, gut feelings are based on observation. If you’re so convinced, then there’s got to be something in there.” Travis pointed at her head. “What is it?”

  He was right. Something else was floating just below consciousness, just out of grasp, but she couldn’t connect with it.

  When she didn’t answer, Travis stood and squared his sunglasses just so. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but if you’re right about someone in the department, this could get dicey. You still in for the long haul?”

  She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t been mocking her a moment ago.

  “I’ll try to cover your back as much as I can, but that’s limited.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Be careful.”

  Watching him walk away she was struck with fresh regrets over not having been able to make it as a couple. Soon as he was out of sight, she dug out the cell to return Lucas’s call.

  35

  LUCAS SAT AT THE kitchen table flipping Wendy Elliott’s card over and over between his fingers, wondering if he should phone to ask if she’d found out anything new. She said she’d let him know if that happened, but sometimes people got busy and forgot promises. At the time she seemed sincere and genuinely interested in looking into it. Andy’s disappearance, but everyone knew cops were overworked. They probably assigned her a new case every few days. How could he expect her to keep pushing on Andy’s case when others were piling up? Then again, there was the squeaky wheel phenomenon. If he wanted her finding out what happened to Andy, he had to bug her.

  He listened to her cell phone ring until it clicked over to voice mail. He decided to leave a message. “Hey, this is Lucas McRae. Andy Baer’s friend. Just checking to see if you’ve found out anything since we last talked. Please give me a call one way or the other.” He recited his number twice before hanging up.

  Lucas dumped the phone back in its charger, propped his butt against the counter, and thought back to earlier this morning. Laura was already on her second cup of black coffee when he came into the kitchen. They didn’t say much to each other, just went about their business like two strangers in a supermarket checkout line, civilized but distant. Both convinced of their own righteousness. Neither one willing to make the first move toward reconciliation for fear it would … what? Concede something?

  Well, that wasn’t quite right, but close enough.

  What he did know for sure was their marriage had been corroding for at least a year now, and if something wasn’t done to revive it, it would die. He held that thought a moment before realizing just how dangerously close they were to the tipping point.

  And it scared the crap out of him. He didn’t want to lose her.

  Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to talk with her while she was having her coffee, before she left the house? He looked at the chair she always sat in. Where did she go? He realized he hadn’t even asked where she was going and she hadn’t offered. For all he knew, her bags might’ve been packed and stored in the car waiting for her. Would she do that? Calmly sit here drinking coffee and never say a word, and then up and leave for good?

  Lucas ran upstairs to the bathroom and was relieved to find all her cosmetics, there along with her Lipitor and contacts case.

  Try her cell?

  And say what?

  No. He’d wait for her to come home.

  Still unsettled and anxious, he wandered downstairs to the kitchen. He poured another coffee and sat down to think. If he was unhappy with their marriage, she must be also.

  It dawned on him that they always sat in the same place.

  He moved to her spot and sat there, trying to imagine what she thought of him. He pictured a cup of coffee in front of him, maybe a newspaper on the table. Now he was Laura looking at the man she’d married. What did she see? What did she feel? Did she despise him? Well, he did work a lot of hours, so he was guilty of that charge. Had to admit he continued his friendship with Andy even though she objected to it. He wasn’t as social as she might like in the days before her depression set in. How about the times she wanted to talk about problems he thought were trivial, so he either cut the conversation short or didn’t seem interested? She claimed he never said “I’m sorry.”

  Probably no one of these issues in isolation was a major issue, but taken together they certainly could be. Point was, he had to assume some responsibility for their problems and the path they were taking to divorce.

  He thought about that a moment, trying to maintain her perspective. But found himself quickly becoming defensive. It wasn’t true. Half the time he was the one who apologized, but did it really matter?

  No. The important thing wasn’t whether she was right or wrong about it. The important point was she believed it.

  He decided to take the first step. As soon as she returned today, he’d make a special point of saying “I’m sorry.” Maybe then they could sit down and start working things out. If she wouldn’t seek marital counseling, maybe if they worked together on the issues he could talk her into seeing a psychiatrist to deal with the depression.

  Relief surged through him. Finally, he had a plan to at least try to reverse the horrible slide they were in. It didn’t matter if he was right or wrong about the Andy thing, he would do whatever it took to get their relationship back on track. He felt a little giddy with relief.

  The phone rang and he answered.

  “Hey, McRae, Wendy. Got your call. Unfortunately, no news is bad news. I haven’t made a bit of progress. In fact, it looks like I might’ve hit a dead end. At least for the time being.”

  He was floored. “Dead end? What does that mean?”

  “I can’t see anything more to do. But I’ll keep the case in mind.”

  Lucas was at a loss for words.

  Silence.

  “You’re giving up?” he said, unable to believe she would let it go so easily. Just a moment ago he’d been thinking how committed to the case she seemed.

  “Not entirely. Something comes up, I’ll sure as hell follow up on it. All I’m saying is it’s off the front burner for now.”

  “No! I can’t accept that. You can’t just walk away from this. Andy is a missing person. Isn’t that your job, finding missing persons?”

  “Simmer down. I understand how you feel. I don’t feel very good about it myself, but there’s only so much I can do.”

  “Bullshit. There must be something else.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “What about the Ditto angle?”

  Wendy said, “That’s not going anywhere.”

  “But …” Arguing would yield nothing, Lucas realized. He also knew that this would not be the end of it. He’d personally see to that. How many times had he heard about the one person who constantly nagged the cops until they ultimately solved a case? The squeaky wheel thing again. If he let Andy’s case sink into the cold case files, it would never be solved. She’d hear from him again and again and again until something was done. But today Laura was his priority.

  36

  LUCAS SLAMMED THE PHONE on the kitchen counter. For a moment he just stood there, looking at the kitchen sink, replaying the conversation. “Fuck!”

  Standing here simmering wasn’t going to accomplish anything. What he needed was a distraction, something mindless that would burn off the frustration tying him in knots. He stalked through the house, noticing a burnt-out ceiling bulb in the storeroom, that rat nest of wires behind the TV equipment he always intended to organize. On and on. All things that would need tending to if and when the house was sold to settle the distribution of assets after the divorce.

  No, those were tasks better left for another time. Right now he needed something physical and frustration f
ree. Something that would take hours and require physical activity. Ideally, something you wouldn’t want to do in cold weather. Aw, of course, the garage. Perfect. One of those shit jobs you knew was there but never got around to doing. Probably because it was a shit job. Also because you knew the results were as fleeting as organizing the clothes in your closets.

  The back wall was contiguous floor-to-ceiling storage closets that constantly became repositories for partially empty cans of old paint, broken rusty gardening tools, three piles of tiles left over from the bathroom remodel, an assortment of unidentifiable mechanical parts, one shelf crammed with plastic containers of various car cleaners. And, of course, the floor covered with years of decaying leaves blown in during fall winds. Every damn closet needed cleaning and reorganizing.

  Happy to have a consuming project, Lucas changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. iPod fully charged, he started in. First, he backed out his car and parked it on the driveway. Next, he hauled out every article in all three closets, dumping them into rough piles to be sorted later. He swept the floors and cleaned the shelves. Finished with that phase, he stood back to admire his work, knowing it would be only a matter of weeks before it reverted to similar disarray. On the other hand, he’d find a lot of junk to be taken to the dump or recycled.

  Then came the job of sorting the piles into new piles. He briefly considered using the lawn for one but figured it would be less damage to the grass to keep the junk destined for recycling or the dump on the concrete drive. Everything else went back on the shelves.

  By noon Lucas was starving, so he drove to Subway for a twelve-inch turkey ham, came back, and ate it sitting on the grass next to the driveway. The job, he decided, was a good distraction, having put his mind in a better place than this morning.

  It took the remainder of the afternoon to reorganize the closets. Finished, he reparked his car inside the garage. The junk pile in the driveway blocked Laura’s half of the garage, and would force her to park in the driveway or at the curb when she returned home. First thing in the morning, he’d use her Volvo to haul the crap away.

  He was upstairs in the shower when he heard Laura come in. Butterflies stirred in his gut as he dried off. Maybe he should start by inviting her out to dinner? She’d like that. Maybe go to one of their favorite places over at Fisherman’s Terminal.

  Lucas caught up with her in the kitchen, gave a cheery, “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She took a glass from a cupboard, filled it with cold tap water. She was wearing brown cargo pants and a beige safari-style shirt with epaulets, an outfit he hadn’t seen before.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  Laura took a long drink of water, set the glass on the counter. “Fine,” she said, then started toward the hall.

  He held up a hand. “Hold on a sec. I’m sorry I cancelled the trip, and I’m sorry we’re having this disagreement about Andy. And I’m sorry we’re at the point of seeing divorce lawyers.”

  She sighed and seemed to slump into some sort of resignation. “We’ve disagreed about Andy from the day we married. That’s nothing new. And as far as cancelling the trip, that’s nothing new, either. How about the trip to Seaside you cancelled so you could bail him out of jail?”

  Forget defending Andy, pal. Change the subject. “Back to the vacation thing. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  Laura straightened slightly and crossed her arms. “I already took care of that today.”

  “You did? How?” Uneasiness burrowed into his gut.

  “Carol and I are flying down to Cal-a-Vie for a week. We’re leaving Sunday.”

  It took a second to register. “The spa? The one outside San Diego?” Carol was one of her friends she liked to go shopping with.

  “That’s right.” She sounded testy now, as if to say, so what?

  Lucas blew a long breath through pursed lips, trying to stay calm. Carol loved the place. To him, it seemed like one of those Southern California existential marketing marvels that claimed to instill total wellness through interweaving spiritual with physical health, ionic transfers through skin pores with seaweed wraps or mud or some such thing. Massage, meditation, soaking tubs, aerobics, aroma therapy, salt scrubs. You name it; they provided it.

  Not to mention it was expensive as hell. The figure seven thousand dollars per week popped into his mind. Plus airfare. Which, booked this late, would be more than horrendous. They didn’t have that kind of money to flit away on a whim. Or on vengeance.

  Laura’s pose became more defiant. “What?” The word sounded like a direct challenge.

  He knew better than to mention the cost. At least for now. At the moment, that was the least of his worries. “Guess I was hoping we could do something together.”

  Hands on hips, she narrowed her eyes. “We were supposed to do something together. Go to Black Butte. Remember? But no, you chose to go play Bulldog Drummond instead. Answer me this. If you thought it really was Andy in Hong Kong, why didn’t you just turn it over to the police and let them handle it?”

  Well, shit, we went over this, what, a hundred times? “Honey, I explained that. I couldn’t be sure it really was him. Not with one-hundred percent certainty. And as soon as I found out he really was missing. I filed a report with the police. And as for notifying the Hong Kong authorities, what would they have done? Nothing. Especially since the supplier claims it wasn’t Andy’s head. So now the Seattle police are looking into it.” Yeah, shit, for what that’s worth.

  “And why did you,” Laura said, jabbing a finger at him, “have to be the one to file the report?”

  Hard as Lucas tried to remain calm, her tone was getting to him, like a sliver under a fingernail. “We’ve been through this also. Who else was there to do it? No one. No one looks after him. I’m his closest friend. It was the right thing to do.”

  “I think you did it because everything is always about you. Your career, your work schedule, your practice. You, you, you. I’m sick of it.”

  “Okay, then, let’s talk about us for a moment. “I’m so sad about what’s happening to us. This divorce. Is there anything we can do to try to fix things?”

  Laura’s shoulders sagged and she moved to the kitchen table and sat down. “I’m sad too, Lucas. Our marriage hasn’t turned out even close to what I imagined it would when we married. I even wish things were different. I really do, but they aren’t. You have your life that centers around your practice, and I have my life that centers around my friends. We just don’t have anything in common other than Josh, and he’s in the phase of his life where he’s moving away from us. So what is there left?”

  “But what about the feelings we had for each other when we married? What happened to those?”

  “We were younger then, Lucas. We saw life differently. We had dreams … they just don’t exist anymore.”

  “Like what dreams?”

  “A happy life together.”

  With that she got up and walked out of the room, leaving with an empty sadness.

  For a moment, Lucas sat there thinking about how sad their exchange made him feel. It also made the house seem small and foreign, like a place he didn’t belong anymore. He wanted some dinner and to have a drink, but there was nothing in the ice box and he didn’t want to have a drink and then have to drive somewhere.

  When he went upstairs, the bedroom door was closed, so he went to the guest room, stuffed his wallet and keys into his pockets, and headed for his car.

  37

  TWO BLOCKS FROM HIS house Lucas curbed the Volvo, then slumped back against the seat, head against the rest. He massaged the muscle tension clamping both temples like a pipe wrench. The pressure was building to a pounding headache.

  Shit. Their conversation had gone completely sideways, not even close to what he’d intended. And now he sat here stewing in a toxic brew of sadness, depression, fatigue, and anger. Anger equally divided between Laura and himself. At Laura for booking the spa vacation just to spite him. At himself for having handled the s
ituation poorly. But most of all, anger at having to defend himself for doing the right thing.

  His headache was beginning to loosen up. He glanced around to see where he was and recognized the neighborhood.

  Now what? Too soon to return home. They both needed time to cool off. The more he thought about it, maybe a week of massage and meditation might not be such a bad idea for Laura after all. It might just be worth the outrageous cost.

  And as long as Lucas was totaling up injustices for the day, what about Elliott dropping the investigation? Frustration and anger started percolating through his gut again. He couldn’t let her do that. There had to be something he could do to keep it alive. On a whim, he picked up his cell phone.

  He knew he needed to be extremely careful not to let his anger show through and piss her off.

  A moment later Wendy answered.

  He said, “Sorry to bother you this late in the day, but I’ve been thinking about Andy. Got a couple minutes to talk?”

  “Sure,” she said, sounding noncommittal yet interested.

  “Tell you what. I’m headed downtown and it’s getting late. If you’re not busy, may I buy you a bite to eat?”

  “Actually, I’m almost home, and I really don’t feel like driving all the way back to town.” She hesitated, as if thinking something over. “To tell you the truth, dinner does sound good.” Another pause. “You willing to drive out to the north end?”

  “No problem.”

  “There’s an Olive Garden near Alderwood Mall. Why don’t you meet me there in, say, forty-five minutes?”

  WENDY ELLIOTT WAS WAITING in the vestibule when Lucas opened the cut-glass door. She wore tight denim hiphuggers, a black tank top that showed off well-toned biceps. She carried a lightweight black leather jacket over one shoulder. He fantasized a tattoo on the small of her back, maybe a butterfly or something symmetrical. She seemed the type, the tough sexy look all rolled into one package. And he was amazed to still find her incredibly attractive, especially seeing how this particular look wasn’t his preference. Until now. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? He’d been drawn to her from the moment he’d seen her.