Dead Ringer

by Allen Wyler

  Lucas phoned Andy’s ex-wife, said, “Trish? Lucas.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I really need your help on something.” He explained what he’d seen in Hong Kong and that the police were now officially investigating his disappearance.

  “What can I do?”

  “The police need to look inside Andy’s condo to see if there’s anything that might help them find out what happened to him.”

  “So? Who’s stopping them?”

  “Until they justify a search warrant, the doorman won’t allow them in.”

  “That’s unfortunate, but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  “You’re listed as the legal next of kin. All it’d take is a note from you granting them permission to go inside.” He added, “If it makes you any more comfortable, I’ll go with the detective so nothing’s disturbed.”

  “You sure about this? Seeing Andy, I mean?” Trish sounded concerned, which made him feel better about her.

  “Yes. Positive. So, will you do that for me? And for Andy?”

  “Yes, of course I will. But I can’t do it until tomorrow.”

  He wanted to ask her if she could do it now, but heard her sob, so decided to let it go even though it was driving him crazy waiting.

  Wendy said, “One more thing.”

  Lucas replaced the phone and turned to her, thinking, I need a drink.

  “Sit down. We need to discuss a couple problems.”

  Lucas couldn’t sit and started to pace. “What?”

  “As trite as this sounds, Lange’s doing his job. He’s working up a homicide and the first person you look at is the spouse, so don’t take it so personally. He obviously doesn’t know all the things about you I do.” She got up and inspected the nearest window. “What I’m saying is, you’re still at risk.”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, it gets worse.” Wendy checked to make sure the window was locked, then checked the next one too. “I keep getting this nagging feeling there’s a leak on my end. And if I’m right, it goes straight to Ditto. What I’m saying is, I don’t plan on telling anyone about the video until we have a chance to review it and I can secure a search warrant for DFH. Then I’m going to tear that place apart. Even then, I’m going to have to be careful.”

  Apprehension tingled his arms and legs. “You suspect there’s a leak, or you know there’s a leak? Which is it?”

  “Ninety-five percent in favor.”

  Lucas waited to see if she’d add anything, but she didn’t. So he said, “You know who it is?”

  “Suspicion is all. Nothing concrete.”

  “Then we just have to be careful.”

  “You own a handgun?”

  That was about the last thing he expected from her. “No.” He wasn’t for or against guns, just didn’t have any use for them. Handguns in particular.

  “I suspected that. You know how to shoot one?”

  Lucas laughed. “We’re not talking quantum physics here. Aim and pull the trigger. Isn’t that about it?”

  “After you make sure it’s loaded, the safety’s off, a round’s chambered, and you’re aiming it at the right object.”

  “Got it.”

  Wendy eyed him. “Just checking.” She lifted her oversized purse from the chair, set it on the table, and pulled out a black pistol. “There was no time to get you a permit, so I got this. Think you can handle it?”

  He turned it over in his hand, appreciating the heft. Small and compact, with the smell of gun oil. He rubbed index finger against thumb, feeling the slippery residue it left on his fingertips. He nodded.

  “It’s a Glock 36 Slimline. Only holds six rounds, which nowadays isn’t much. But they’re 45 caliber. At close range that means stopping power even if you only wing your target. Point is, if you need more than six shots, you’re aiming wrong. Always go for center of mass, the chest. The serial number’s been filed down, by the way.” She handed him the clip and a small box of bullets.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is it’s untraceable. Until we have the asshole who wired your car, you’re in danger. Keep that close by and familiarize yourself with how to use it.”

  47

  LUCAS STOOD AT THE picture window in the darkened living room and watched Wendy walk to her car. He wanted to blame her, to hold her responsible for their brief affair, but he knew that wasn’t right. When he called her after storming out of the house that evening, he probably secretly wanted her to suggest dinner. He was attracted to her then and was attracted to her now. The difference was when he saw her, his guilt over bedding another woman when he was still legally married ate at him. That was supposed to be Andy’s sin, not his.

  He watched Wendy get into the car and shut the door before he turned away from the window. Heavy fatigue settled into his body. How long had it been since he really slept well? Probably before Hong Kong. Now alone, restlessness replaced the dense fatigue of moments earlier, and he realized he might not be able to sleep even with an Ambien.

  He turned in a slow circle, appreciating every piece of furniture, remembering how he and Laura had shopped for each one. His eyes misted over.

  Shit. He needed a drink.

  Scotch rocks in hand, he slowly climbed the stairs to his small study. Turned off the lights and sat in the room staring out the window and listening to the breeze against the eves of the house.

  The phone rang.

  Lucas jumped, pressed his palm over his galloping heart, and drew a breath before he answered.

  “Dr. McRae? Jimmy Wong. I hope this is not too late to be returning your call. My office said something about an emergency.”

  “No, no, not too late. Thanks for calling back.” He quickly explained what he wanted.

  “I’ll copy everything from all cameras immediately and overnight the DVDs.”

  After hanging up, Lucas thought about calling Wendy with the news but decided not to. Instead, he decided to try sleeping in spite of being on edge with the threat of Ditto. What was worse, dying in his sleep from a bullet through his head, or going through another night of being awake with worry? He chewed an Ambien, washed it down with a slug of scotch and went to bed, pretty sure he’d drugged himself enough to at silence his brain for a few hours.

  LUCAS AWOKE THREE MINUTES after five the next morning. Knowing he couldn’t fall to sleep, he made a pot of coffee, and killed the slowly passing minutes by pacing until seven. He called Josh to make sure he made it back to Walla Walla.

  AT THE AGREED UPON time of eight, Lucas rang Trish’s doorbell. She answered the door barefoot in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking like she’d not slept well either. She hugged him, then handed him a folded sheet of paper. “Here is a notarized affidavit that I am Andy’s legalized authorized representative. It should be all you need to have the doorman let you into his apartment.” She looked away for a moment, then met his eyes. “I’m so sorry about Laura.” She started to cry and said, “Please let me know what you find out about today.”

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER Lucas stood next to Wendy as the doorman stepped aside, allowing them access into Andy’s condo.

  The doorman said, “I’ll leave you here. Be sure and lock the door as you leave.”

  They entered stale and musty air. The solid hallway door clicked shut behind them, sealing the room with heavy silence. A selling point had been how completely the double-paned glass shielded street noise. Andy had always loved how quiet the apartment was.

  For a moment Lucas stood still, taking in the familiar surroundings. The one-bedroom condo had been done in contemporary masculine European design using copious black and stainless steel. And just like Lucas, Andy loved high-end electronics. The apartment had all the newest, high-end equipment.

  Wendy sniffed the air, said, “Well, that settles one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s not in here decomposing.”

  “We already knew that
last week. The doorman.”

  She glanced at him. “Maybe you did. In a case like this, I always check for myself. The guy might not have even walked in here.”

  Maybe that’s what made her a good cop. Likewise, he always looked at the actual MRI instead of simply accepting a dictated report.

  “That’s strange. There’s no dust on any surfaces.” She gestured at the living room area. “He use a cleaning service?”

  “I’m sure he did. And probably once a week, knowing him.”

  “That explains the lack of dust.” Wendy made a quick tour, opening bathroom and closet doors. When finished, she said, “You stay right here in the hall and don’t touch anything. Or, if you want, you can help me search, but I don’t want you off doing anything on your own. Understand?”

  “Understood.”

  When she started for the bedroom, he went with her. She said, “Look for anything that might help determine what happened to him. No matter how remote it seems.”

  “Like?”

  “You’ll know when you see it.”

  Lucas found it in the top drawer of the desk. For several seconds he held the slip of paper. Unlike the freshly cleaned surfaces around him, this scrap still had Andy’s touch on it, and he realized this would be his very last contact with his old friend.

  “Hey, found something.”

  Wendy stepped in. “What?”

  “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

  She studied it a moment. It was a receipt for a DVD rental at the porn shop where Lupita hung out waiting for customers. “Yeah, you got it.”

  48

  WENDY PARKED THE CAPRICE between yellow parking stripes and set the hand brake. Before killing the engine she cracked the windows, a habit developed in Moses Lake from having her dog ride with her almost everywhere. “I want you to stay in the car while I do this.”

  Lucas said, “Oh no. That wasn’t the deal.”

  No way could he accompany her during an interview. “Hey, there was no deal other than you could tag along to Andy’s apartment. We’re now in serious territory, and you’re not coming.”

  He wasn’t buying it. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “I’m not doing anything to you. I’m trying to conduct a clean investigation. Say we find something incriminating against DFH. And Ditto’s defense lawyer gets wind that a civilian was tagging along with me during the investigation. We run the risk of getting screwed on some legal technicality. Be satisfied you’re getting this much. I’ll let you know everything I find out. Okay?”

  “No.”

  “It’s non-negotiable.” Wendy headed for the porn shop’s front door.

  What a mess. For starters, it was totally insane to be interested in a guy mourning his wife’s death. To make matters worse, he was under active investigation. A murder investigation, for Christ’s sake. She knew he wasn’t guilty—no way he killed his wife—but still …

  And if it turned out Andy Baer was somehow linked to Lupita’s disappearance, it might become even stickier. As it was, if it hadn’t been for that shark Davidson, she would’ve been forced to alibi Lucas out. Which would’ve meant Redwing knowing about her jumping in the sack with him. She couldn’t afford that risk. In fact, if this lead turned up anything, she was unsure who to take it to. Probably Travis.

  Five feet inside the door of the adult video store, Wendy held her badge up for everyone to see, raised her voice to the clerk still another fifteen feet away, “Seattle Police. Sir, I’d like a few words with you.”

  The little drama had the desired effect of clearing out all the customers.

  Wendy leaned on a glass counter, a display case filled with various-sized dildos and cock rings. She asked the clerk, “How long you worked here?”

  The skeletal man in his early thirties, wearing a black Harley-Davidson T-shirt and baggy shorts, started picking at something behind his right ear. “I dunno, three years.”

  She handed a picture of Lupita Ruiz to him. “Then you must know this woman, right?”

  He squinted at it too long. He tried for a poker face but wasn’t good enough. She saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He handed it back. “Nope, never seen her.”

  “Real name’s Lupita Ruiz. She probably used the street name Charmane when working this area. She’s missing. We’re trying to find out where she was before she went missing.” She tried to give the photo back to him.

  “Can’t help you, lady.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” She paused a beat. “I do Missing Persons, not Vice. I’m definitely not here to cause you any problems, but you force me to, I will.”

  He didn’t blink.

  Wendy said, “Here’s the deal. You and I both know that she was soliciting in here. You guys working the register got a cut of the action for not interfering. Hey, no skin off my nose.”

  The guy shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you other than I don’t know her.”

  With a sigh, Wendy pushed off the counter and slid the picture back in her purse. “Well, then, guess you won’t be all broken up if we keep a patrol car and a couple motorcycles in the parking lot for the next month or so. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s been a lot of speeding along this stretch. Chief wants to crack down on them. Thanks for your help.” She turned toward the door.

  The guy scanned the empty store. “Wait.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “Yeah?”

  “Okay, so I know her.”

  Wendy’s pulse quickened. “When did you see her last?” she asked.

  “Fuck, I don’t know. I sell porn and toys. I didn’t make her fucking appointments.”

  “Chill, dude. Already said this isn’t about you. Tell me this, she must’ve used a place close by. Have any idea where it might be?”

  “I don’t know, but you might want to check out that motel next door.”

  Wendy held up the head shots of Andy Baer from when he was booked. “Know this guy?”

  The guy stared at the pictures. “Yeah, shit, seen him around once or twice.”

  “His name’s Andy Baer. You keep a file of rentals, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Assuming he used his real name. What I mean is, it shouldn’t come as a big shock that a shitload of people use a false name renting videos. I couldn’t care less. Unless, of course, they, like, don’t return ’em.”

  “Take a look, see if he’s on file.”

  The clerk shuffled to a counter on his right. “How’s that spelled, his last name?”

  She told him; he typed.

  “Well, what do you know? He’s here, and he’s even got a late charge on a DVD.”

  Wendy’s pulse quickened more. “When was it rented?”

  He recited the date.

  Christ! The same date Lupita disappeared, and the day before Andy’s car was impounded from the parking lot out front.

  49

  THE MOTEL WAS A two-story L-shaped structure indistinguishable from a thousand others along highways from Seattle to Miami. Hick-brick exterior, flat tar roof, rusting wrought-iron rails, noisy air conditioners hanging out of walls, a cracked asphalt parking lot, a sign boasting cable TV. It’d seen better days.

  So had the dishwater blonde who sauntered from the back room thirty seconds after Wendy punched the call bell.

  The small overheated office contained a scarred laminate counter, two vending machines, and an ice maker creating suspicious rumbles. A plasticized sign taped on the wall listed adult film rental rates. Lucas smelled disinfectant, maybe Lysol, and stale nicotine.

  Handing the clerk the picture of Lupita, Wendy said, “Ever see her before?”

  “Yeah. She’s been around a couple times.”

  Wendy asked, “She ever stay here?”

  “Yup. Couple times.”

  “She rent the room?”

  “Nope. The guys do that.” As if it was protocol.

  “Same guy?” Wendy asked, unable to mask a note of hope in her voice.

  For a moment the woman
stared at Wendy with a you-gotta-be-kidding look, then shook her head.

  “I want you to check, see if a man by the name Andy Baer ever rented a room.” Wendy told her the specific date and spelled the last name.

  The woman opened a small file box and flipped through registration cards. “I’ll look, but even if he used his name, he most likely paid in cash.” She made it sound like Wendy didn’t have a clue about how the sex business worked.

  Lucas turned to Wendy offered, “I’ll bet he’d charge it if he stayed here. He was a nut about using his credit card to rack up airline mileage.”

  The woman gave a snort, then stopped, pulled out a card. “Lookee here. You’re right.”

  Wendy leaned over the counter to see the card. “Which room?”

  The clerk handed it over to her.

  Wendy asked, “Is 201 occupied now? I need to look at it.”

  After checking, the clerk announced it was empty.

  Before stepping into the room, Wendy warned Lucas, “Don’t touch a thing.”

  The room interior was even more depressing than the exterior. A queen-size bed with a queen-size sag in the center. An empty closet with two bare wire hangers dangling from an unpainted dowel. No ironing board, no safe. A small bathroom with rust-stained drains and cracked porcelain. At the foot of the bed, an ancient TV and DVD chained to a cheap laminate stand. The room smelled of mold and dust.

  Wendy checked the DVD player, but Andy’s delinquent movie wasn’t there. She stood, mulling something over.

  It’d been more than three weeks since Andy used the room. God knew what traffic had passed through here by now. Of course, Wendy could find out that information if she wanted, but the question wasn’t if Andy had been here. She knew he had. He’d rented the DVD at 2:17 and checked into this motel at 2:31. His BMW was impounded from the rental store parking lot the next morning.

  Wendy knew how Lupita had worked—scanning the patrons in the porn shop, then approaching them to go next door and watch what they rented, together. Because it was so convenient, most customers left their cars, as Andy must have done. When the car hadn’t been moved by morning, the clerk had it towed.