Clay’s expression went grim. “Then what? Considered that good enough and just walked away?”
“Seems like it.”
“But not remorseful enough to keep from stealing the guy’s watch, according to what Graham’s sister told us, or from killing again.” Clay’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before slowly relaxing. “He could have played the same scenario again with Hardy, luring him up to the lighthouse and then killing him and leaving him there.”
She nodded her agreement. “It would take a lot less energy to leave a body where you killed it instead of dragging it around.”
He glanced over at her, a question in his gaze. “You’re still thinking we’re looking for an eighty-year-old murderer?”
“Not necessarily. That’s assuming whoever killed Graham was around his age at the time, in his early thirties. What if he was ten years younger? Twenty-year-olds have been known to kill, and that would put him at seventy today, not eighty, which opens up a whole new pool of suspects.” She tapped a finger against one knee. “And he has to be someone around here, or he wouldn’t have known about Hardy being in the area, probably asking questions.”
“He was asking around,” Clay confirmed. “I paid another visit to the hotel and found out Hardy had made some inquiries to several people on the hotel’s staff, and at the local bar in Edington.”
Surprised, Ricki turned her upper body and faced him. “He did? What was he asking about?”
“The land,” Clay stated flatly. “He wanted to know if anyone had shown any interest in buying that land or had been around looking at it since it last changed hands.”
The land? It kept popping up, but she couldn’t see where it fit in to the whole puzzle. “Did anyone tell Hardy anything?”
“They didn’t know anything to tell him. I still need to get up to Massey, though, and see if he was asking around there.”
She shifted back around in her seat. “When were you going to let me in on this?”
“When we got a chance to compare notes,” Clay said instantly. “Which is now.” He glanced over at her. She didn’t look at him but continued to stare straight out the window. “Come on, Ricki. I hadn’t finished asking around, and you were off to the VFW. I also had a council to deal with. So I’m telling you now.”
Since she was sitting in his car, headed to interview a potential source of information about what had happened to her victim, she decided to talk to him later about not sharing information. Shrugging it off, she simply said, “Okay,” then looked over at the GPS when it chirped out the instruction to take the next off-ramp.
It was only a ten-minute drive from the freeway to the quiet, tree-lined street of the subdivision Christopher Toner called home. Clay pulled up to the curb in front of the house and slid the gear into park. “Are you mad at me?”
“Not at the moment,” Ricki said as she pushed the passenger side door open. “Maybe later. I’ll think about it.” She glanced back at him. “But right now we need to find out what Christopher Toner knows.”
They were halfway up the walk when the front door opened. A tall man with steel-gray hair and brown eyes stood in the opening. Dan had told her he was in his eighties, but no one would have guessed that. His posture was still ramrod straight, and he looked like he’d kept himself fit. The tan on his face also said he’d kept up with the outdoor lifestyle of a park ranger. When she and Clay stepped up onto the small square that passed for a porch, he held out a hand to Ricki.
“Are you Special Agent Ricki James?” When she nodded, he smiled as he shook her hand. “I got a call from a Ranger Wilkes up at Olympic Park saying you’d be by.” He turned to Clay and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Clay Thomas. I’m the chief police in the Bay.”
“Police?” Toner’s eyebrow winged up even higher. “So an ISB agent and a police chief? Ranger Wilkes said you wanted to ask me about Ben Graham. What in the hell did he do that a police chief and an ISB agent come calling fifty years later?”
He stepped aside and gestured for them to come in, waiting until they were in the tiny foyer before closing the door behind them. He turned and led the way into a living room barely big enough for a small couch and two armchairs. The three pieces of furniture were clustered around an oval-shaped coffee table with a large vase of artificial flowers in the center.
Waving them over to the couch, Toner took one of the armchairs before leaning to the side and yelling toward the back of the house. “Myrna, that agent is here and she brought a police chief with her, so put another coffee cup on the tray.” He sat back and laughed. “My wife put the coffee on as soon as you drove up. It won’t take but a minute or two. She’s got one of those fancy machines that uses up most of the counter space. I told her it was way too big for just us, but she loves it, so what can a man do?”
“Keep her happy,” Clay said. He got to his feet while Ricki kept her expression politely blank. “I’ll just go out and help her with carrying in that tray. Benjamin Graham is actually Agent James’s case.”
Toner’s eyes widened as he faced Ricki. “Case? What kind of case?” Before she could answer, he leaned back as if he expected a blow. “I was with the service about five years or so when they started up that special investigative unit. Ben had left before then. He and I joined at the same time.” He propped one ankle up on the opposite knee, getting comfortable as he smiled back at her. “You look at major incidents, don’t you? Like drug trafficking or bad hiking accidents, that kind of thing?”
Ricki nodded, her gaze remaining steady on his. “Those and homicides.”
He looked stunned. “Ben killed someone?” He blinked and then frowned. “No. Wait. I haven’t seen him for fifty years. Are you saying he killed someone back then?” He went still as he stared back at her. “Or that he’s been dead all this time?” He looked away, drew in a deep breath, and glanced back at her. “I knew your uncle.”
Not surprised that he’d abruptly changed the subject, Ricki nodded, more than willing to give him time to adjust to the idea that something bad had happened to his friend all those years ago.
“He arrived just a year or so before I retired. How’s Cyrus doing?”
“He’s fine. Still with the service, going on twenty-five years now.”
Toner nodded. “Big guy, and I can tell that you’re related. Same eyes. He was mad about fishing, as I recall. He used to go out all the time with some young cop there in Port Angeles.”
“Still does,” Ricki said in a conversational tone. “That young cop transferred to Tacoma. He’s the chief of police there now.”
“Is that so?” He looked over as Clay and a short, wisp-slender woman with gray hair and a friendly face bustled into the room. Clay followed behind, holding a large tray with wooden handles and piled up with coffee cups and a pot with steam rolling out of its top.
The woman swept the vase of flowers off the table and set it down on the floor next to Toner’s chair. He smiled and reached up to capture one of her hands.
“This is my wife, Myrna.” He looked up at her. “You’ve already met the police chief. That pretty woman over there is Special Agent Ricki James. I knew her uncle when I was still with the service.”
“Yes, dear. You told me that already,” Myrna said, her voice holding a note of patient amusement. She sent Ricki a welcoming smile. “I’m very fascinated with your job, Agent James. I wish I had time to talk to you about it, but I know you’re here to see Chris, and I have a million errands I need to run.” Her gaze took on a happy gleam. “We have family coming tomorrow.”
“A lot of family,” her husband corrected. “Both daughters, our son, and their respective spouses and kids. Eleven of them will be descending on us.” He looked around. “I have no idea where they’ll all be sleeping. I leave that up to the general here.” He patted his wife’s hand.
“Yes, well,” Myrna said. “That’s enough of talking about us. I’ll be on my way, and you can just sit here and tell Agent James whatever
it is she wants to know.”
Toner gave her a short salute. “Yes, ma’am.” When she bent down, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek, then watched with a soft gaze as she made her way back to the kitchen. Once his wife was out of earshot, Toner switched his attention back to Ricki. “Well, I guess I have my marching orders. So, what is it you want to know?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ricki reached down and opened the side pocket of her small backpack that she’d set on the floor. Pulling out an iPad, she held it up. “Do you mind if I record this, Mr. Toner?”
“Nope, and it’s Chris.” He settled back in his chair, resting his hands on top of his thighs. “What can I tell you?”
She handed the iPad to Clay to set up for recording as she consulted the notes she’d made on her phone. Once Clay gave her a nod, she started with the most obvious question. “When was the last time you saw Benjamin Graham?”
“April ninth,” Chris said without any hesitation. “Since I was pretty sure you’d ask that, I’ve given it some thought, and went back and consulted a calendar, to be honest. It was the Friday morning before his last scheduled shift, which I remember was on April tenth. That was a Saturday.”
“You didn’t see him on that Friday in between?”
“Just for a few minutes in the morning,” he said just as quickly as he’d answered her first question. “Just long enough to have an argument. I had to work that day. Ben was scheduled to work too, but he wanted to call in and claim he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make his shift.” Chris frowned. “I thought at the time that maybe the phone call he got the night before was the real reason, because I know he wasn’t sick.” Chris shifted restlessly in his chair. “Anyway, he asked me to cover for him with the supervisor. You know, sort of confirm that he was sick since the whole unit knew that we were splitting the rent on a house. I told him I wouldn’t do that. He needed to show up for the last weekend he was scheduled to work, and not screw up the days off for some other guy by playing possum. He went in, but he didn’t like it. And as far as I know he never came home after his shift, and I never saw him again. I got concerned when he didn’t show up for his last two shifts on Saturday or Sunday, and talked to Supervisor Abbott about it, but he didn’t seem too concerned.”
Since that lined up with what Barbara Metler had said, Ricki nodded. “I’m getting the impression that Abbott didn’t like Ben.”
Chris shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, no, I guess not. Ben could be charming and fun, especially around women, but he came from money, you understand, so putting in a fair day’s work wasn’t part of his upbringing. It’s fair to say that Abbott wasn’t too keen on him.
“Not sure what he was intending to do, but I remember where he went.” Chris shifted his gaze from Ricki to Clay. “He said he needed to skip out on that Friday shift because he had to make a trip to your neck of the woods. He didn’t say why, and I was on my way out the door to report to work myself, so I didn’t ask.”
“So you think it had something to do with the phone call from his sister?” Ricki asked.
He shook his head. “Naw. She always called right on the dot at seven, because Ben had told her that was the only time he was ever available. It was the call that came in after hers. It was a man. I remember because I answered the phone.”
Ricki slowly scooted to the edge of the couch. “A man called him Thursday night, and the next morning Ben wanted to call in sick and drive up to the Bay?”
“That’s what he said he was going to do. Now mind you, I don’t know if he did or not. His car was still at the house when I left for my shift in the morning. I know he put in his time that day, but he never came back to the house that night.” Chris looked down at his hands, resting just above his knees. “And us having words that morning was the last time I saw him.” When he looked up again, his gaze was troubled. “I think he went to Brewer, because I made the trip down there to look for him and the guy who owned the hardware store told me that he’d seen Ben Friday night, driving south, out of town.”
Chris stood up and walked over to the front window, staring out onto the street. The room was silent for a full minute, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on a shelf against the wall separating the living room from the dining room and kitchen.
“I chose to believe Ben had just upped and left because it was the easiest thing to do,” Chris said quietly before turning around and making his way slowly back to his chair and sitting down. “But I think I knew something had happened to him. He left all his belongings behind, including that baseball of his.”
“Baseball?” Ricki asked.
“Yeah. Signed by Ted Williams, no less. Ben loved that thing. He never would have left it behind.” He raised his gaze to hers. “But the guy told me that he’d seen Ben driving out of town. He was so sure of it that I just went along.” He drew in a slow breath, and his whole body stiffened as if he were bracing himself. “What happened to him?”
Ricki shifted back against the couch and softened her voice. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Benjamin Graham was murdered. We only found his body a week ago.” She watched Christopher Toner deflate in his chair, his eyes taking on a sheen of moisture.
“Oh my God. All this time.” He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it.”
“He was shot,” Ricki said before he could ask. “So was the private investigator who’d been trying to find him for several decades. His name was Maxwell Hardy. Did you ever talk to him?”
With his head still down, Chris’s words were slightly muffled. “No. I’ve never heard of him.”
So, it seemed the PI had never uncovered the identity of Catman, because if Barbara Metler had coughed the name up to her, she sure as hell told it to her own investigator too.
“Was it a jealous husband?”
“Excuse me?” Ricki said. “What was that about a jealous husband?”
Chris lifted his head and stared at her. “I was just wondering if it was a jealous husband who shot Ben?”
Clay leaned forward, his gaze hard. “Why would you say that, Chris?”
“I told you,” Chris stated. “Ben liked women, and he wasn’t particular about their marital status. He’d been seeing someone in Brewer. That’s why he was making trips down there.”
Ricki briefly closed her eyes. She should have known. Money, a woman, or revenge. One of those was almost always the reason a man killed. “Do you think that’s why he made the trip to Brewer on that Friday? A woman?”
“I don’t know,” Chris said. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t be the one he’d been going there to see on a regular basis. A month before he disappeared, he told me that they had broken up. Ben never went chasing after a girl who broke up with him. He always said the sea is too big to only put your line in to catch one fish.” He shrugged. “Ben’s words, not mine. I’ve been very happy with my one fish.”
Ricki pondered that while she picked up her phone and consulted her notes. “Just a couple more questions, Chris. Did Graham ever mention the land his family owned?”
“You mean that place up above that little fishing hole? What’s the name of that town?”
“Massey,” Ricki supplied. “Yeah. That would be the one. It has an old lighthouse on it.”
Chris frowned. “Sure, I remember. We went up there once and took a look around. Not much to it. He said he was going to tell the family he did an inspection and to dump the holding. He wasn’t interested in it. We must have spent all of thirty minutes up there, and most of that was making the hike up to that lighthouse, or whatever it was. Didn’t seem tall enough to be one, and what was a lighthouse doing up there anyway?”
“Guiding hunters, not boats, apparently,” Ricki said. “Last question. Did Graham ever mention someone he called the OG?”
That drew a short laugh out of Chris. “I haven’t thought of that in years. OG. Where did you hear that?”
“From his sister.”
Ricki watched him slap his knee as a smile crept across his face.
“Really? He told his baby sister about the OG?” He shook his head. “OG is what Ben called the other guy.”
Once again Ricki leaned forward. “Other guy? What other guy?”
“That woman he was seeing in Brewer? She had a boyfriend. You know, the other guy.” Chris sighed. “Like I said, Ben wasn’t too particular about that kind of thing.” He pushed himself up from the chair and walked over to a small table tucked next to the hanging shelf. Lifting a cardboard box, he carried it over to the coffee table and set it down. “I’m hoping you know how to get hold of Ben’s sister, or whoever is left of his family?”
“We’re in contact with his sister.” Ricki gave the taped-up box a curious look. “What’s this?”
“I told you Ben and I were splitting the rent on a house. When he left, the lease was almost up. I was planning on proposing to Myrna, and getting on with making a family, so I didn’t want to keep the lease, but the landlord said that Ben had talked to him about extending it for another three months, but hadn’t filled out the paperwork.” He walked back to his chair and sat down. “That didn’t fit into my plans, so when the original lease was up, I just packed up and left. I figured if Ben didn’t want any of his stuff, then the landlord could deal with it.” He pointed to the box. “Except for that. The clothes and towels, I didn’t care about. But the pictures of his family, and some other personal stuff, well, I couldn’t just leave it behind. So I packed it up and have been carting it around with me for the last fifty years. I’m hoping you’ll see it gets back to his sister. Maybe it will make up in some way for me not searching for him more than I did.”
An hour later, Ricki was sitting in the SUV’s passenger seat, headed north toward the Bay. She didn’t notice much about the passing cars or anything going on outside the window. Her thoughts were centered on what Chris had said.
One Last Scream (Special Agent Ricki James Book 2) Page 24
