Act of Betrayal (12 page)

PJ’s cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her purse. It was Dave.

“Rick’s old girlfriend has been tracked down,” he said. “She’s moved twice in the last year, and doesn’t have a steady job, so it’s taken a little while. I’m on my way over to talk to her. Wanna tag along?”

“You bet. Drop by Schultz’s house and pick me up, would you?”

Dave cleared his throat. “So you know about the bottles.”

“Yeah. Nice of you guys to keep me informed.”

“You didn’t mess anything up, did you?” Dave said, ignoring her barb. “Wall didn’t want the house disturbed, in case Schultz comes back.”

“Why didn’t you seize the bottles?”

“There’s no arrest warrant issued. Officially we went into his house on the report of a neighbor that Schultz hasn’t been seen in some time and might be the victim of foul play inside. Once we verified that wasn’t true, we had to leave. Officially.”

“I see. And which of you planted the idea in the neighbor’s head?”

“Um, I did.”

“Well, come on by. I’ll be outside the front door.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dave picked her up. They drove in silence for a time, as Dave negotiated the streets, heading for the area north of downtown.

“We’re going across the river,” he said. “She lives in an apartment in Granite City.”

“Don’t we need to get the Granite City Police involved?”

“We’ve given them a heads up about it,” he said. “If we wanted her picked up and brought in for questioning, then the coordination would be more formal. But we’re just stopping by to ask her a few questions, which we hope she’ll answer without fuss, and we’ll be on our way.”

“How do we know she’s home? It’s a weekday afternoon. She could be at work.”

“Granite City PD cruised by and heard the TV on. There’s a good chance she’s there.”

“I thought you said she lived in an apartment. How exactly did they cruise by and hear the TV?”

Dave shrugged. “I guess they cruised on foot.”

The haze hanging over the city was worse at the riverfront. The Mississippi River flowing under the McKinley Bridge was a flat shade of gray that blended into the haze, so that in the distance it was hard to see where the river ended and the sky began.

Granite City was a maze of unfamiliar streets to PJ, but Dave drove confidently. She questioned him about it, and found that his parents had lived there for a few years before moving to the West Coast.

They pulled up in front of an apartment complex where the buildings were in a U-shape around common ground. Dave parked the car and they walked into the U. All of the upper apartments had identical balconies, and all the lower ones had small patios. A tiny swimming pool took up one end of the green space. A group of women, seated in folding chairs under umbrellas around a separate kiddie pool, looked up and stopped their chatter. The toddlers in the wading pool continued their antics. PJ thought it strange that there was no one at the main pool. It was summer vacation. It seemed as if every school kid in the complex should be in the pool. As they got closer, she noticed a lot of water splashed out on the pool surround. It looked as though a large boisterous group had just left. It restored her confidence that pools were still attractive enough to lure kids out of their air-conditioned rooms.

“First building on the right,” Dave said.

“And straight on ’til morning.”

When they got to the door, they could hear the TV playing loudly. Either the soundproofing was a farce or Kathee Kollins had poor hearing. PJ knocked politely, then pounded on the door when she got no response.

The door opened slightly, held in place by a security chain.

“Go away,” a voice said from the height of PJ’s waist. The words were a little slurred. The door slammed.

PJ and Dave looked at each other. “Is Kathee in a wheelchair, or very short?” PJ asked.

“Unknown.”

PJ stepped up to the door again and knocked loudly. After several minutes, the noise level of the TV went down, and the door opened again. PJ slid her foot into the narrow opening, wincing in advance. She thought it would be squashed.

“Go away.”

“Wait! We’re from the police department, here on official business. Is this the home of Kathee Kollins?”

“Who?”

PJ slipped her arm into the slot, dangling her civilian departmental ID from her hand. She squatted down and spoke loudly at doorknob level.

“I said, we’re police—” Her ID was snatched from her hand. Startled, she drew back her arm, and the door closed.

Dave laughed at the frown on her face. “It’s not funny,” she said. “And it’s your turn to knock.”

Before he could take his place at the door, it opened. A woman stood there, and hiding behind her was a young girl about seven years old.

“Come in, Dr. Gray. I’m Kathee Kollins. I wondered when someone would come to talk to me.”

PJ stepped into the apartment. Dave lingered, keeping the door open in case a quick exit was needed.

“Sorry about the confusion,” Kathee said. “That was my daughter Kyla. She doesn’t hear well, although she’s usually a lot better off than she is today. Her hearing aid happens to be in for repair. It’s kind of specialized, and she doesn’t have a spare.”

Kyla’s face appeared around her mother’s right hip. PJ signed “hello” to her. The girl’s eyes opened wider, and she stepped out from behind her mother. PJ saw that both sides of the girl’s face were scarred, the skin stretched tautly over her cheekbones. There wasn’t much of an external ear on either side. Kyla rapidly signed an apology for her cautious behavior to PJ, explaining that her mother had been asleep, and she was not allowed to let anyone in. PJ conveyed her acceptance, and told Kyla that she did the right thing.

As PJ and Dave followed the woman into the apartment, Dave tapped PJ on the shoulder.

“That was neat. When’d you learn to sign?”

“In the early part of my clinical practice, I had a couple of patients who taught me.”

“Well, you made a hit here,” Dave said. Kyla was shadowing PJ, her eyes attentive.

“Mrs. Kollins,” PJ said, “as you guessed, we’d like to ask you a few questions about Rick Schultz. Is there someplace we can talk alone?”

Kathee signed rapidly to her daughter, who went back and turned the sound on the TV up again. The three grown-ups went into the kitchen.

“Please have a seat,” Kathee said. “She can’t hear us in here, as long as we don’t shout.”

They sat around a small table. Dave took out a notebook and pen.

“It’s Ms. Kathee Kollins,” she said. “I’m not married. Haven’t ever been. So you can get it right. Two e’s, two k’s.”

Dave smiled as he wrote the name.

PJ, who was sitting opposite Kathee, searched the woman’s face. She was about twenty-five, with hair the color of candy apples and a smile that lifted her out of the average category in looks.

“Kyla mentioned that you were asleep,” PJ said. “Do you work nights?”

“Yes. I’m an admissions clerk at a hospital. I just landed the job a week ago, and I’m having trouble getting adjusted to the night shift. I’m a morning person. Can I get you something to drink, coffee maybe?”

“No, thanks. Ms. Kollins, when’s the last time you saw Rick?”

“About a month ago.”

PJ blinked and Dave sat up straighter. Neither of them had been expecting her answer to indicate such recent contact.

“I visited him in prison. I wanted to make sure everything was really over for us. You see, I met somebody.”

PJ nodded. “And was it? Over for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Kathee said. “I thought I’d be sad about it, but I guess it was for the best.”

“I hate to bring this up,” Dave said, “but we checked the prison visitation log. You weren’t on it.”

“I used a fake name,” Kathee said, lowering her eyes. “I thought Rick would refuse to see me if I was announced as the real me.”

“So he was angry with you,” PJ said.

“He was, but he didn’t have any right to be. He was the one who broke it off.”

PJ thought she didn’t exactly sound full of grief about her ex-boyfriend’s death. It flashed into her mind that Kathee might have learned about Ginger during her prison visit, and become jealous. Maybe Rick had flaunted his sexy correspondent.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” PJ said cautiously. Dave had picked up the same train of thought, and was watching Kathee intently. “When and how did you meet Rick?”

Kathee folded her hands on the table. “I guess it was about three years ago. Yes, that’s about right. Kyla was only four then. I was taking classes at a community college. Rick was in one my classes.” She laughed. “Neither of us was very enthusiastic. I dropped out because my child care arrangements fell through, and Rick—well, he just fooled around too much to be a serious student.”

Dave asked the name of the college and the dates attended. He jotted them down.

“What attracted you to Rick?” PJ asked.

“He was handsome, well, nice-looking at least. I like big guys. He looked a lot like Kyla’s father. He was fun to be with, and helped me take my mind off my problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Kyla’s medical bills, mostly. She’s already had a couple of surgeries, and there are several more on the horizon. We’re both very hopeful.”

The hope and concern sounded genuine.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to her?”

“Not at all. People ask all the time anyway, and most of them are a lot ruder than you. We were in a car accident. Kyla had a head injury and some bad burns. She’s lucky to be alive. My own injuries were minor.” Kathee pulled up her right pants leg to expose a terrible scar that started about mid-calf and climbed up beyond her knee. “It keeps on going up. All I have is the scar and a slight limp. And the memories, of course. Kyla lost her hearing and most of the skin on her face and neck.”

“I’m so sorry for you both.”

“Yes, well… we’re survivors. We’re getting along, and we’ve got each other.”

“How did Rick fit into that picture? Had the accident already happened by the time you met him?”

“No. It amazes me, looking back on it, that he stood by us right after the accident.”

Knowing what she did about Rick, PJ thought that was amazing too, but she kept quiet about it.

“I think it was Kyla’s condition that wore him down. He had this image of a perfect little family, and Kyla didn’t fit in. She needed a lot of special care, and several hospital stays. He wasn’t mature enough to handle it.” Kathee nodded in the direction of the living room, where the TV blared away.

“So Rick wasn’t ready to settle down? Was he seeing other women?”

“No, it wasn’t that. It was something else.” Her face darkened. “He was using drugs. He was bringing them into my house—marijuana, cocaine sometimes, some pills I couldn’t identify. I had a feeling he was selling, because of the quantity that turned up sometimes. I couldn’t have that. I told him to get rid of the drugs or get rid of himself. It was a hard thing to do. I loved him, I think.”

“It was brave of you,” PJ said. “You were thinking of Kyla.”

Kathee gave her a grateful look. The two women were talking as single mothers, and had practically forgotten Dave’s presence. Dave was busy scribbling down the conversation.

“He didn’t take it too well. He stormed around and smashed stuff. But secretly I think he was glad to be given a way out.”

“I thought you said he was the one who broke up your relationship,” PJ said.

“He did,” Kathee said. “He had a choice, and he chose drugs over me. I’m not responsible for that.”

“Why’d you go see him in prison then?” Dave said. “Doesn’t make sense.”

Both women rounded on him with identical expressions. “Of course it does,” PJ said. “She loved him. She wanted to give him one last chance before going out with someone new.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Shall I play the violin music now?”

“Ignore him,” PJ said frostily.

“Hey, we all have our burdens,” Kathee said. “And I see he’s one of yours.”

Dave gave an exasperated sigh and put his nose back into his notebook.

“I have some really direct questions to ask you,” PJ said. “And they’re rather sensitive.”

“Just a minute,” Kathee said. She got up and checked on Kyla, then sat back down. “Fire away.”

“Did Rick date other women while he was seeing you?”

“Not as far as I know. But he did have a lot of evenings unaccounted tor, particularly when the drugs entered the picture.”

“You did have a sexual relationship, didn’t you? Did you ever have the impression he was bisexual or homosexual?”

“If he preferred men, that would be a big shock to me. Our relationship started out with a bang and kept going from there, if you get my drift.”

“Did he like to be tied up?”

“He asked me once to tie his hands behind his back with his belt. Neither of us got off on it, so that was the end of that.”

“When you visited Rick in prison, did he say anything about a new girlfriend?”

“Hmm… not directly. He said he didn’t need me anymore. I didn’t know how to take that at the time, but looking back on it, it could have meant he had somebody waiting for him when he got out.”

“Does the name Ginger Miller mean anything to you?”

“Ginger? Sure. I can’t vouch for the Miller part, though. I don’t know for sure that I’ve ever heard her last name.”

PJ felt her hopes zoom upward.

“You know her?” Dave said, sitting forward eagerly. “Who is she?”

“Ginger is my daughter’s imaginary playmate.”

S
CHULTZ AIMED A KICK
at the flat tire, knowing it wouldn’t do any good but needing the action anyway. He was on Interstate 94 outside Bismark, North Dakota, heading west. He had a car he’d rented under the name of James Richfield, and one thing after another had gone wrong with it.

Apparently no one at the rental company ever bothered to check the car’s radiator, because he hadn’t gotten twenty miles out of the city before his engine overheated. A truck driver who carried a couple of five-gallon containers of water stopped and filled up the nearly dry radiator for him, commiserating and sharing the news that he was on his way home to see his new grandson for the first time. Forty miles down the road the engine started to sputter. He pulled over onto the shoulder. It sounded as if he was out of gas, but the gauge said a quarter of a tank. He tapped the plastic on the front of the gauge and the needle slid down to empty. It had been stuck.