Agnes Hahn (11 page)

“Looks like everything’s under control,” Saroyan said. “Shall I start dusting?” He glanced at Tatum. “Who’s the uniform?”

“Officer Tatum. Local.”

Saroyan offered a massive hand and Tatum shook it and let go like it was hot.

“I’m Quint. Second-in-command from Mendocino.

Good to meet you.”

Tatum nodded. “I guess I’ll be going.” He sidestepped around the bed.

“Don’t forget the question you have for your girlfriend.”

Tatum’s response, “I won’t,” came from beyond the doorway.

“What was that about?” Saroyan said.

“Just a little rookie education. Public service.” He focused the camera and snapped a shot. “Looks like we have another one here.”

J
ASON PEERED THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE IN THE DOOR.
Why was she running away? And why had she rung the doorbell? She hated doorbells. Always someone you don’t know, she had explained to him. Either bad news or, worse, a salesman.

She jumped into a BMW two-seater, the top down. The echo of the slammed door stabbed right through him.

The car spun its wheels and lurched. Who was driving? A man? In slow motion, the driver’s arm reached out and surrounded her shoulders. His laugh pounded the door with another aural impact.

Jason yanked the apartment door open, but his acuity didn’t change. It was cloudy around the edges, like he was still looking through the peephole.

A patch of bright white caught his attention. An envelope covered the
WEL
of the welcome mat. He picked it up and ripped it open.

The single page glared at him, so bright he had to squint. No salutation, just four bold sentences. And no signature. But the writing was familiar. The wide loops of each
L,
the small circles dotting each
i.

He heard the slam of the car door again, and its echoes nearly jarred the note from his hands. He looked up but the car wasn’t there.

As he read the words they echoed in his mind. “I can’t do this anymore … do this anymore … do this anymore. You haven’t been there for me … been there for me … been there for me. I’ve met someone else … someone else … someone else. Tell everyone it’s off.” The last sentence didn’t echo.

The slam of the car door reverberated again, and Jason’s full body twitch opened his eyes to a dark room. Where was he? His apartment in Santa Rosa or the weekly rate dive in Mendocino? The banging rattled the door, once, twice, three more times. A few sniffs told him he was in the motel.

More banging.

“Powers. Open up.”

Bransome? What was he doing here? Jason glanced at his alarm clock. The red numerals glared a five and two threes.

“Open up or I’ll break it down.”

Jason swiveled out of bed and stumbled to the door, clad only in his boxers. He opened the door to the limit of the chain and peered out at Bransome and another man.

“Open it.” Bransome took a step back.

The command floated in Jason’s semi-awake mind. “Hold on. I’m not dressed.”

A loud smack popped the chain anchor from the door frame, and the edge of the door slammed into Jason’s forehead, knocking him backward onto the bed. He lay dazed as a warm trickle coursed down his temple and into his ear. A searing pain spun circles through his head.

Bransome was on top of him, lifting his shoulder, turning him over on the bed. He felt the click of the handcuffs before he heard it. Then the second click. He was yanked to his feet and spun around.

“I told you if anything happened, I’d be on you.”

Blood leaked into Jason’s eye. He tried to blink through it. “What are you talking about?”

“Nice act. She’s only been out four days. Don’t try to convince me you don’t know.”

Dizziness drained his head and settled in his knees. He went down, crumpled facedown on the worn carpet.

“I think he’s hurt.”

The voice came from near the door, behind Bransome.

“Get up.” A hand pulled on his elbow.

Jason struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled. He felt like he was going to throw up. Bransome pushed him back on the bed, in a sitting position. “Get a towel.”

Jason thought he saw a crew cut. Bransome’s partner?

Bransome grabbed Jason’s shoulders and shook them. “You’re coming down to the station for some questions.”

Jason squinted at the detective. The station? “What’s going on?”

Two hands grabbed his upper arms and pulled him forward. The hot, sour breath was close, panting. He blinked, and squinted through the blood. Bransome’s face was inches from his.

“I’ve been waiting two years for this day, Powers.” His fingers dug into Jason’s arms.

The answer was rehearsed so often, it was automatic. “Did what was right. Ramirez was innocent.”

Bransome moved back and Jason shook his head to clear the view. Then he saw it. A huge fist cocked in the air. It crashed against his chest sending him backward on the bed. The next breath wasn’t there. Or the next one. He strained to pull air into his lungs, but his chest muscles fought against one another. The room went dark.

Expanding light brought the familiar features into focus, again inches from his face. He heard his name. It echoed.

His chest ached, but air once again flowed in with each breath. He heard another voice, from behind Bransome, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Then everything came back into perfect focus, including the pain. His chest dueled his forehead.

Bransome shook him.

The sneer on Bransome’s face cleared his head. Where was the fist? Bransome’s voice hit him just as hard.

“Ramirez was innocent.”

Jason could feel Bransome’s hands squeezing the blood from his arms.

“What about the other two? Did you do fucking stories on them?”

Jason felt a violent shake.

“Art. Calm down,” the voice from behind Bransome again.

Another shake.

“Let me give you an update, asshole. Mullins moved down south, to Irvine. Three college girls were raped down there in a period of six months, all with his DNA. Clean DNA this time. They finally caught him on the third one. He won’t get off this time. And Warne. He did himself proud. Pulled another armed robbery, but this time he killed the clerk.”

The fist knocked Jason back on the bed again, but this time he could breathe. The pain was off center, higher on his chest. He was yanked upward again.

“Art. Don’t.”

Bransome’s face was close again, his voice a low growl.

“The clerk had a family. Wife and two small kids. This is for them, and for the college girls.”

The fist raised in the air again, and Jason closed his eyes tight. Go ahead, he thought. I know it’ll make you

feel better. Maybe it will make me feel better, too.

Nothing happened.

Jason opened his eyes to a squint. Bransome was frozen, his arm raised, the fist poised. But he looked different. Jason blinked to a better focus. Bransome’s fist fell to his side. Anger no longer stained his face.

Bransome spun around and walked to the far side of the room. He flopped into the 1960s-style chair and leaned forward so his arms and forehead rested on his knees. “Get him dressed.”

A huge man obliterated his view, and he felt hands pulling on his arms, releasing one of the cuffs, pulling a shirt over his head. He tried to focus on the man, but all he could make out were glasses and a crew cut. After a few minutes, the man snapped the handcuff closed and stepped back into the background.

Jason watched Bransome pull himself from the chair.

“We’d like you to come with us to the station for questioning. Your cooperation is strictly voluntary.”

Jason yanked his wrists, pulling the cuffs taut. Voluntary, my ass. “And if I decline?”

Bransome leaned close to his face. He spoke slowly, letting each word hover for an instant. “Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated. If not …” He looked over at his partner and drew his face closer. His breath was hotagainst Jason’s cheek, his voice low. “You may want to cooperate.”

A drop of blood fell from Jason’s forehead onto the bed. He looked at the red spot, then up at Bransome. “Okay. You win.”

“You’ll come voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

“Of your own free will?”

He looked at the spot again. “That’s what voluntary means.”

Bransome clapped his hands together. “Good.” He reached around and removed one cuff. “We appreciate your willingness to help.”

Jason stood, wobbling. “What am I supposed to have done? I’ve been driving the speed limit.”

Bransome unhooked the other cuff. “Don’t play dumb.”

The partner stepped forward, and Jason recognized him. Saroyan was his name. He put a hand towel in Jason’s newly freed hand. “Put pressure on it.”

Jason pressed the towel against his forehead. “I’m not playing anything. What did I do?”

“You don’t know about it?” Bransome’s voice hurt his ears.

“Know about what?”

Saroyan picked up Jason’s shoes and tossed them to the foot of the bed. “There was another murder.”

Jason looked around. Bransome was flanked by Detective Saroyan and a female officer he hadn’t seen before. He touched the table in front of him. There had to be a master blueprint for police station interrogation rooms. He’d seen several, and they were all alike. “Where’s Agnes?”

Bransome paced behind the sterile table. “She’s at home. It’s Wilson’s shift again.”

“You brought me in and left her at home? Who’s the suspect here?”

“She has an asshole lawyer. You don’t.”

Jason touched the gash on his head. It still oozed a little fluid. “That could change.” He paused. “Did Agnes leave her house? You had it staked out, right?”

“Didier had the night shift.” Bransome turned to face the officer.

Officer Didier cleared her throat. “She’s as regular as clockwork. Downstairs lights go out and the porch light comes on at 6:30. The light in her bedroom goes on, and then the blue glow of the television. Light and TV go off at 9:30 sharp. Nothing but the porch light until seven the next morning. You could set your clock by her schedule.”

“How about last night?”

Bransome stepped forward and glared at Jason. “How about if we ask the questions?”

Didier looked at Bransome and then at Jason. “Same thing last night as all the others.”

Jason rubbed his eyes. “Where was the murder?”

“You don’t know?”

He looked down, shook his head, and exhaled. “I haven’t seen Agnes since I dropped her off. I just got back in town yesterday, around suppertime.”

Bransome stared, as if he were running a telepathic lie detector.

Jason blew out a breath. “Where was it?”

“In Point Arena.”

Jason put his hands to his mouth. “They’re getting closer.” He slapped his hands on the table, startling everyone but Bransome. “Do you want to know if she went anywhere?”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about this.”

“I don’t. When I drove her home, I wrote down the odometer reading.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and lifted a scrap of paper from the money compartment. “When I pulled in the garage, it was at twenty-one thousand, four fifty-three. I don’t know about the tenths.”

Bransome turned to Saroyan. “You want to pay Miss Hahn a visit?”

Saroyan started for the door, but stopped. “What should I tell her?”

“The truth. Tell her there was another murder. Tell her we need to see her car. Don’t accuse her of anything. Let’s get our ducks in a row before her lawyer hears about it.”

Jason chuckled.

Bransome looked at Jason, then back to Saroyan. “Go.” He swung his head back to Jason. “What’s your problem?”

“I thought you said the lawyer was an asshole. Seems like you’re afraid of him.”

“Fuck you.” Bransome stomped to the door and let it slam shut behind him.

Jason looked at Officer Didier. “Sorry about the language. Must be a pleasure to work with him.”

“He’s not usually like this. The DA is really riding him on this one. I guess Agnes’s lawyer is playing hardball.”

“What should I do now?”

“You better stay put. He didn’t say you could leave.”

“What about you?”

“I better stay put, too.”

Jason shook his head.