Buffalo Bill's Defunct (9781564747112) (30 page)

“No, never talked to her.”

Rob frowned. “What about her son?”

“The doctor?” Dennis looked wary.

“Vance. The real estate dealer. The one with the pearl gray Windstar with Oregon plates.”

“Uh, no.” Dennis glanced at Meg, looked away, fidgeted.

Meg said, “You told me Mr. Strohmeyer had the lock changed on the back door of the garage. That key is newer than the others.”

“Sure, yeah. He changed it awhile before he died.”

“Did he say why?”

“Um, kids were fooling around, getting in.”

“The lock hasn’t been changed,” Rob said with the absolute authority of one who has looked at everything through a forensic lens. “Not in years. Come on, Dennis, give. What’s with the key? It doesn’t open the back door.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

“Shit. They told me—” He broke off. He rubbed his face, let his hands fall. “Okay, so I lied. Carol asked me for the keys, the whole set, couple of days before we took off for California. She returned them the next day, except for the back door key. Said she’d lost it. When we got back from California, there was an envelope in the mailbox with a new key. The note said she’d copied the real estate folks’ key and not to tell anybody about the missing one. I didn’t try it out, honest.”

“What’s the story about Strohmeyer replacing the lock?”

He rubbed his thick neck. “Hell, I just made that up when Mrs. McLean asked why the key looked different. I didn’t mean nothing by it. I thought the key would work and she’d never know.” He sounded aggrieved. “I didn’t want to get Carol into trouble. Dumb bitch.”

“So the back door key has been missing from your set since before you went to California?”

He stuck his jaw out. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t lend it to Hal Brandstetter at any point?”

“Hal?” He looked bewildered. “Why would I do that? It was Strohmeyer’s key. Hal never had nothing to do with Strohmeyer. The old man was a goddamn pinko liberal. Hell, he was a stinking
socialist”

“I thought you went fishing with Mr. Strohmeyer,” Meg interposed.

Dennis glowered at her. “Well, yeah, he knew where to go, all the good holes. He was okay about fishing. But he was always talking about unions, said he was a member of the carpenters’ union, never hired nothing but union labor. He told me I ought to join the machinists’ union. I don’t believe in that shit. I told him so. He cackled some song, something stupid about bloodstained banners.” Dennis heaved a sigh. “What the hell, he wasn’t a bad old guy. He just liked to push my buttons.”

Meg was hastily reviewing what little she knew of union anthems, but she couldn’t get past “Solidarity Forever” and “Union Maid.”

Rob said, “Hal never fished with Strohmeyer?”

“No.”

“But he did fish with Vance Tichnor.” Rob, offhand.

Dennis nodded. “We went together, the three of us, and fished the Kapuya when the steelhead was running. I missed out this year, though. I was working down in south Portland.”

Rob leaned forward, not so casual. “Vance barely recognized your name when I talked to him.”

“He…what?” Dennis shook his head like a horse with a pesky fly. His eyes were dark with anger and hurt. “He’s full of shit. We must’ve fished together half a dozen times the last three years.”

Rob eased his shoulders against the back of the sofa. “Did Vance quarrel with Hal over politics?”

“No. He just said his granddad was old-fashioned. Vance never talked about nothing but land deals.”

That had to be a disappointing answer. Meg glanced at Rob out of the corner of her eye.

He smiled and stood up. “Thanks, Dennis. I’ll bring a printed statement around for you to sign.”

“That’s it?”

“For now. Unless there’s something you’d like to add.”

Dennis’s eyes shifted. “Well, you know, the night Hal was shot.”

“Yes?”

“Around two-thirty. I woke up and took a piss. Heard the dog barking.”

“Okay. Thanks. Did you look out?”

“Well, yeah. There was this van in the driveway, behind the SUV, you know? There’s bushes and shit, so I couldn’t see it real clear.”

Meg held her breath.

“Yes?”

“I saw the van leave. The lights was out, but the guy tapped his brake at the corner and turned left. The van had Oregon plates.”

Rob exhaled a long, slow breath. “Was it Tichnor’s van?”

“Naw. I dunno. Didn’t recognize it.”

Rob looked at him and he flushed a darker shade of red but he didn’t say anything.

Rob said drily, “Thank you, Dennis. Do you remember the number of the van?”

“No. I just thought it was weird. The dog shut up after awhile and I went back to bed.”

“How’s your eyesight?”

“Twenty-ten, both eyes.”

“Okay, let’s be sure about this.” Rob sat down and took him through everything again, rapidly. Dennis’s native belligerence had returned by the time Meg turned off the recorder. She and Rob left. Dennis had remained standing the whole time.

W
HEN Rob rang the Brandstetter doorbell, Towser woofed. Meg could hear the television playing. Tammy answered the door with the dog at her side.

She smiled at them. “Hi, c’mon in. Tom’s watching a horror flick.” Towser bounced. As Meg and Rob entered, the dog kissed both of them.

Laughing, Tammy calmed him and led them toward the kitchen. Tom waved a preoccupied hand as they passed. Something was decomposing on the screen to heavy melodrama from a full orchestra. If Brandstetter had been her father, Meg supposed she would have found horror soothing, too.

The kitchen was tidy and almost clean. Tammy offered coffee, tea, bourbon, or vodka. They declined everything. Towser took a couple of loud laps at his water bowl, sniffed their legs, and retired to a dog pillow where he watched them with bright brown eyes.

“So it’s not a social call?” Tammy’s black eye was fading. She’d had her hair cut. She smelled of shampoo, and faintly, of vodka, but she wasn’t drunk.

Rob said, “Your doctor is giving you an alibi, Tammy. You’re not a suspect in Hal’s death.”

She burst into tears and sank down on a chair at the kitchen table. Meg patted her shoulder and gave Rob an inquiring look. He made a soothing gesture. Let her cry.

While Tammy sobbed and Meg made comforting noises, Rob set up the recorder.

Eventually, Tammy blew her nose on a wad of Kleenex and composed herself. “Sorry. It’s just the relief. Uh, Ms. McLean?”

“Meg.”

“Thanks. Tommy told me your idea about the gun collection. I’ve already had two calls from gun freaks in the area wanting to buy. Ghouls.”

“Soak ‘em,” Rob said. “You’re selling?”

“When I can.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Community property.”

Tammy sniffed happily. “That’s what my lawyer said.” She explained Meg’s dog-walking scheme and Rob laughed.

“Brilliant. He’s a great dog, Tammy, and you’ll want him around when Tom goes back to Portland.”

Her face clouded. “Yes. Tom missed an evening class.”

“It’ll be okay,” Meg murmured, hoping so.

Rob said, “You’re probably wondering why Meg is here.”

“Tom said she was working for the department.”

“Yes, she sorted Hal’s books and magazines for us.”

“Bunch of junk.”

“Will you keep them awhile? I don’t think we’ll need them, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Okay, but I’m turning that office into a sewing room.”

Meg pulled out a chrome-legged chair and sat next to Tammy. “It sounds as if you’re making plans.”

“Yes.” Tammy gave Meg a watery smile and scooted her chair sideways so they could see each other’s faces. She dabbed at her eyes. “I can plan now. It feels strange. My bookkeeping clients have been really kind. I used to think they hired me because Hal intimidated them, but they haven’t fired me.”

“That’s great.”

“You do a good job.” Rob sat across from the two women and pulled the recorder to him. “Can we ask you a few questions about last August, Tammy?”

“August?”

“Yes, July and August, after the Strohmeyer house went on the market.”

“Oh, yeah, the other murder.” She shook her head. “I keep forgetting about it, what with Hal’s death and everything. What can I tell you?” Her hand clutched the wad of tissue. “I have to say I was probably drunk most of the time. I drank myself to sleep.”

“Well, that’s bad news, but I just need a general idea of what was going on in the neighborhood, at least to begin with.” Rob started the machine and intoned the usual information. “Why don’t you tell me who was here and who went off on vacation, starting around the end of July?”

“Dennis and Darcy took Cody to California. I remember that.” And she went on. She had noticed a lot for a woman who spent extended periods in a stupor. Nothing she said was very startling, however, and Rob seemed to be keeping the conversation in placid channels.

Tammy accounted for the Iversons, the wind surfers and their resounding rap, the Brownings, who spent a week at the beach, and Rob’s pretty daughter, Willow. Tammy had seen Meg once, probably the day Meg made the offer for the house. The espresso stand across the street had done a land-office business the whole time, which annoyed Hal. Tommy hadn’t come home. Rob didn’t ask about the Tichnors, and Tammy didn’t mention them.

Meg listened and let her mind drift. If they were going to interview Carol, they ought to get on the stick. Carol spent a lot of time in a stupor, too. It was half past nine.

At last Rob said, “Did you notice Carol Tichnor’s car in the neighborhood?”

“After the
sold
sign went up? No, but I was working an inventory of that bead shop that went out of business down on Alder. So I wasn’t here much in daytime the first week of August. The weird thing is, I don’t remember seeing Bill Meek at all.”

Rob cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything but his eyes were intent on Tammy’s face.

Tammy gave an apologetic smile. “I heard on the radio that you think Bill killed Hal. Is that true?”

“The sheriff is convinced,” Rob said neutrally.

Tammy must not have picked up on Rob’s doubt. “Good, I can believe it. Bill was a rattlesnake. I remembered his last name after you left the hospital Sunday. I meant to call you. Did he really commit suicide?”

“Mack thinks so.”

“Too soon to tell, huh?” Tammy wasn’t slow.

“You were saying you didn’t see him in the early part of August.”

“Mind you, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t here in town. Bill never stayed with us. He used to drink with Hal, but he never stayed the night. He was a real loner. Mostly he camped at the lake, and Hal rendezvoused with him at the Timberland when they had some deal going. The bartenders out there might’ve seen him.”

“Yes, we’re asking around.”

Tammy nodded. “I was surprised to see Vance Tichnor.”

In the pause that followed, Meg looked at Rob.

His face was blank and he sat very still. “You saw Vance with your husband?” He kept his voice casual.

“Yes. I assumed it had something to do with his grandfather’s property, but I didn’t talk to him. He showed up a couple of times in that van of his.”

“When?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “Early August. I think he and Hal talked on the deck, but I don’t really know. I was drinking.” Her voice rose.

“It’s okay, Tammy.” Rob stood up. “I just wanted to jog your memory a little. If you think of anything else about that time period, anything at all, let me know.”

“It was funny about Hal and Vance.”

Meg’s finger poised on the Pause button.

Tammy went on, “We wouldn’t see Vance for months, years, sometimes. Then he’d hang around, all friendly like he wanted to sell us something. I remember he was in and out a lot a year ago last spring. Maybe it was natural. His grandfather was pretty sick by then.”

Rob sat down again and Meg waited, hands in her lap. Rob was watching Tammy’s face.

“Vance had a different van then, or a pickup with a camper shell. Hal helped him move stuff into Emil’s garage.” She gave a derisive snort. “Or so Hal said. Hal and Dennis Wheeler. Couple of bulls in a china shop.”

Rob swore. Softly, gently, comprehensively.

“What?”

Rob smiled at her. “Keep talking, lady. I’m interested.”

But there wasn’t much more to tell, apparently. Tammy looked alarmed and confused, and Meg didn’t blame her. Rob hadn’t said anything about the earlier period. He was interested in August, wasn’t he?

When they left, finally, at ten minutes of ten, Meg said, “What was that about?”

Rob laughed. “Moira Tichnor decided to clean house a year ago last spring, remember?”

“Gosh, the loot. Vance moved it then.” That made sense. “Won’t Brandstetter’s body show an accumulation of DDT?” Not to mention Dennis Wheeler.

“We shall see. I want to talk to Dennis again, maybe in a dungeon with thumbscrews.”

Meg was driving the two of them in the Accord. She didn’t like riding in pickups. She always had to climb up into them. Rob’s was full-size. The parking lot of the Red Hat was half-empty. Rob let Meg carry the recorder, the better to look professional. Carol was not going to buy her impersonation of a police officer.