Enemies Closer (26 page)

“He could have taken a photo of it with his phone. That would only take a second. Or he could have taken your spare keys from Michelle and come by while you were gone,” said Clara. “It would have been easy.”

“You’re still assuming he had knowledge of the list.” She thought for a minute. “And I just don’t think he did.” She sat on the sofa and Bea jumped into her lap; Maddy’s eyelids drooped heavily. “I need to sleep. Will you be okay on the couch, Clara? You can sneak through to the shower if you want, a train couldn’t wake me. Ben, you’re welcome to stay with her. It does pull out into a double bed.” She smiled sleepily and got up to go to bed, giving them each a long hug before she did. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come…” There were tears in her eyes as she turned and went to bed.

Clara turned to Ben and raised an eyebrow. “I have to take a shower and change my clothes,” he said regretfully.

“Me too,” she replied and leaned in to kiss his neck.

“I could come back.”

“Baby, I’ll be asleep before you get out of the shower. Besides, we can’t be greedy.”

“Clara, when all of this is over, I have every intention of being greedy.” And with that, he left.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A
fter a steamy shower, Judy Carlisle crawled into bed next to her husband. She rested her head on the pillow, pulled the down comforter up to her neck and curled into his warm body. It felt wonderful to be in bed. It had been a long day and she was exhausted, but she knew that sleep would not come quickly. She couldn’t get the image of that horrible cellar out of her head, and there was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. And then she knew what it was. Something she had remembered when Ben asked about Susan’s boyfriend. She thought briefly of calling Kincaid, but there was nothing to do about it now, and she was so tired.

Sunday morning broke with a clear blue sky over Elliott Bay. The smell of coffee woke Clara from her sofa-bed slumber and she turned to see her sister sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, pouring hot milk into a mug of steaming brew. She checked her phone for the time. Not even eight o’clock.

When she noticed Clara’s blonde head popping up from the pillow, Maddy smiled. “I tried not to wake you.”

“You did too try to wake me,” said Clara, smiling back. “Can I have some of that?” Maddy made another latte while Clara made up the pull-out couch and they sat down together by the coffee table.

“Sun’s out,” said Maddy wistfully. “Such weird weather.”

“It’s been out since I arrived.”

“Really?” asked Maddy sadly. “God, Clara, I didn’t even know. The only light I had down there was indirect morning glow, and then it was dark again. I had to do everything by touch. And it was so quiet; I felt suffocated by the silence. I talked to myself just to hear sound.” She shuddered. “When I found that toolbox I was so hopeful and when I realized that it was only a lid, I was crushed.” She talked for a few minutes without pause and Clara just listened. Maddy had been so strong through her ordeal, but she needed to let it out and Clara was grateful that she was starting now.

“The thing that’s killing me, totally eating me up, is that I don’t remember who put me down there. That, and the finger is pointing at someone I’ve known and cared for and trusted for years.”

“I can’t believe Eddie didn’t carry any evidence away with him from Susan’s murder, or leave something of his in that cellar or in the house.”

“Me neither,” said Maddy. “He’s not known for precision.”

“And that’s on a good day,” said Clara. “I’ve seen him several times in the last two days and he’s only been close to sober one time.”

“He’s been drinking a lot lately. Michelle has mentioned it a few times.”

“Have the two of you been getting along?” asked Clara.

“Eddie and I?”

“No, you and Michelle. A few people mentioned that there was some tension between the two of you.”

Her sister didn’t respond for a while. She stood, picking up their coffee cups and walked to the kitchen. “’Nother?” Clara said yes and waited for her to come back. Maddy expertly pulled two espressos and topped them off with milk she had heated with a steamer. She handed Clara her cup and said, “No. Michelle and I haven’t been getting along well. Working together has been really hard on our friendship. Besides the stress of running a restaurant and little differences of opinion on management things, the last two reviews we’ve had mentioned ‘Madeline Gardner, brilliant chef,’ and didn’t use Michelle’s name at all. It’s not fair and I understand why Michelle got upset, but it wasn’t my fault.”

She picked Bea up from her spot on the rug and put the cat on her lap. Yawning and stretching luxuriously, she curled up and went back to sleep. “The thing is, when we opened the restaurant Michelle wanted days. She wanted to be the one to manage budgets and price menus. I was going to be the creative one. I design the menus and plate the food and shop the markets. I have a lot of managerial jobs too, but I’m the head chef. And I’ve gotten more attention than she has, right or wrong. I can’t figure out how to fix it.”

She took a sip of milky coffee. “A few weeks ago I did an interview for the Sunday edition of the
Seattle Times
and I talked about Michelle through the whole thing. I said that she’s a brilliant manager, incredible chef, the backbone of Dovetail. And you know what the headline was?” Clara shook her head. “‘Maddy Gardner: The Modest Genius Behind Dovetail.’ Michelle was livid. I was afraid to even cross her path for a while.”

“I had no idea,” said Clara, surprised by the revelation.

“Yeah. I was going to talk to you about it but I kept hoping it was just growing pains, you know? Something we would go through and emerge stronger and better. I can’t imagine what
this
is going to do to our relationship. I can see all of my dreams crumbling around me and I can’t figure out how it happened.” She looked her sister straight in the eyes. “But I’ll tell you one thing, this may hurt me and I’ll probably have to deal with that in counseling, or meditation or yoga or whatever, but I will, and
I
will keep going. Stronger and better.”

Clara beamed. “I never doubted it.”

Maddy excused herself to take another shower. “I can’t get the smell of dirt and mold out of my nose. Hey, call your boyfriend and ask him to bring us some breakfast.” She winked at her sister and turned on her heel.

Clara found her phone and called Ben. “I thought you’d never call,” he said.

She felt a little giddy. “Are you up?”

“I’ve been up for hours. Well, one hour.”

“Wanna come over?”

“Are you two getting hungry?”

“You read my mind.”

Clara hung up the phone and got dressed in the same blue jeans and her trusty grey cashmere sweater. She needed to do laundry. Or just raid her sister’s closet.

Maddy emerged in black cotton trousers and a deep blue T-shirt. In one hand she carried a hoodie and she was using the other to towel dry her golden brown hair. “I’m starving!”

“Ben is on his way.”

Maddy sidled up to her sister and nudged her in the ribs. “In all the confusion I haven’t even asked. What do you think of my friend Ben?”

Clara reddened. “I like him.”

“Have you gone all the way?” she asked, barely containing her laughter.

“Stop it!” Clara was laughing too.

“I knew it! When? Where? Not in
my
bed!”

Now Clara looked a little guilty. “At Eddie and Michelle’s country house.” Maddy’s mouth dropped open. “Just before we found you in the cellar.”

Maddy started tickling her sister. “You mean that while I was lost and alone and deprived of fresh food, you were having sex with your hunky new boyfriend?”

Clara was giggling and trying to get away. “That desperate act of desire led directly to the discovery of the map that led us to the old root cellar where we found you!” she gasped and laughed as Maddy finally stopped tickling her. “If we hadn’t had sex, we would
never
have known that cellar was there.”

“Then I guess it’s okay, young lady.” They both dissolved in laughter. “It has to be a good sign that I can laugh at having been kidnapped, right?” Clara nodded and hugged her sister and when Ben arrived a few minutes later with two bags of groceries from Ralph’s, they were still snickering.

“I’m glad you woke up happy.”

“Good morning, Ben,” said Maddy, bussing his cheek, “what did you bring us?”

Clara planted a big kiss right on his lips and turned to watch Maddy unpacking groceries like it was Christmas morning.

“I have been dying to cook!” She made them each a latte, paused, decided to make another for herself too, and went to work on breakfast. Clara looked on in wonder as her sister whisked and whipped and chopped and grated, finally presenting them with plates of a delicate cheese and herb omelet, crispy bacon, and fried tomato salad. She buttered toast and poured orange juice and they all sat on stools at the counter and ate.

Then a telephone rang. It was Clara’s cell. And from that moment on, the happy note the morning had brought to them was shattered.

“Clara,” said Detective Carlisle, “listen to me. Someone leaked the information that Maddy has been found alive. Maybe someone at the hospital – we’ll probably never know. It just went out on the local news. They called us for a comment and Kincaid told them she was found alive and still receiving treatment at Skagit Valley Hospital, so you’ve got some time before the press gets to you in Seattle. We’re going to keep a patrol car downstairs and an officer will come by and check on you. Stay home today.” She paused and took an audible breath. “And there’s something else…”

Clara hung up and turned to her companions. “Eddie Perkins is dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
he call had come through emergency dispatch early that Sunday morning and eventually the news made it to Iverson, only a few hours after he’d gotten home from last night’s interrogation. Climbing back into yesterday’s suit, still hanging over a chair in his bedroom, he called Tanaka. After they had arrived at the scene Tanaka called Carlisle and Carlisle called Kincaid. Eddie Perkins had been officially pronounced dead on arrival by the Medical Examiner after revival attempts by the EMTs had failed.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing out of Detective Kincaid’s mouth when he saw the homicide detectives. “Did he kill himself?”

“Yeah,” said Tanaka, “but I don’t know if he did it on purpose.”

They waited for an explanation and Tanaka went on, “His wife slept on the sofa at their restaurant last night and when she came home this morning, she found him passed out in bed with an empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand. She showered, changed, drank some coffee, ate some toast, and decided to wake her husband and give him a piece of her mind. This time she noticed drool coming from his mouth and upon closer inspection saw that his eyes were not completely closed. She dialed nine-one-one and the paramedics found him dead. He was officially pronounced when the ME got here.”

“What killed him? Vodka?” asked Carlisle.

“Vodka, Vicodin and Xanax.”

“That’ll do it,” said Kincaid.

“He had a lot of pill bottles in the bathroom and on the nightstand,” said Iverson. “None of them were empty, like he dumped a bottle into his mouth and washed it down with booze, and there was no note, but under the circumstances, suicide is a strong possibility. Suicide or overdose. Either way, it saves the city the cost of a trial.”

“You’re taking this as an admission of guilt?” asked Carlisle.

“We’ll do a few more interviews, wrap things up, but I think he knew he was caught and going down for first-degree murder and kidnapping. He spends the night alternating booze and pills, his system slowly overloads, and he nods off into the sweet hereafter,” Tanaka summed up with a grimace.

“What did Michelle have to say?” asked Kincaid.

“She wasn’t surprised to find him passed out. She
was
surprised to find him dead. She claims she had no idea he was in trouble when she first came home. In fact, she was pissed off. Get this, she had no idea we brought him in last night. He never told her.”

“Why didn’t she come home last night?”

“She took your advice and started checking the books. There’s a lot of money missing. They’re not in the red, but the savings account they keep for bad times is nearly empty. She said they had almost a hundred grand in there. She was furious and she didn’t know if Eddie had done it, or Maddy, or both of them together.”

“So she spends the night at the restaurant, comes home in the morning, finds her husband passed out and when she finally decides to get him up she finds him dead,” said Carlisle. “That’s nice and neat.”

“Sometimes it turns out nice and neat, Judy,” said Tanaka.

“A confession would have been nice,” she said.

“A confession is always nice,” said Tanaka again, “but this is the closest we’re going to come.”

“Did Michelle see the news? Does she know we found Maddy Gardner?” she asked.

Now Tanaka smiled at her. “She didn’t say anything, so neither did we. Thought we’d leave that little gem for you, detective.”

Iverson announced that they had some interviews to take care of before they could finish the paperwork on Susan Burns’s murder.

“Hey, did you ever follow up with the bartender, Joe Bailey? He had some dirt on Eddie and Susan, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Iverson. “We got tied up with Eddie’s interview and didn’t get back to him. We’ll get to it.”

“I think we’ll hit him too,” said Carlisle.

“Keep us posted,” said Iverson as Carlisle and Kincaid left the homicide division.

“What are you thinking, Judy?”

“Joe Bailey cast suspicion on Eddie and Susan’s relationship, and he said that Eddie was spending an unusual amount of time in the back office of Dovetail. I just think we should talk to him.”

“When did you start thinking about Joe Bailey?”

“Just before I fell asleep last night. Remember when Tanaka and Iverson said that he deliberately drew a connection between Maddy’s disappearance and Susan’s murder?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And he’s the one who first mentioned an affair between Susan and Eddie?” She shrugged. “I have a feeling he knows something, that’s all. I want to talk to him again.”

“Okay, Judy, I know what it means when you get a feeling. Do we have his address somewhere?”

“We’re going to get it.”

They went back to their desks and looked up the address Joe Bailey had listed on his driver’s license. “Better get Harry’s address too,” said Carlisle, “for good measure.”

Kincaid offered to drive and they got into an unmarked. “Who do you want first?” he asked.

“Let’s start with Harry.” They drove to Harry’s address in Queen Anne. He lived in a narrow townhome on a steep hill with a tiny but well-tended garden of ornamental grasses and bluebells leading to the front steps.

When Harry answered the door he was wearing black gabardine trousers and a black sweater, no socks or shoes, and his dark hair, slicked back so severely the first time they’d met, was mussed and curly around his pale face. The five o’clock shadow at nine o’clock in the morning completed the picture of a brooding man in his own home.

“Detectives?” he said, not exactly surprised, but not expecting their visit either.

“Carlisle and Kincaid,” she reminded him.

“Of course, of course, please come in.” They followed him into a bright living room, past a tidy dining room and into a small but comfortable kitchen. “Coffee?” Evidently they had interrupted him just before he pushed the plunger on his French press.

“That would be great, thanks,” Carlisle answered for both of them.

Harry finished making the coffee, got milk from the fridge and a sugar bowl from the counter and set everything on a small, round table by the window overlooking a tiny back yard full of budding flowers. “Have a seat.” They did and he served their coffee. “What can I do for you?”

“Eddie Perkins was found dead this morning. Apparent overdose,” said Kincaid without ceremony.

“Good Lord!” said Harry. “What the hell is going on in that restaurant?”

Kincaid gave it a moment to settle in and went on, “He was brought in for questioning last night regarding Susan’s murder and then released. He died sometime early this morning.”

Harry kept looking from one detective to the other. “Don’t tell me you think it was a suicide?”

“It’s a distinct possibility, but there’s no way to tell for sure.”

“But why would he kill himself?”

“Why indeed?” said Kincaid. “The working theory is that he knew he was going to prison for a long time and took the easy way out.”

“But what do you think?” asked Harry.

“We’re withholding judgment for the time being.”

“I see,” said Harry. “Well, if you’re here to ask me if I killed Susan the answer is no. If you’re here to ask me if I think Eddie killed Susan, the answer is also no. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t – didn’t know him well – evidently I didn’t know Susan very well either – but he never seemed,” he searched for a word, “
interesting
enough to commit murder.”

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. “Interesting enough?”

“Eddie seemed like a pretty shallow man, Detective Carlisle. If you’ve met him then you know what I mean. Happy so long as his belly is full, his penis is satisfied and his car is shiny and new.”

“Those are all good reasons to commit murder,” said Carlisle.

“I guess,” said Harry. “I just feel like there should have been more to Susan’s death than vanity or jealousy or inconvenience. Like great love or rage or hatred. Not just that she was going to tell his wife they were sleeping together.”

“Do you think that would have been his motive?”

Harry shrugged. “What do I know? I’m feeling pretty disillusioned about everything right now.”

“You didn’t suspect Susan was having an affair?” asked Kincaid.

“I had no idea,” he said simply. “Susan and I both worked so much that it didn’t occur to me she would have time to sleep with anyone else. And even if I had suspected something, I never would have suspected her of sleeping with Eddie Perkins.” Harry’s lip curled in disgust. “He seemed so brutish and dumb.”

“I take it you didn’t like Eddie?”

“I didn’t really know him. It was just an impression.” He smiled a little. “Frankly, I thought Michelle was the one fooling around with the help.”

That got their attention. “Michelle?” asked Carlisle.

Harry poured more coffee and nodded conspiratorially. “Occasionally, when I had the evening free and Susan was working, I’d stop in around happy hour for a drink. If Michelle was still there I’d see her flit around the bar, stealing secret glances at the bartender. Once I saw him squeeze her ass when he thought no one was looking. And that was just what I noticed when I happened to be there. Susan used to tell me such funny stories.” He looked both wistful and angry. “Anyway, a lot can happen in the hours between lunch and dinner when the restaurant is closed,” he said, with a mysterious wink.

“You think Michelle Perkins was having a fling with Joe Bailey, the bartender?” asked Kincaid.

Harry shrugged. “Yes. I do. Susan told me he would sometimes come in early and she would see him sneaking out of Michelle’s office, looking rumpled.”

“That’s not really proof,” said Kincaid, but his mind was racing with the news.

“I don’t have proof,” said Harry. “Why would I? All I have is pillow talk. But people fool around all the time in this business.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about Michelle sooner? Didn’t you think it was relevant?”

“Not when Maddy Gardner went missing. The next time I talked to the police was when those other detectives came to tell me Susan had been murdered.” His voice grew bitter. “Then again when they came to tell me she was sleeping with Eddie Perkins, and did I know anything about that? I guess that since I wasn’t a suspect, I didn’t merit another visit. I was crushed. First because the woman I thought I loved had been brutally killed and second because the woman I thought I loved had been betraying me.” He swallowed hard. “Anyway, I honestly didn’t think about it until I started searching my memories of her behavior for any indication that she had preferred that slob all along.”

His voice was rueful, but his eyes were full of hurt. Carlisle patted the back of his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Harry.”

He looked at her. “Thank you, Detective Carlisle.”

They left Harry’s house and drove straight to Joe Bailey’s apartment building on the north side of Belltown.

Tanaka and Iverson were back at their desks, typing notes and reading through preliminary evidence files. When Iverson reached into the breast pocket of his suitcoat for a pen, he also found a slip of paper. It was the note from one of the operators on the tip line; he must have forgotten about it in the all the excitement. Reading the note quickly, he picked up the phone to call the number scrawled on the bottom of the page.

The taxi driver was just home after a long shift when his mobile phone rang in his pocket.

“Hello?”

Iverson identified himself. “I got a note that says you believe you witnessed Madeline Gardner getting into a car on Pine and Second Street Monday night?”

“Yeah, well I didn’t know who she was then, of course, but I was dropping a fare at a restaurant around the corner and we were stopped at the red light there at the intersection.”

“The corner of Pine and Second Street?”

“Right. So I’ve got this really foxy lady in the back seat and while I’m waiting for the light to change I take the opportunity to check her out in the rearview” – at his desk, Iverson rolled his eyes – “and she’s staring out the driver’s side window. Real interested in something. So I look where she’s looking and see this shiny sports car. Fancy BMW. Must have cost a hundred grand. Anyway, this tall lady in a leather trench coat is getting into the sports car and I figure the sexy redhead in my back seat is thinking that she should be the one riding in that car instead of my old cab.”

A knot of excitement was forming in Iverson’s stomach but he kept his voice calm. “You said your fare was a redhead?”

“Yep. Tall, curvy, big tits.”

Iverson’s excitement grew. “Sir, did you happen to see the driver of the BMW?”

“Oh yeah, when the woman opened the passenger door the light went on and I saw her plain as day.”

“You saw the woman getting into the car?”

“Well, yeah, but I mean I saw the woman driving too.”

“The woman?”

“I was surprised too. I mean, I figured whoever owned that car was some old asshole with too much money and a taste for his secretaries, if you know what I mean.”