Fixed in Fear (28 page)

Lydia opened her eyes and snapped into full alert when the cellphone on her nightstand rang. She looked at the bedside clock. Only one person would be calling at 2:47
A.M.

“Thanks for getting back to me.” Lydia pulled herself up against the headboard. “Everything okay on your end?”

“Sorry I couldn't call earlier, Liddy.” Mort sounded as alert as Lydia. “I've been wrapped up with the sweat lodge murders. Time got away from me.”

She knew, probably better than anyone, how focused he could be when he was working a case. “Don't worry. I'm glad to hear from you. Things moving along with the case?”

“I'd say we've got it wrapped up. One more guy to find. One more interview to be had. We should be ready to arrest before noon.” The confidence in his voice was crystal clear.

“That must give Larry some peace.”

Mort hesitated. “Actually…the way things turned out…I'd say peace is about the last thing he's feeling.” Four minutes later Lydia knew everything Mort had learned from the documents Larry found at Carlton's house.

“My God,” Lydia murmured. “Larry must be devastated. Have you arrested this Bilbo character?”

“He's in the wind. He won't get far.” Again, Lydia was impressed with the conviction in Mort's voice. He was a man who was the best at what he did. He knew it, too. His confidence allowed him to perform his role with an unwavering efficiency. His awareness of his own flaws kept that confidence from morphing into cockiness. That humility added to his effectiveness as a homicide detective. “Bilbo's never too many steps away from his marijuana. Folks like that are pretty easy to track down. Now about your call. I'm assuming you've found Allie?”

Lydia wasn't sure how much to tell him. How many details did Mort need to know? Would his daughter's plan to kidnap Lydia and turn her over to some Middle Eastern strongman be the shove that pushed him into a guilt-fueled frenzy of self-loathing? Lydia's clinical training led her to understand Allie would be Allie no matter who her parents were. Mort, however, would believe until his dying day he alone was to blame for the woman his daughter had become.

And if you knew I'd killed again, and that it was Allie's actions that left me no other choice, would you ever be able to recover from that?

“She's staying at a resort just south of Seattle.” Lydia decided to tell him just what he needed to make his plans to keep Robbie and his family safe. “The Larchmont.”

Mort let out a low whistle.

“You know the place?” Lydia asked.

“I do. Deep-pocket kind of place. She traveling alone?”

She is now.
Lydia pushed the vision of Staz in the trunk of that Mercedes out of her mind. “I understand there's a driver. Perhaps he serves as bodyguard as well.”

“But no one else?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” Lydia could answer that question with full honesty.

“You get any idea who's paying for her stay?”

You're asking me to identify which international criminal Allie's aligned herself with now. How can I tell you she's graduated to independent operator?

Lydia opted for truthful understatement. “She's paid up till Tuesday. From what I can get from the registration records, Allie had her rental payment directly deposited into the Larchmont's accounts from an account she controls at a London bank.”

If Mort was more comfortable thinking it was some drug lord who was bankrolling that account, who was she to disabuse him of whatever buffer he needed to deal with the situation?

“Did you talk to her? Does she know you know where she is?”

I don't want to lie to you, Mort. There've been too many lies in my life. But I don't want to hurt you, either.

She opted to tell him a diversionary truth. “I located her by accessing electronic records. I'm confident management at the Larchmont have no idea I was able to get into their system.”

“Good. I'll be able to surprise her,” Mort said. “I don't want her to have time to manipulate the situation any more than she has. Like I said, I should have things wrapped up with this case no later than early tomorrow afternoon. Then I'll swing by the Larchmont and see if I can find out more about what my girl's up to.”

She'll be long gone by then, Mort. Once she understands Staz isn't coming back, she'll fire up that private jet and fly back to wherever it is she's calling home base these days.
Lydia took some comfort in knowing Allie posed no immediate threat.

But Allie would be back. Of that Lydia was certain.

And I'll be waiting.

“Sounds like a plan. By the way, she's registered as Edith Roberts.”

Mort was quiet on his end. He caught the symbolism behind Allie's alias. Lydia wanted to end the conversation before she was forced to be any more duplicitous than she'd already been.

“Good luck tomorrow, Mort.”

“Thanks. I'll keep you posted on what I learn from Allie.” Mort's voice shifted to a warmer tone. “And thank you, Liddy, for finding her. I appreciate it. More than you know.”

Lydia felt the discomfort she always did when anyone suggested she was worthy. “No problem, Mort. Let me know if there's anything else I can do.”

“How about this?” Mort asked. “How about you go back to sleep. Enjoy your Saturday and I'll talk to you soon. I'll take care of Allie. No need for you to worry about a thing.”

She wished him good night and hung up.

I'm not worried, Mort,
she thought as she settled back down under the covers.
What I am is prepared.

Mort wasn't comfortable dealing with his friend in a professional capacity. He and Larry were closer than most brothers. He'd rather they were spending this Saturday afternoon grabbing a burger at the Crystal. Or maybe they could be sitting together on the deck of his houseboat, trying to understand in quiet privacy how this whole thing had turned into such a raging shit storm. Anything other than sitting across a conference table laying out evidence.

But murder touches who it touches. He'd been at this very table scores of times throughout his career. Sitting in the main-floor conference room of the Seattle Police Department's headquarters, his team on one side of a polished slab of maple across from members of the victim's family, detailing what they'd come to learn and what would happen next. Making himself and his team available to answer any questions they might have before the arrests were announced and rabid reporters shoved microphones into their faces to ask them if the arrests brought that sense of closure every survivor seems to seek.

Mort knew there was no such thing. Time helps, of course. Pain gets less intense. Periods of outrage at the unfairness of it all get less frequent. But any chapter where loss of a beloved is written never really closes.

Both hands of the clock pointed straight up when the last person invited to the meeting arrived. Abraham Smydon nodded his gratitude to the uniformed police officer who'd escorted him to the conference room. Mort had called him just past sunup to let him know the case was about to close. They'd made an arrest. All that was left was for him to come down and learn the details of the case. Abraham balked at first, insisting his fishing fleets didn't stop on the weekends. He'd need to be on the docks to greet them. But when Mort told him Carlton's murder was tied to Helen's, the Seafood King of Seattle agreed to come down to the station during his midday break.

Abraham pulled out the chair at the head of the long table. Mort assumed the man was accustomed to always being welcomed in that spot. That left Larry alone on his side. Mort appreciated the kindness when Rita shoved the stack of files in front of her across the table's surface and got up from where she sat next to Mort to join Larry, leaving Mort with nothing but a small evidence box for company.

“Let's get started,” Abraham announced when Mort asked if anyone wanted any coffee or water. “This is a workday for me.”

What is it you think we're doing?
Mort wondered. But nearly thirty years on the force had him immune to the slights of people who put the accent on the second word in the term
public servant.

“We've made a total of four arrests.” Mort looked at Larry. “It took us a while to find him, but Bilbo Runyan is now in custody.”

Abraham leaned back in disbelief. “Carlton's hanger-on? You mean to tell me that skinny sack of nothing had his meal ticket eliminated?”

Rita opened her top file and pulled out copies of two mug shots. She handed one to Larry and the other to Abraham. “These are the men who did the actual killing at the sweat lodge. The man with the long brown hair is Jerry Costigan. The other man is Augustus Apuzzo. Goes by the street name Auggie. They knew each other from sharing time at Monroe Correctional.

“Auggie was hired to kill Carlton. The contract specified the murder take place at the sweat lodge. Clouding up the evidence. Confusing investigators as to target and motive. Auggie needed help. He reached out to Costigan. The two of them went up to the lodge, posed as a couple of brothers from Moses Lake, then murdered five people in cold blood who were doing nothing more than seeking a little peace.”

Abraham and Larry took their time staring at the photos. It was Abraham who laid his copies aside first.

“You said this Apuzzo fellow was hired. I assume that's where Runyan comes in.”

Mort nodded. He looked across the table. Larry's face was an ashen mask of sorrow. His hands rested atop a small stack of papers and folders.

“Are you okay?” Mort asked. “Can you do this?”

Larry's jaw churned. His eyes reflected a determination born of grief. “I'm fine, Mort. Bring him in.”

Mort stood and went to the door. He leaned out and waved his arm. He returned to his seat at the same time Bilbo Runyan, wearing the blaze-orange jumpsuit of the King County jail, was led into the conference room. His hands were cuffed in front of him and his ankles were linked with a short length of chain. Two uniformed officers led him to the seat at the foot of the table and stood behind him. Bilbo did an anxious visual sweep of the people seated around the room before lowering his gaze to his lap.

“Is this customary?” Abraham asked impatiently. “I have no need to hear anything this man has to say.”

“Bilbo was arrested shortly before four o'clock this morning. Sheriffs found him sleeping in his car in a residential neighborhood about a half mile south of the Peace Arch.” Mort turned toward the prisoner. “Headed to Canada, were you, buddy? Maybe sleeping off your latest high before having to talk to the border patrol guys?”

Bilbo shrugged his sagging shoulders. “Something like that. A man gets tired, man.”

Mort looked first to Larry, then to Rita. The Enumclaw police chief rested her hand on Larry's shoulder and nodded her confidence in him.

“I found some papers in Carlton's study.” Larry's voice was firmer than Mort would have expected given all he'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours. Larry looked straight at Abraham, resolute. “Letters. Journal entries. Photographs.” Larry swallowed hard. “Some of them written by Helen. Some of the pictures are of Helen.”

Abraham's imperial face softened. “May I see them?”

Mort heard a humbled humility in Abraham's request. A grieving father, still vulnerable to any link to his lost daughter. Even after a quarter of a century.

There is no such thing as closure
.

Larry looked to Mort for guidance.

“The writings are mostly between Helen and Carlton. I'd heard what good friends they were. How close the bond between them,” Mort said. “Many of the letters show their playfulness. Like they were a couple of young people without a care in the world.”

“I worked hard to provide for my daughter.” Any earlier trace of humility was now absent from Abraham's tone. “She wanted for nothing.” He turned a stony glare toward Larry. “Until she married a schoolteacher.”

Mort stepped in before Larry could react. “I especially enjoyed the letters where Helen gushed on and on about her love for her husband. Newlywed bliss. Nothing like it. Carlton, on the other hand, seemed totally disinterested in settling down and marrying. Am I right?”

Abraham glared at him. “My father's younger son was interested in very little other than his own amusement. We've covered this before, Detective Grant. I have no need to read Carlton's thoughts about love and marriage.”

Did Abraham know the full extent of his half brother's entertainment? Mort wasn't sure. Amiably, he said, “I wasn't so interested in those, either. But three particular items caught my attention.” He nodded to Larry. “One was written by Helen. The other by her beloved uncle Carlton. And the third by our man Bilbo here. And they all have to do with Helen's kidnapping.”

Abraham leveled his damning glare at the man seated opposite him.

“Bilbo, why don't you walk us through what these letters are about?” Mort continued. “We'll ask you questions as they pop up. That okay?”

The aging pothead looked up. His face was greasy and very pale. “We had a deal, man. I'll keep my part. I'm sorry, Larry. Man, shit wasn't supposed to end up the way it did. I'm real sorry for your loss. I liked Helen. She was one feisty…And Carlton? He loved her like crazy. Like she was his own sister. Maybe even his own kid, man.”

“She was
my
daughter!” Abraham boomed from his end of the table. “Mine!”

Mort shot Abraham a
Let's all settle down
look. “Go on, Bilbo.”

This time Bilbo spoke to the entire room. He even swiveled his gaze around to take in the two officers standing behind him. “It was a crazy time. What can I say? Carlton was in over his head. He'd been gambling for a while. Football games. Basketball play-offs. That kind of shit. Started out small, but if you knew Carlton back in the day…well, let's just say he was nothing like the religion freak he turned into. He was wild, man. Bets started getting bigger. He was always chasing something. Pretty soon even his daddy's money couldn't cover him. Always gonna make good on his last loss with his next big win. Next thing you know he's got some guys visiting him. Guys who don't buy his line of shit about getting what was owed to them when his next big business deal goes through. You know the type I mean?” Bilbo looked straight at Mort.

“I do, indeed.” Mort needed to keep Bilbo talking. “Guys like that can be fierce.”

Bilbo slapped his cuffed hands on the table. “You know it, man. See what I mean? Crazy time. Fucking crazy.” Bilbo blanched and turned to Rita. “Sorry, lady.”

Rita nodded her acceptance.

“Anyways, we were seeing lots of Helen around the house in those days.” Bilbo looked over to Larry. “You were working all the time, she said. Doing that professor thing.” He shifted his attention to Abraham. “And you were doing your
Daddy's bringing home the bacon
routine. Helen never expected much from you.”

Mort saw humiliation flare across Abraham's face.

“She was bored,” Bilbo continued. “And when Miss Helen gets bored, look out below. She comes looking for Carlton to come out and play. And he's always up for the game.”

Mort recalled the story of Larry's first encounter with Carlton. Helen and Carlton had cooked up a bogus pregnancy and an enraged Abraham. Larry said the two of them laughed at his reaction. They hadn't seen the cruelty in their prank.

“So Carlton and Helen cook up this scheme. They were going to stage a kidnapping.” Bilbo spoke matter-of-factly. “It was a game to them. A way to get the bad guys off Carlton's tail. Something to keep Helen entertained. They spent days mapping it all out. Right down to Helen wearing her mother's fish pin. The kidnappers were supposed to take it to prove they had her.” Bilbo nodded toward Abraham. “They planned it around your birthday. That shindig up on Orcas. Every little detail they pored over, man. Like they were planning the invasion of Saigon or something. Helen would get chained to a tree out in the woods. She even practiced looking scared. Carlton would snap some pictures. Stuff the photos into a ransom note. Stick the envelope in with the Big Guy's other presents. The money would be delivered, Helen would be found, we'd all live happily ever after.” Bilbo dropped his gaze to his lap. This time there was emotion when he spoke. “But it didn't turn out that way, man. It went bad. Awful bad.”

“No one counted on a coked-up Kenny Kamm stumbling upon Helen in the forest,” Rita said.

“What was your role in this, Bilbo?” Mort asked.

Bilbo shook his head. He looked away, as though wishing he could step on to a time machine and have those days back. “Same as it always was. Run and fetch, man. Run and fetch. I been doing that for years for Carlton. No different this time. I was to sit and wait in that abandoned stall at Pike Place Market. When Big Daddy's people dropped off the cash, I was supposed to count to five hundred, grab the sack of dough, and head back to Carlton's place like nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Did you do this?” Mort asked.

Bilbo's answer was barely a whisper. “I'm a fucking cocker spaniel, man. I'll play fetch for my master all day long.”

“And these letters?” Rita asked.

“Insurance policies, man. Helen's idea. Carlton knew his brother would follow the ransom instructions to the letter. No cops. No fuss. Just hand over the money and get your baby girl back. But Miss Helen?” Bilbo brought his cuffed hands up to tap the side of his skull. “She's a thinker, that one is. She gets this idea for double protection. We'd all write out letters telling what we were up to. Enclose pictures and all that stuff. That way, if one of us got in trouble, we could prove it was all a prank. Make like we were gonna give the money back to Big Daddy all along.”

Mort could see the twisted naïveté that might conclude it was that simple to get out of an extortion charge. “You said double protection. How else were the letters supposed to work?”

“In case one of us decided to squeal, man. Helen said if we all had copies of the letters, nobody could rat anybody out. If one went down, we'd be holding hands for the crash.”

“And when Helen's body was discovered?” Mort kept an eye on Larry as he asked the question.

“Carlton freaked out, man! Went K-Fucking-Razy!” Bilbo apologized to Rita again. “Then he went down. Way down. So low I thought he was gonna eat a gun or something. Then, pow! He found God. Or at least he started looking for Him. Became obsessed, man. I thought it was the religious crazies who got him. Them people are wacko, you know. But I think different now.”

Mort nodded. “And what do you think now, Bilbo?”

Rita stood and crossed over to the conference room door.

Bilbo shifted his gaze around the room. “Like, what, you want me to, what?”

Mort kept his voice calm. “I want you to tell us what you think. You said you no longer think the religious crazies killed Carlton. So who do you think did?”

Bilbo stared at him, saying nothing, his mouth working soundlessly. Mort decided to try a different tack.

“Why'd you run, Bilbo? You and I were having a pleasant conversation yesterday morning. Then you're in the wind. What's that about?”

Bilbo swiped an orange-clad arm across his mouth. His eyes darted around the room. “Any chance for something to drink?”

Mort nodded to one of the policemen. The officer brought Bilbo a paper cup of water from the room's cooler. Bilbo picked up the cup with his cuffed hands and took a noisy slurp before setting it on the table.