In the Clearing (32 page)

“And a football stadium to be named after your father?”

“No. The funds aren’t used for that.”

“Straight out of your pocket?”

“The company’s pocket.”

“You drove a Ford Bronco in high school.”

Reynolds looked mildly surprised at the sudden change in topic. “This
is
a trip down memory lane. That’s a long time ago. Yes, I drove a Ford Bronco, back before OJ made them infamous.” He smiled, seemingly at the recollection. “It was canary yellow with running lights across the roof, a roll bar and black canopy, oversize tires, a winch mounted to the front grille, and one of those foghorns. If you couldn’t see us, you could hear us coming from a mile away. I’m not sure it could have been any more obnoxious. We’d pile in that thing and drive through town after games, and Hastey would blow the horn. People loved it.”

“Did you hunt?”

“My father did. I wasn’t much for killing animals. I liked to go four-wheeling, though, especially after a hard rain. That car would be caked in so much mud you couldn’t tell the color.”

“You ever go four-wheeling in the clearing?”

“The clearing off 141?”

“Yeah.”

Reynolds seemed to give it some thought before answering. “Probably once or twice, but that was more of a weekend party destination. We’d get six or seven cars out there, turn on the headlights, crank the music, and drink beer.” He shrugged. “It was harmless stuff.”

“How’d you hear about Kimi Kanasket?”

Reynolds rocked back on the legs of his banquet chair and slid the tips of his fingers beneath his belt buckle. His gaze shifted to the ceiling, and he spoke deliberately, as if trying to recall. “I believe we heard sometime that Sunday. We played the championship game Saturday night, and after the game we all went out—players, coaches, parents. We stayed the night in Yakima. On Sunday we boarded the bus and caravanned home. I believe someone said something on the bus. I remember being shocked. But it could have been an article in the paper . . . maybe on Monday. But don’t quote me. That part is a bit hazy.”

“What was your reaction?”

Reynolds shrugged one shoulder. “Same as everybody else. Shock. Dismay. It’s a small community, smaller back then. Everybody knows everybody. You think you’re invulnerable at that age. Then you hear something like that. It’s a shock. It was a shock.”

“So you knew Kimi?”

“Absolutely. We all knew each other.”

“What was your relationship with her?”

“Friendly. Kimi was smart and athletic. She was going to state in track, and I think she was also going to UW. We weren’t great friends, but I knew her.”

“You weren’t romantically involved?” Tracy was taking another shot in the dark. Reynolds was far too comfortable. She was hoping to shake him up.

Reynolds chuckled. “Kimi and me? No. First of all, you didn’t try anything with Kimi.”

“Why not?”

“Because she had a brother and a boyfriend—I forget the guy’s name, but I remember he was a Golden Gloves boxer and had a temper.”

“Tommy Moore?”

“That’s it. Tommy Moore.”

“How do you know he had a temper?” Tracy asked.

“He and Kimi’s brother got kicked out of school for fighting.”

“Do you know what they were fighting about?”

“Back then there was a beef about the school’s use of the name ‘Red Raiders.’ They said it was insensitive to Native Americans. I’m sure it was, though not as insensitive as a white kid wearing war paint driving a spear into the turf.” Reynolds lowered his chair. “Things were different back then. The old people in town got upset over the protests and dug in their heels. Me? I didn’t care what they called us. For me it was all about winning. I just wanted to finish undefeated and cart that state championship trophy off the field at the end of the season.”

“You said you took buses to Yakima Saturday morning and returned Sunday morning.”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do Friday night?”

“That’s easy. I stayed home. You didn’t go out the night before a game and play for Ron Reynolds. He wouldn’t have cared that I was his son and the starting quarterback. He would have benched my butt.”

“So you didn’t go out at all?”

“No. I stayed at home.”

“You’d be surprised then if I told you that Archibald Coe told me yesterday that you all went out together Friday night?” Again, Tracy was looking to rattle Reynolds and get him out of his comfort zone.

“Very surprised,” he said, shaking his head. “You spoke to him yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“How did he seem to you?”

“Fragile.”

Again, Reynolds paused, seeming to give this some thought. “Maybe Archie wasn’t thinking straight or got things confused in his head, given his apparent state of mind.”

Tracy let Reynolds’s answer linger. The detective part of her again thought the timing of Coe’s death just too convenient after he’d lived years with whatever demons had tormented him. “Anyone who could vouch for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“For what?”

“For the Friday night that Kimi died.”

“Sure. My dad.”

“He’ll say you were home?”

“That’s what he told that deputy who came by the following week.”

The answer surprised her. “A deputy came by and spoke to your father?”

“Yeah. That’s what I recall. He came by and wanted to know if I knew Kimi and said he was just following up on some things. He asked if I had been out Friday night and maybe had seen her. I told him what I’ve told you—I was home and went to bed early. Like I said, winning that state championship was foremost on my mind. I imagine he would have filled out a report or something, wouldn’t he?”

“One would think,” Tracy said.

CHAPTER 28

T
racy left the clubhouse feeling like she was in the middle of a game of chess and it was her move. Eric Reynolds’s statement about Buzz Almond paying a visit to his home the week after Kimi disappeared had thrown her off her game. No such report existed, at least not in the file Tracy had, and Buzz Almond certainly appeared meticulous about including everything in his file. If Reynolds was telling the truth, Tracy had little doubt Buzz would have documented their encounter and kept it. And if he had, that meant someone had removed the report from his file.

Tracy considered the logic of someone doing that.
If
someone was aware Buzz kept a file, that person might be reluctant to destroy it, concerned that would draw too much suspicion. Instead, he or she could have opted to just destroy one essential element of the file, a portion that might have implicated a specific person but that nobody would have missed unless they knew it existed in the first place, a portion that might have been useful to an investigation but could not be duplicated. Lionel Devoe, Stoneridge chief of police, certainly would have known how to search for, and gain access to, a closed file.

The alternative was that Reynolds was lying, and Buzz Almond had not driven to the house to question his whereabouts that night. That would have been risky, but not if Reynolds already knew, or at least
believed
, the file—or the incriminating portion of it—had been destroyed. As for any concern that telling a detective that Buzz Almond had questioned him about his whereabouts that night could cause people to speculate that Buzz Almond considered Reynolds a suspect, Reynolds had a ready-made alibi.

Ask his father.

In which case, Reynolds could have offered the information to convince Tracy that law enforcement had already been down that dead end.

Still, if Buzz Almond
had
questioned Reynolds’s whereabouts, it meant he at least suspected exactly what Tracy suspected. That Reynolds and the other three Ironmen had some role in Kimi’s death.

Tuesday, November 23, 1976

Buzz Almond parked his Suburban in the driveway of the modest one-story home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Pine needles from the surrounding trees covered the wood shake roof and overflowed the gutters. The flower beds were barren, and the lawn was buried beneath leaves fallen from the now-bare limbs of the maple tree in the center of the yard. Parked in the dirt-and-gravel driveway was a Ford Bronco.

Dressed in Levi’s and tennis shoes, Buzz zipped up his winter jacket as he approached the Bronco. The fall sunlight glinted off the windshield, which was clear but for dappled spots of sap from the trees. It didn’t have a crack, chip, smashed bug, or smudge on it. The rubber bead around the glass also looked new. Buzz circled, running his hands along the fenders and doors. Despite the recent weather—rain and snow—the Bronco also looked like it had just come out of a hand car wash, with not a speck of dirt on the body or in the cracks and grooves of the oversize tires.

When he reached the passenger side, Buzz paused to remove his sunglasses, then stepped closer. After a moment he stepped back and took a different angle, comparing where the right fender met the passenger door, separated by a thin seam. He ran his hand between the two. The fender and the hood were a slightly different shade of yellow than the door.

“You interested in the car?”

Buzz Almond looked up as Ron Reynolds came out the side door of the house. Reynolds looked every bit the part of the high school football coach, in an Adidas sweatsuit and a white ball cap with the red initials
SH
woven on the front.

“How much are you asking for it?” Buzz asked. The sign in the window simply said “For Sale” with a phone number.

“Twenty-five hundred.”

Buzz did his best to look disappointed. “That’s a little more than I was looking to spend.”

“It was the last year Ford made the half cab, and it’s got all the extras—bucket seats, roll bar, running lights, front winch. Did you see the ad in the
Sentinel
?”

“No,” Buzz said. “I was just driving by.” He’d first seen the Bronco in the Stoneridge High School parking lot, ran the plate, and determined it was registered to Ron Reynolds. He wasn’t so much interested in the car as he was the tires—oversize all-terrain tires.

“How many miles you got on it?” he asked.

“Just under forty-four thousand.”

“Are you the original owner?”

“No. I bought it used.”

“Looks like it’s had some bodywork done,” Buzz said, pointing to the front right fender.

“A little bit,” Reynolds said, stepping back and considering the front fender at the same angle as Buzz. “Runs like a top though. Interested in taking it for a spin?”

“Could I hear the engine first?”

“Sure.” Reynolds reached into his pocket and produced the keys. He didn’t bother climbing in; he just opened the door and leaned across the seat to insert the key in the ignition and turn the engine over.

“Starts right up,” Buzz said.

“Like I said, runs like a top.”

“Where’d you have the bodywork done?” Buzz asked.

“It wasn’t anything, just a few dings. I just took it up to Columbia Auto Repair.”

“Looks like you also had the windshield replaced.”

“Decided to kill two birds with one stone,” Reynolds said. “Same thing. One small crack from a rock chip.”

“Where’d you get that done?”

“Same place. Actually, just across the street. Also had the oil changed, new spark plugs, air filter. I don’t want any trouble for the new owner. I’m Ron Reynolds, by the way.” Reynolds stuck out a hand. “I’m the athletic director and football coach over at the high school.”

Buzz shook hands. “Ted,” he said. “Congratulations. I read about your big win. Quite an achievement, I’m surmising, from all the excitement around here.”

“Thanks. Yeah, pretty heady stuff for such a small school, but that’s just the start of things to come. That school has more championships in it. I just have to squeeze them out of the kids.”

“I’ll tell you what. Let me talk this over with the missus, and I’ll call you back.”

“You sure you don’t want to take it for a spin?”

“Let me bring my wife back. She’s partial to yellow. I’m hoping if she sees it, that’ll seal the deal.”

“I hear you. Do you hunt? Put on the all-terrain tires little over a year ago.”

“No, but we like to hike.”

“All right then. You need the phone number?”

Buzz pointed to the number handwritten on the “For Sale” sign. “I wrote it down when I pulled up. I’ll be in touch.” He started to walk away but turned back as if having thought of something else. “Would you mind if I took a couple pictures to show to my wife? If she won’t let me buy it, I have a brother up north who hunts and fishes who might want it.”

“No problem,” Reynolds said. “But I got another potential buyer coming by later this afternoon, so you don’t want to delay too long. I’ve priced it to sell.”

“I appreciate you letting me know,” Almond said. He took out the Instamatic from his coat pocket and snapped a couple of photographs, careful to get the side of the tires, as well as the tread. He put the camera back in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”