Kill You Twice (27 page)

The goat’s muzzle was stained with tomato juice. It nuzzled against Pearl’s shoulder.

“Pearl needs to come with me,” Archie said.

Pearl looked stricken. She put her arm around the goat. “No,” she said. Her eyes darted to Peggy, and Archie saw recognition on her face. Kids in the system knew social workers at a
glance.

Bliss stood up, brushed the dirt off her hands, and put her hands on her hips. She was wearing a T-shirt that read fuck the man.

Peggy said, “Take it easy, ma’am.”

“I’m a member of the NAACP,” Bliss told Peggy.

“Excuse me?” Peggy said, crossing her arms.

Susan sighed.

Archie focused on Pearl. “The man who tried to attack you?” he said. “He killed Jake Kelly. He murders children. He burns people alive. He thinks you can identify him, and he
wants to kill you.”

Bliss wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her red lipstick. Then she lifted her chin defiantly. “He doesn’t know where she is,” Bliss said.

“She should be in protective custody,” Archie said.

Pearl shook her head. “I’ll run away.”

“I was thinking of a more secure environment than the center,” Archie said.

Pearl’s jaw dropped. “You want to put me in juvie? I didn’t
do
anything.”

“You’ll be safe there,” Archie said.

“She’s safe
here
,” Bliss said.

“She’s a ward of the state. She needs to be in a state-sanctioned facility or with a foster parent. It’s the law.”

“I am a registered foster parent. You can place her here with me.”

Susan did a double-take. “You’re a foster parent?”

“Remember Luther?” Bliss asked.

Archie looked questioningly at Susan. “Luther?”

“They dated,” Susan explained.

“He taught weekend seminars to prospective foster parents,” Bliss said. “I completed my training at the Eugene Holiday Inn Express. I had a home study and
everything.”

“And you passed it?” Susan asked, incredulous.

Bliss looked a little offended. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

Peggy lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows.

“They can smell it, Mom,” Susan said.

Archie tried to suppress a smile.

“I have a medical marijuana card,” Bliss said with a hapless shrug. “For my anxiety.”

“She’s doing well here,” Susan said to Archie. “Pearl hasn’t electrocuted anyone yet.” It was a begrudging endorsement.

Archie sighed. He didn’t really want to put Pearl in lockup, and he knew what a crapshoot the foster system was. He could put her in danger trying to protect her.

Peggy said, “If she completed the training, she might be eligible. We could do an emergency placement. Something temporary.” She leaned in close to Archie. “She does seem to
really love the goat.”

They were all staring at him.

Even the goat.

Archie ran his hand through his hair. Then he turned to Susan. “You call or text me every two waking hours,” he said.

CHAPTER

W
hen Archie got
back to the office he had a message that Huffington had called, so he called her back.

“Anything?” he said.

“I sent my guys over to the high school,” Huffington said. “Some of the teachers remember Melissa. But no one could think of any close friends. She was a bit of a loner. No
luck on locating Colin Beaton, either. The church is taking care of his mother’s funeral expenses.”

Someone had made a color xerox of the photograph of the Beaton family standing in their yard and left it on Archie’s desk. He picked it up and looked at it. “When’s the
funeral?” he asked.

“Tomorrow. Ten
A.M.
There’s a service at the church and then they’re burying her at Mountain View Cemetery.”

Colin Beaton had murdered his mother. But he had also cried on her pillow. Archie wondered if he would find a way to be at her funeral. “I want to send some of my people out, to mingle
with the guests, maybe set up some surveillance.”

“You think junior’s going to show?”

Archie squinted at the teenage Colin Beaton, unsmiling, his eyes fixed on the camera. “I want to be there if he does.”

After he got
off the phone, Archie did an Internet search on the Church of Living Christ. Several church children had died over the years, because
their parents had chosen their faith over seeking medical care. Juvenile diabetes. Strep. The kids had died of treatable conditions, while their parents and other followers of Reverend Lewis knelt
in prayer around their beds.

“How’d it go with Pearl?” Claire asked.

Archie glanced up from his desk to see Claire at his office door. “I let her stay,” Archie said.

“Softie.”

“She’s bounced around foster care for years,” Archie said. “She deserves a break.”

“She gamed you. Admit it,” Claire said.

She left and Archie looked at his desk, where Pearl Clinton’s file lay open. She had rotated through foster homes almost her whole life. In and out of people’s lives. A member of the
family, until she wasn’t anymore.

Then he picked up the xerox of the Beaton family again. Colin wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at the person holding the camera. The girl casting the shadow.

Archie closed his eyes and tried to conjure the alternate image he’d seen on the Beatons’ wall. Colin had stepped out of that picture, behind the camera. And the girl had taken his
place.

Why include a teenage girl in a family photograph?

Unless she was part of the family. Sort of.

Archie opened his eyes.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and punched in the number for Peggy at Child Protective Services. He could feel his heart racing and he put his elbows on his desk and rested his
forehead on his free hand. He listened to the phone ring. He checked his watch. She’d said she was going back to the office, but that didn’t mean she was at her desk. After seven rings,
she picked up.

“Peggy Holbrook,” she said.

“It’s Detective Sheridan,” Archie said. “Can you tell me if someone was a registered foster parent about twenty years ago?”

“Is this about Bliss Mountain?” Peggy asked. “I looked her up. Her foster parent status is legit.”

“No,” Archie said. “James and Dusty Beaton. St. Helens, Oregon.” He scratched his head. “Is that enough?”

“Hold on.”

He could hear her typing on a keyboard. She had acrylic nails and they clicked on the keys.

He pressed his forehead harder into his palm.

“I’ve got their file right here,” Peggy said. “Looks like they had one placement. Didn’t last long. A few months. She ran away. Happens sometimes.”

Archie’s throat tightened. “What was her name?”

“Gretchen Stevens. But that may have been an alias. She walked into a hospital in St. Helens, Oregon, with a few shattered ribs. Says here she was bloody and covered in mud. No ID. Claimed
her parents were dead.” He heard her typing again. “This is strange. There’s no photo in the file.”

“Didn’t they try to find her family?” Archie asked.

“The file’s incomplete. They would have had to run her name through the system before they placed her. But not all runaways get reported missing.”

Archie picked up a pen. “Who was the caseworker?”

“Tena Tahirih.” There was a pause, and Peggy made a sympathetic clucking noise. “I knew her. She died a few years ago.”

“Great,” Archie said.

“I can send over what I have.”

Archie leaned back in his chair.
Nice to meet you, Gretchen Stevens
. “E-mail it to me,” he said.

When he got off the phone he immediately called Huffington.

“I think the girl in the photograph was a foster kid named Gretchen Stevens. I’m going to send you what we know about her. Ask around. See if she was registered at the school. And
send someone over to the hospital. She was a patient there. They might have her medical records.”

“Medical records are confidential,” Huffington said.

“Use your charm.”

“It is considerable,” Huffington said.

CHAPTER

A
rchie put on
his one dark suit to wear to the funeral. It was dark blue, but passed for black. He wore it for funerals
and for court appearances. Considering the wear the suit had gotten the past few years, he was going to have to buy a second one. He loosened his tie. He could already feel the heat collecting
around his collar, and he didn’t even have the jacket on yet.

He drank his second cup of coffee leaning over the sink so he wouldn’t stain his white dress shirt.

Henry didn’t knock. He walked in and said, “I feel like a jackass.” He was wearing a short-sleeved gray button-down shirt and dark gray pants with black cowboy boots.

For Henry, it was evening attire.

“You look fine,” Archie said, slurping down the rest of his coffee. He set the mug in the sink and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair. When he turned back to Henry,
Henry was staring slack-jawed at Rachel, who had just come out of Archie’s bedroom wearing his robe and drying her wet hair with one of his towels.

“Hi,” Henry said.

“Oh, good,” Archie said to Henry. “You can see her, too.”

Rachel grinned.

“There’s coffee in the pot,” Archie said. “I’ve got to go to work.”

Archie had to practically push Henry out of his apartment. Henry’s cheeks still glowed with amusement when they got down to the car. “So, who is she?” Henry asked.

“My neighbor,” Archie said.

They were quiet as Henry pulled onto I-5, and then over the Fremont Bridge and onto Highway 30 through the Northwest Industrial District.

“She looks like you-know-who,” Henry said.

Archie looked out the window at the faceless buildings and acres of parking lots. “Gretchen Stevens,” he said. They had pored over the DCS file together. Henry still wasn’t
convinced.

“It’s just sex,” Archie said.

Henry glanced over at Archie. “And she’s never murdered anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I think this is a big step forward for you.”

“Thanks,” Archie said.

The highway narrowed and the loading bays gave way to trees and feed stores. Henry was still beaming, tapping out a tune on the steering wheel that only he could hear. “You’re going
to tell Claire, aren’t you?” Archie said.

Henry’s grin grew wider and he nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said. Then he chuckled happily to himself.

“What?” Archie said.

“Susan’s gonna hate her,” Henry said.

CHAPTER

F
reeze,” Susan said.

“What?” Pearl said.

“That’s my Pixies T-shirt.”

Pearl poked her finger through the hem and wiggled it. “It’s got a hole in it.”

“Yes,” Susan said. “Yes, it does. That’s because it’s old. Like me. Now take it off.”

“I don’t have any clothes,” Pearl pouted. “Bliss said I could borrow yours. What am I supposed to do? Go around naked?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“I don’t even like half your clothes.”

Sometimes Susan could see why people committed murder. “I have terrific clothes,” she said.

Pearl pulled at the shirt over her breasts. Susan had to admit, puberty had done well by Pearl. “They don’t fit me right,” Pearl said. “Your boobs are smaller.”

“Then borrow something of Bliss’s,” Susan said.

“All of her clothes smell funny,” Pearl said, wrinkling her nose.

Patchouli. It was true.

I’ll be nice
. That’s what Susan had promised her mother before Bliss had left for work. She had a deadline. She didn’t have time to argue with a teenager.
“That’s my favorite T-shirt,” Susan said, “and if you stain or damage it I will kill you.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Oooh, I’m so scared,” she said, heading for the back door.

“Where are you going?” Susan asked.

“I’m going to hang out with Baby,” Pearl said.

“The goat is not named Baby,” Susan said.

“That’s what I call her,” Pearl said, letting the screen door slam behind her on her way out.

Susan sat down at her laptop at the kitchen table. There was a note on her keyboard. She knew it was from Bliss because she’d written it on the back of a scrap of wrapping paper.

Susan read the note:
REMEMBERED WHERE I KNEW THAT WOMAN FROM. HEROES COLUMN
.

What woman? Susan looked at the note for a few minutes before she realized that Bliss must be talking about Gabby Meester, the rooftop fire victim.

The Heroes column ran in the
Portland Tribune
, a free commuter paper. Her mother refused to buy the
Herald
, the paper that Susan used to write for, but she’d occasionally
pick up the
Trib
. Susan brought up the
Trib
’s Web site on her laptop and then searched Gabby Meester’s name. Several stories came up about the murder, and then, farther
down, from about five years ago there was another story about Gabby Meester and several other people participating in one of those kidney donation arrangements, where if you have a friend who needs
a kidney but you’re not a match, you can give your kidney to someone else who has a friend who isn’t a match to their person but is a match to your person and who then gives a kidney to
your person in exchange. Or something. This particular donation required six people, three of whom had kidneys removed, and three who got new ones.