Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (17 page)

“How’re you so sure it wasn’t broken from something being pulled in?” Cools asks.

“Do I detect some questionable skepticism, Detective?” D. J. replies playfully. He smiles then mounts a demonstration by pressing outward on the rail. Cools follows him, observing the cracks made in the fiberglass. The fractures on the inside of the rail are only a few elongated lines, while the cracks around the outer rail are crushed like puzzle pieces. “This is exactly what we discover when damage occurs by throwing an object overboard, Detective.”

“Maybe someone simply fell into it?”

“Then explain this to me,” D. J. replies, waving him nearer. All three of them lean in for a closer inspection. He is now pointing to the top of the railing, where they can clearly distinguish two heavily scraped areas approximately three or four feet apart.

Michelle then takes a more accurate measurement of the distance between the two markings, by using her arm as a guide, judging the expanse to be approximately three and a half feet. Immediately she gets on the phone and calls Ghost. “What were the dimensions of the crab trap purchased?”

At first she only hears the clicking of his keyboard; then he replies, “Two by three and a half by three and a half.”

“Thank you.”

Excitedly D. J. blurts out, “Have you established he used our Riviera to dispose of the body?”

Cools sharply states, “We’re just investigating any and all leads, and that is all we need from you for now. I would like you to leave my partner and me alone, and thank you for your cooperation.”

D. J. replies, disappointed, “Well, then I must be on my way.”

Once he’s out of earshot, Michelle reiterates, “These abrasions here are three and a half feet apart, same as the crab pot.”

“Yeah, I heard, and look at this.” He pushes the railing out again, this time further allowing the bright sunlight to shine inside.

Michelle observes it more closely. “Looks like blood!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Cools says victoriously. “Okay, I need you to call in forensics; they should be able to get us some answers by this evening. And if it’s whose blood we think it is, then we got him—we fucking got him!”

.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
fter making the call and being informed it will take the better part of an hour for a forensics team to arrive, Cools and Michelle speak additionally with D. J. Thanks in part to his unrelenting desire to be involved, they quickly retrieve the videotape showing Joshua sailing out alone, carrying a crab trap and two large bags filled with what could be anybody’s guess, only to return hours later empty-handed.

It seems to be case closed, but it feels like something else.

Cools and Michelle order some takeout and travel to a spot overlooking Puget Sound—a place Cools visited as a child while spending part of a summer vacationing at his aunt’s house. It’s a rare jewel of a little park that sits atop a knoll alongside the glistening bay in a hard-to-find location. It is a journey just to get there, through a labyrinth of twisting turns along a scenic route. But upon arrival Michelle sees that bad access is the spot’s only burden. At first sight she falls in love with rolling green lawns surrounded by old Madrone trees, which grip the rocky outcrops, and dry bluffs that open to a view of sailboats in the pristine waters below—all nestled within sight of the majestic snow-packed peaks of MT. Rainier.

Cools secures a prized bench at the headmost perimeter by simply waving his badge at the two young lovers occupying it. They slip away without incident, leaving the detectives alone, providing them some peace and an opportunity for Michelle to meddle. She sits on her side of a wooden picnic table, eating and appreciating the beauty, while he divulges the park’s secrets. He tells how he and his cousins played soldiers and threw rocks over the bank, waiting, listening for them to splash into the water, and daring each other to stand closer to its edge.

Michelle listens until she cannot take it anymore. “Brad,” she says, gaining his attention, “what ideas do you have bouncing around in that big head of yours?” He doesn’t move, but in his eyes she can see his thoughts traverse, leaving his boyhood remembrances as more serious lines appear in his face. She presses further. “I know you have some theories that you’re keeping to yourself about what’s going on, and I want to hear them. Talk to me, Brad.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t interrupt me; just let me speak.”

“When do I ever interrupt you, Brad?”

He sighs, ignoring her question. “I’m thinking maybe Joshua and Amberly have more of a thing than meets the eye.” Michelle begins to respond, but he holds up his silencing finger. “Think about it for a second. What do we have? We have a missing wife, which was only brought to our attention by Joshua’s radio call and a surprising visit from Amberly. What if Joshua is playing her, taking advantage of a naive drug-addict? He’s definitely craftier than her, and maybe—just maybe— he’s planned to rid himself of a cheating wife and collect the much-needed insurance money by seducing little Amberly and framing her for Kimberly’s death.”

“But everything points to him.”

“Yeah, it does
now
, but explain to me the nagging feeling that this is far from over, a sense that I know you share—that we’re closer to the beginning of this than the end.”

She remains silent; a silence he swiftly takes advantage of. “Consider this: maybe Amberly was sent because we missed something at first. Something we weren’t supposed to miss.”

“Missed what, Brad? What could we have missed?”

“I don’t know, but something. For all we know, Amberly could’ve killed her, and Joshua was only hiding the evidence.”

“But he cannot collect the insurance money if she’s never found.”

“Maybe he intends for us to find her. It’s all a little convenient, don’t you think—that he made all those purchases using his
personal
credit card. Seriously who’s stupid enough to rent a boat and buy rope and weights and crab traps? Think about it. It’s almost as obvious as a shovel and duct tape.”

Adding to his line of thought, she says, “Maybe he called the radio station in a scheming attempt to put the spotlight on himself for the moment, knowing that we would investigate a path leading to Amberly.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I suggest we spend some more time with Little Miss Innocence—there’s more she knows.”

Michelle agrees, and in less than forty minutes, they’re parked outside the Terra Villa Apartments in Everett—Amberly’s residence. Cools unlatches the gate and enters the complex, holding the small notebook that shows her address—ending in Apt. 9. Moving along they can hear a small dog barking in the distance and see a woman standing on her balcony smoking a cigarette. Soon they find their way around the back to a partially open door with a number nine above the trim. As they step closer, they hear the distinct sounds of a vacuum cleaner. He pushes the door wide, and he and Michelle walk into an apartment devoid of all furnishings.

“Hey! Hey!” he yells to the older Hispanic woman doing the cleaning. She turns off the machine, but soon they learn she doesn’t speak any English. Then they quickly locate the manager, who tells them that Amberly packed up in a rush and moved out earlier this morning. Next Michelle calls the Kitty Club, only to be informed that she has picked up her things, along with her final paycheck, three hours ago. They call her phone, but it’s been disconnected. They now realize how little they know about her and fear she’s gone, perhaps indefinitely.

Back inside the car, heading again toward the Seattle Yacht Mariner, Michelle puts out a call to Officer Jakew—the young officer conducting investigations at the Kitty Club. He reports back that he’d seen her earlier, but she was in such a hurry she blew him off when he attempted to talk to her, and it’s the first he’s heard of her quitting. Michelle ends the call and screams, “Goddammit, why didn’t we have her under surveillance!”

“Okay, okay, let’s think this through. She’s a drug-addicted stripper; we can find her,” he replies confidently. “We’ll get someone to call every strip club in the Seattle-Tacoma area; we’ll tell them that rumors have it they’re using underaged girls—that a girl who goes by the name Amberly Carlson is only seventeen, and we’re looking for her, and if she applies for a gig, they need to call us immediately.”

“That’s…eh…that’s pretty slick, Brad; I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, I have my moments.”

Next Michelle calls the station and asks the sergeant if he has any go-getter rookies looking for some overtime. He says he does, and soon Amberly has a man hot on her tail, hunting her through open fields of tits and ass.

They return to the Marina, where the forensics team hasn’t found anything definitive except that the red substance inside the cracked fiberglass tested positive for blood. So it’s back to the station to listen to JFK’s full report on the god Ra.

He stands to give his report. “Ra is the sun god of ancient Egypt, the all-father of creation whom all other gods worship. He is a divine but aging god, who has become too tired to deal with all of his children (humankind) any longer, except for those—the purity—who hold the truth and wisdom of before time. It is believed that Ra will spend eternity watching over the heavens, while Horus, his apprentice, is master of the earth and the underworld. Zealots of this ancient religion deem that they’re the chosen sons and daughters of god and believe that they will become under-gods themselves. According to myth, Ra is the creator of all living things, which he spoke into existence by uttering their secret names, and the architect of all humankind, which was conceived from his sweat (his labors) and tears (his sorrows). Sacrifice is a common practice for adherents of this religion; some believers even performed human sacrifice. But the victim has to be truly evil for Ra to be awakened, to consume.”

“Jeez,” Michelle says, “this freak is a walking, talking, believing nightmare!”

“It just means that he has a strange religion. Keep in mind, a lot of other religions advance similar notions,” Milkowski adds.

“Okay, but there’s more. With all due respect, prosecutor, I would like to point out that most other religions do not practice human sacrifice. And there’s this: I did some further research and found that
alm tahat hep
—what scholars often translate as ‘truly evil’—literally means ‘adulterous wife.’”

Everyone remains utterly silent, with the words
adulterous wife
seeming to echo around the room, as JFK quietly hands out copies of his report.

Then Captain Jackson speaks up. “All right, we’re gonna wait for forensics to come up with something. I already spoke to them, and they’re telling me they won’t have anything till tomorrow.” His tone sounds weary and beaten. There’s a short, exhausted pause. “So let’s call it a day, unless anything else comes up. We’ll meet back here in the morning.”

The meeting begins to disperse, when he adds, “And I want everyone to be assured we’re gonna get this creep, if it’s the last thing we do.”

Cools and Michelle leave, keeping their theories to themselves. Alone in the hallway, he asks her, “You want to get some drinks and smoke some cigarettes with me?”

“I would love to, Brad, but I haven’t seen my husband in a while, and tonight is our date night,” she says with a silly grin.

“Okay, partner, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Later Cools walks into his apartment and runs through his mostly usual routine, kicking his shoes off next to the door, throwing his keys and wallet onto the coffee table, putting one kilogram of cocaine in the icebox, getting a cold one out of the fridge, and turning on the television. The local evening news won’t be on for a few minutes, so he flips through the channels, contemplating what should become of the drugs. If I don’t use it to frame Joshua, what do I do with it? It would really be dumb to get caught taking it back. I could sell it, I guess, or maybe throw one helluva party. Fuck it; it’s safe for now; I’ll figure out something tomorrow.

He cracks open a beer and relaxes back into his recliner. Once settled he goes over the scribbles in his notepad. Connecting the dots, he presumes he’s on the right track.

Then, from his notes, he dials a number into a cell phone.

.

Chapter Twenty-Four

J
oshua pulls the blinds aside, unveiling the line of news vans parked outside his home. He smirks as he witnesses Tom and Louise Something-or-other, his nosy neighbors, talking to reporters. In his mind he can hear what they are disclosing. We always knew he was no good. We fear for our lives just sharing the same block as him.

Imprisoned within his home, he’s becoming ever more suspicious, paranoid. His phone rings. Caller ID reads “Santorini Lucrezia.” Presuming it’s a journalist, he answers smugly, “What in the hell do you want, Mr. Santorini?”

The person on the other end spits out a few quick statements. “I am not Santorini. I am the guy who is onto your schemes—the guy that is going to take you down. You’re going to rot in prison, you sick, demented fucking piece of shit!” The caller immediately hangs up.

Missing any chance to reply, Joshua’s head begins to spin, like it does sometimes. Briefly his thoughts visit his dreams, and little Frankie, the nine-year-old boy who was left alone with his mother’s new boyfriend. And although he knows exactly who the caller was, he’s completely unaware of what’s to come.

.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
he ten o’clock news comes on, with Tabatha Sterns documenting the latest. Tonight her satiny, blond hair is pinned back, and smile curling her lips says she has much to report. Cools views the show from his easy chair, drink in hand, exhaling cigarette smoke. His menacing thoughts are becoming numb. But the alcohol already in him is soliciting for more.

Michelle watches, fitfully lying on her bed, dressed in a slutty garter belt, waiting for her husband to step out of the shower.

Tabatha comes on in an animated style intended to woo her listeners. She opens, “Good evening, I’m Tabatha Sterns. Brace yourself for our top story tonight; we have a new twist in the fast-paced Joshua Siconolfi story. So let’s take a quick look at an interview I finished just three hours ago.” Next she appears in the top left corner of the screen, standing out of doors somewhere with a heavyset man.