Stolen Secrets (15 page)

“It’s always like that.”

“Not this time. It’s just Patti.”

“Scott’s secretary?”

“Yes. She wanted to meet me.”

“I wouldn’t think Patti was your type.”

“She isn’t. This is strictly business.” Turning away, he glanced around the room, seeing the dog’s empty bed— it had refused to leave Angie— and wished Kathleen would go away and leave him in peace. “Why are you here?”

“You remember that small statue I gave you for your birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I know this sounds cheap, but— uh, I have this little nook in my house, and if you didn’t want it— “

“It’s gone.” It had been one of the first things he got rid of. He had almost thrown it into the lake, but knew it was expensive— all Kathleen’s things were— so had given it away.

“On, no, Ryan.”

“Charity.”

“You couldn’t have. Say you didn’t.”

He shrugged, not knowing what to say. How could he know she’d want it someday?

She moved into the room, taking off her coat. He began to feel irritated. He didn’t want her here, examining his things, picking up and assessing each item. It was a habit of hers, a way to keep her hands busy while she talked, but he wanted her gone. Besides, he had to meet Patti.

He zipped up his coat, stood by the door, and hoped she’d take the hint. She didn’t. She asked for a cup of coffee, and while he got it, used his phone, wandering around his place, looking at his things. She hung up and talked for a full half-hour before he abandoned his politeness and told her to leave.

He decided to take Patti’s personnel file with him and retrieved that while he waited for Kathleen to drive away. He locked up when he saw her car start up the lane, carefully setting the alarm system behind him.

After so many attempted break-ins, he felt uneasy about leaving, so stopped at Brandon’s and asked to borrow their husky for the evening. Brandon tied the dog beside Ryan’s front door, giving a wave as Ryan left.

He hadn’t brought Tag back home because he didn’t want her to howl for Angie all night. If he wanted Tag for a watchdog, he’d have to bring her and Angie back together. He couldn’t have the one without the other. The idea appealed to him.

It was raining hard by now, the reflections of the streetlights on the pavement obliterating the lines. Ryan turned his wipers on high. The speed of his car caused the rain to appear horizontal and he slowed down, as did most of the other cars on the freeway.

Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d be twelve minutes late. He hoped Patti had waited. She had sounded frightened, but her propensity to exaggerate kept him from taking her seriously. Now if it had been Angie, he would’ve been out the door before she hung up.

Spotting the exit, he turned off and stopped at the light, then took the free right turn. He heard a double pop, two sharp sounds, loud even over the drum of the rain. His military-tuned ear caused him to duck, an automatic reaction to any noise sounding like a gunshot. It sent a warning chill.

He drove the short distance to the Park and Ride entrance, flipped on his turn signals and started in just as a sports car roared out, barely missing him. Ryan had a vague impression of a man’s white face under a dark, winter-type fur cap.

Worried, he drove around, checking the few cars left for any sign of Patti. She had parked closer to the entrance than he expected, and he almost missed her.

Patti lay slumped on the front seat, her white fingers clutching the steering wheel, as if trying to steer away from her attacker. She had been shot in the head and chest, straight on, so she had seen who did it. She had rolled down her window, so might’ve been talking to whoever killed her or— expecting Ryan— could’ve thought it was him.

Ryan got out, walked over and placed two fingers on her carotid artery. Dead, but still warm.

Very warm. If he had been one minute earlier, he might’ve saved her. As it was, he knew he had seen her killer— and the man had seen him.

Ryan had investigated murder as an MP, but it had never involved someone he knew and it hit him hard.

He bent over and stepped away from Patti’s car, catching his stomach as it heaved, knowing if he hadn’t stopped for the husky— or if Kathleen hadn’t come for her silly little statue, he would’ve been in time to stop the murder.

He avoided touching her car and used his cell phone to call the Bellevue police. Waited until they came. Told his story and gave them his name and phone number. He described the killer’s car, but knew his description wouldn’t help much. Also, he gave them Eric Hayes’ name.

“I don’t know if it involves the CDs,” he told the detective in charge. “It might, and it might not. But she called and told me she’d been threatened. I have her personnel file here.” He handed it over. “Her mother’s address is in there. She lives in Renton. Someone will have to tell her.”

“We will.”

“There’s Patti’s address and phone number. She worked for me and my partner. We’re in computer security. We had a break-in a couple of weeks ago.”

“Was it reported?”

“Yes. Then Patti’s boyfriend died after robbing a jewelry store. He lives out here. I’ve never checked his place. His name and address are in here, also. And his phone number. 425-” He pointed out the information to the detective, who copied down what he needed and handed the file back.

“We’ll take care of things. You’re free to leave.”

“Thanks.” He got into his car and started to drive, but Patti’s image stayed with him. The shocked look on her face, frozen in death.

He had read Ted’s address off to the policeman, and now turned and drove over there, needing something to do. He couldn’t just go home and go to sleep.

Scott. He needed to know.

As soon as he thought of it, he called Scott.

“Murdered?” Scott sounded incredulous.

“Angie could be right. Maybe Patti did have something to do with the robbery.”

“I can’t believe it. Patti wasn’t the kind that got into dangerous things. Just a little whacky, not bad. Could it have been random?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She wanted to give you information, but just about a guy who harassed her. You don’t think...?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m going to check out her boyfriend’s house.”

“Why?”

“She said Ted’s bookie threatened her. Maybe he was the one who tried to get into my house.”

“But Patti didn’t know anything, not even the name of the bookie. And what would a bookie do with MXOIL files?”

“You got me.”

“She wouldn’t have known anything about MXOIL, since you handle that account exclusively.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of. There might be a record of money owed. So I’m going over.”

“Good luck.”

“You okay?” Ryan had never heard Scott so unsettled.

“Yes. Just need time to recover. Get him for Patti, will you? Let me know if there’s anything you want me to do.”

“Okay.” Scott had never done any investigative work, and Ryan couldn’t think of anything he could do at the present.

“And tell me when you’re close. I’d like to be in on the arrest.”

“Will do.”

Ryan re-examined Patti’s personnel file and located Ted’s Bellevue address. He drove over to a three-story apartment building, with Ted’s apartment on the top floor. After ringing the doorbell several times— Ted could’ve changed addresses and Ryan didn’t want to enter an occupied unit— he took out a lock pick to open the door.

He didn’t need it. The door was unlocked, the place a shambles, items thrown all over the place. Ryan backed out, reluctant to walk in and destroy evidence. He’d get the police crime unit to check it out. Whoever ransacked it might’ve left some clue to their identity.

He drove home through the unrelenting rain, untied the patient husky and walked him back to his yard. Next he called the Bellevue police and left a message about the ransacked apartment. Then he called Seattle’s Eric Hayes to update him. Grandfather was striking two when Ryan finally fell into bed, but it tolled three before he slept.

* * *

Angie stretched and the warm spot next to her feet erupted into a black, white and gray tornado that swarmed up to her face and got in three good licks before she could lift the covers to protect herself.

“Umph.” She ducked her head, pulling up the covers, but still received a licking on the back of her neck. She had firmly put Tag on a small rug— on the floor— before going to bed. How could she discipline a dog that waited until she slept before sneaking onto the bed?

She struggled upright, shoving the pup away from her, scrambled out and got dressed. Tag danced around her, getting in the way, and successfully licked her whenever she bent over. She skipped doing the splits out of self-defense.

A quick glance out the window showed a beautiful sunshiny day. A white speedboat went by, slowly, with a man in it. He kept looking toward Ryan’s home and Angie watched as it circled around the end of the next house and out of her line of sight.

Not wanting puddles on Grandma Miller’s carpets, Angie snapped on the leash and took Tag for a walk. She went down to the end of the dock first, looking for the man and the boat, but he was nowhere in sight.

Later she hurried through breakfast and the dishes, eager to be back with Ryan. With Tag insistent upon walking between her feet, Angie tripped down the ramp and along the dock to Ryan’s houseboat. Ryan answered her rapid knock, his face bleak, and her high spirits immediately froze.

“What happened?”

“Patti’s dead.”

The shock of his softly spoken words shattered her euphoric mood.

“What? How?”

“Someone shot her last night. Just before I met her.”

She paused to consider his words. “You mean it wasn’t an accident? Someone killed her? Like, murder?”

“Yes.”

She sat down abruptly on the deck, her legs refusing to support her. Tag jumped into her lap, her tongue flicking Angie’s face, a worried whine showing the sensitive dog’s correct reading of her mistress’ mood.

Angie hugged the pup close as she shook her head, denying the reality of his words. Murder? It couldn’t be. She looked at Ryan who knelt beside her, his door still open, the bright sunshine encompassing the three of them. He wore sweats and mismatched socks, and had his T-shirt on inside out.

“Are you sure?” she asked, clutching the wiggly pup tighter.

“Someone shot her as she sat in her car at the Park and Ride lot, waiting for me.”

“Could it’ve anything to do with...? No. Of course it couldn’t.”

“It might. Patti said something about Ted’s bookie friend.”

“I remember Patti saying that she wouldn’t do anything else for him... for Ted, so she couldn’t be involved in anything that bad, could she? The CDs wouldn’t lead to murder, would they? Are they that valuable?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Money often leads to murder.”

Setting Tag on the wooden deck, she took Ryan’s extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. Still trembling, she followed him inside, wanting him to deny what he had just said.

The phone rang and Angie gripped her hands tightly as he answered it.

“Yes? Oh, sure, I can do that. What does she want? Will do.” He hung up, glanced at an anxious Angie.

“Robyn. She said Mary needs some of her father’s things brought to the hospital— his comb, a photo of her mother— things like that. Come along.”

He grabbed his coat and slung it on, when Angie stopped him. “Don’t you think— ”

“Yes?”

She pointed to his outfit. “You might want to put on different clothes. Socks.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Pulling his hand across his unshaven chin, he nodded and ran up the staircase. Angie sat down on the nearest chair and petted Tag as she waited. She felt empty, disconnected from reality. Things like this didn’t happen in her world. Why were they happening now?

Tag gave a yelp and she realized she had squeezed her too hard. She apologized to the little dog and put her on the floor. The pup lay watching her, ears pricked to catch the sound of her speech, eyes alert, yet at ease.

Ryan reappeared after a time dressed in a long sleeved plaid shirt and gray pants, a heavy jacket. He showed her the gun he carried, in a shoulder holster. It put the final touch on the situation.

They shut Tag in the bathroom, leaving her crying and barking, letting them know she didn’t approve of their abandoning her.

They drove towards Warren’s home, not speaking, but Angie felt comforted just having Ryan next to her. Living at Grandma Miller’s had distanced her from Ryan somewhat and she had felt the loss. Since the first few days in the houseboat, Ryan hadn’t tried to kiss her. Perhaps he was waiting for her to say ‘yes’ after saying ‘no’ on the night the thief came. Should she make the next move?

Not yet. First Mary and her father. Then this tragedy with Patti. Everything needed to wait.

* * *

As Ryan unlocked Warren’s front door, he thought about Warren, and Patti, and how quickly life could end. He opened the door and stepped inside, with Angie close behind. The damp chill of winter vacancy permeated the air with an unsettling presence.

“No need to spend much time here,” he said, looking around the neat house. “Mary wanted her mother’s picture off the mantel and a certain blanket. Robyn thought it might comfort Mary to touch it.”

They walked through to the living room. It was a good-sized house, much larger than one man would need, but then Mary had been living with her father up until a month ago. Warren probably hadn’t considered new living arrangements, since Mary could easily move back in without warning.

Ryan picked up the framed photo from the mantel, then looked around to see if he could spot the blanket Robyn had mentioned. There were geodes and other rock samples in a display case along one wall, geologic quarterlies on the coffee table and a huge map of Mt. Rainier with little flags on it, probably marking rescue sites. Ryan looked closely and found “his” flag— where Warren had rescued Scott and him years ago.

Angie came out of a bedroom holding a tan and blue blanket all threadbare and tattered, the binding completely gone and the pattern unintelligible. “You think this is it?” she asked. “It looks like a rag, but was folded neatly and placed on a small shelf by itself.”

“That’s it. It was her mother’s favorite wrap.”

Angie held it up. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, which is better— a mother who is gone but of whom you have lasting memories, or a mother who is still living but whom you don’t care to remember?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Angie stroked the flimsy piece of cloth gently. “She must’ve been some woman to make Warren and Mary love her so much.”

“I’m sure part of her mystique lay in the way she died— so violently. It etched her forever into their lives.”

Angie looked up at him, her face pensive. “Warren never remarried?”

“No. Mary took all his time. For years she wouldn’t let him out of her sight. See that chair?” He pointed to an old yellow armchair, its stuffing completely gone, thread-worn and completely out of place in the living room. “That belonged to her mother. Warren brought it back from the mid-east after her death, because Mary found comfort in it. He said she would sit for hours there, snuggled up in this blanket. I wonder why they don’t want me to bring the chair to the hospital?”

“They might need it at Robyn’s, after he dies.”

“Yes.” He checked the heat, turned out the lights. “I don’t know how she’ll manage. She can’t spend the rest of her life living with Robyn and Alison. Those two will be married in a few years. They’re at that age.” Going outside, he locked the door.

“Hello.” A tall, red-headed woman had driven up behind Ryan’s car and threw open her door, talking as she thrust out one leg. “Is Warren home?” She reached back for her purse, slid out. In her early forties, she was dressed casually in a soft buckskin coat and slim blue jeans. “I’ve been trying to get him. There’s an auction coming up I think he’d be interested in.”

Angie gasped and clasped her chest. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” The woman’s face paled. “Is Warren hurt?”

Ryan hurried down the walk to her car. “He was shot in a robbery. He’s, uh... at Harborview.”

The woman shrunk back onto the seat, her fingers clutched white on the wheel. Her mouth opened and closed, words formed but not voiced. Her eyes stared, stricken, at Ryan. He could think of nothing to say, and he shook his head at her fearful, questioning gaze.

“He’s dying.”

She broke into tears as Ryan explained. “He’s hung on so far... in a coma. Did you know him well?”

She nodded, moaning, unable to speak.

“It was in all the papers.”

“I’ve been in... LA. I... I didn’t— ” She cried harder, the sobs raking her body.

Angie had followed him, and as Ryan sought for words, she stepped forward. “Do you know his daughter, Mary?” she asked gently.

“Sort of.”

“She’s taking it hard, but we’ve lots of support for her, both friends and doctors. We’re going to the hospital right now, to take Mary some things. Do you want to come with us?”

“No. Not... not right now.”

“Can we get you anything?”

She waved Angie away, still shaking her head in denial, pulled her foot back in and closed the door. She started the motor and glanced back to check for traffic.

Ryan stepped next to the car, tapping rapidly on the window. “You shouldn’t drive; not yet. Why not come with us?”

“I... I can’t.”

Angie stepped up next to him. “How about to a restaurant, or a hotel or somewhere?” she said. “I could drive you.”