The Alpine Yeoman (37 page)

I remembered that Tiffany had been seen at the ski lodge back in February with a man who was dubbed a mysterious stranger, probably because nobody recognized him.

“I hope she does well by all that,” I said. “Tiffany’s had a rough life, especially recently.”

Amanda nodded. “I hope she finds a man to take care of
her. In some ways she reminds me of me when I was younger—and dumber.”

“You were never dumb,” I said. “How about ‘flighty’?”

“That’s good.” She struggled out of her chair. “It’s time to make another flight to the restroom.” And off she went.

By three o’clock, I was getting antsy. Not only was Mitch unable to finish his story about the river deaths without official confirmation of what had led to the tragedy, but I couldn’t start on the information Milo had gotten from Yakima. I switched on KSKY for the hour-turn news. Spence was repeating what we already knew, so he was still in the dark as well.

As I turned off the radio, Leo stepped into my office. “I just got a picture of the Kiwanis Club at the Mariners game. Have we got room?”

I looked at the more than two dozen smiling faces, all of whom I recognized. “It’ll have to go inside,” I said. “See what Kip can do. We don’t want to diss our advertisers.”

“The M’s lost. But according to Harvey Adcock, they had a great time. I watched part of the game—Cleveland’s pitching did them in.”

I nodded. “Milo and I missed it. We’re not optimistic.”

“Early days, as they say. It’s only the third week of April.” He looked at the picture. “Cal Vickers’s hairline is moving faster than the M’s infielders. I hadn’t noticed that in person.”

“He usually wears a cap at the gas station,” I said.

Leo chuckled and headed to the back shop. I reached for the phone—and stopped. It’s a funny thing about words and how people say them. We hear what we expect to hear, but sometimes we miss what the speaker intended to convey. Maybe because I write to earn my living I’m more conscious of nuance, even after the fact. I thought back to over a week ago and my conversation with Janie Engelman. Suddenly I had an insight. I didn’t feel enlightened as much as appalled.

It was going on four when Milo called me. I left immediately to go down to his office. The clouds had lifted, though the sun was skittish, as befit an April afternoon. Traffic on Front Street was back to normal. There were no state patrol cars outside of the sheriff’s headquarters. It looked like an ordinary day in Alpine. Except, of course, that it wasn’t.

Spence pulled up in his Beamer just as I got to the double doors. I waited for him, not in the mood to bother being annoyed by his presence.

“Allow me, madam,” he said, opening one of the double doors for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

Dustin Fong and Lori Cobb were the only ones in the front office. They both looked tired but greeted us in their usual polite manner. “Go right in,” Lori said. “He’s waiting for you.”

Spence’s gallantry was still in place as he opened the swinging door in the counter to let me go first. I walked woodenly into the sheriff’s office, where Milo sat with a lighted cigarette and a weary expression. None of us spoke until after Spence and I had parked ourselves in the two visitor chairs.

“Okay,” my husband said. “Here’s how this played out. The rumors about high school hookers turn out to be true. I got a tip the other night when a woman named Dawn Harrison came to see me after hours.” He paused to look at me. “She asked for Heppner first because he was the only law enforcement person she knew by name. Sam was the one who cuffed her sister, Holly Gross, after the trailer park standoff.”

Spence eyed me suspiciously. I knew what he was thinking. “I wasn’t at the meeting,” I said. “The sheriff made me leave the house.”

“Sorry,” Spence murmured before turning back to Milo. “You do go by the book, Sheriff.”

“You bet your ass I do,” Milo shot back. But he said it quietly. “The Lewis County sheriff contacted me to say they knew who was procuring if not actually running the girls. It was, as you’ve probably guessed, Mickey Borg and Holly Gross. It seems Holly not only couldn’t go straight but had to get back in the game. The state was brought in yesterday. Before they could gather enough evidence, they got word from Mrs. Harrison that Holly and Mickey were coming up here to collect Holly’s son by Roger Hibbert.” Milo paused to put out his cigarette just as Spence lighted up one of his Balkan Sobranies.

I finally found my voice. “The state patrol chased them all the way from Centralia?”

Milo shook his head. “It started out on Highway 522 outside of Monroe when Borg picked up speed and a state trooper went after him. That Vette was doing over ninety most of the way. Outside of Sultan the trooper called in the plate number. That’s when it turned into more than chasing down a speeder.”

“Christ,” Spence said softly. “That’s some incredible driving on Highway 2.”

“Why,” I wondered out loud, “didn’t they keep going and try to elude the cops?”

Milo regarded me with an ironic expression. “I’m guessing, which you both know damned well that I hate, but Holly was probably obsessed about getting the kid back. It was worth a speeding ticket to her. They had no way of knowing that the law was on to them for procurement. Frankly, I suspect—as does the state patrol—they’ve been running the girls, too. Mickey had plenty of money to throw around. He had his own place down there in Morton, a few miles out of Centralia.”

A former logging town that began with an M
. I recalled
Wanda Johnson saying that was where her daughter was living with her boyfriend. If he was still around. Unless, I thought, the boyfriend was involved with prostitution.

“So,” Milo said, leaning back in his chair, “that’s about it. The state and Lewis County will take over from here. We just happened to get caught in the middle.”

Spence checked his watch. “In that case, Sheriff, I’m off to do an expanded broadcast on the hour turn at four.” He stood up. “Are you coming, Emma?”

“No. I’m waiting for Mitch.” It was a lie, but I didn’t care.

“Oh. Aren’t you going to rush to put this online?”

“Go away, Spence. I’ll have
all
the details in the
Advocate
. I’ve got a date with a deadline.”

“Of course.” He nodded at Milo and departed.

“Well?” the sheriff said after Spence had left the premises.

“You were going to tell me what you heard from Yakima.”

“So I was.” He offered me a cigarette, and I took it after asking him to light it for me. “Mr. and Mrs. Dobles have gone south,” Milo said, looking slightly more relaxed. “Not only was Dobles Joe’s stepdad, but he helped get him his job—as a federal agent working vice.”

“A fruit inspector has that much clout?”

“Like Fernandez, he works undercover for the Feds. Dobles owns his own company, inherited from his father. They make farm equipment. The guy’s versatile. Why wouldn’t he give his stepson a leg up?”

“Were they both here because of Borg’s hooker ring?”

“Yakima says that’s why Joe was here. Dobles had been at the federal courthouse in Seattle and thought he’d meet Joe while they were in the same area. They were supposed to have a late lunch Monday at the Cascadia in Skykomish. But Joe never showed because he was dead. Dobles didn’t know that,
so he headed for Wenatchee, figuring his stepson was working a case.”

“But he got run off the road,” I said. “What will happen to the girls who got lured into the hooking?”

Milo sighed. “We’ll get names of locals tomorrow. I hope there’s no more than Samantha Ellison and Erin Johnson.”

“Both Pedersen girls are missing,” I said and related what Vida had told me.

“Damn.” Milo slapped his hand on the desk. “I’ve been checking some of those so-called dating sites on the Internet. What’s with these kids who fall for that? When I think about Tanya or Mike doing anything like that, I … well, I can’t even think about it.”

“Then don’t. They’re both a little old for that sort of thing now.”

“Right.” He lighted a cigarette for himself. “You look kind of odd. Do you feel okay?”

“Yes, really. I just had a weird idea a while ago. Maybe I need to think about it. It’s been a crazy day.”

“That’s an understatement. One good thing—other than busting the hooker ring—is that Mickey didn’t kill anybody else on his wild ride.”

I bit my lip. Maybe I should get the weird idea out of my system. “Maybe not today. But he killed Joe Fernandez.”

Milo stared at me as if my hair were on fire. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Mickey was in town Sunday. I don’t know how he got to Monroe unless he ditched his own car and stole the one you’ve got in impound. Did you check for prints?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t find a match in the system. As far as I know, Mickey’s never been busted, at least not in this state. He’s been one slippery dude, though. You may be right about
him selling drugs out of the mini-mart. How do you know he was here when Joe was killed?”

“Janie Engelman has an odd speech pattern that’s hard to follow. She came in last Monday with a wedding picture of her and Fred. She griped a lot about Mickey. He’d made off with her TV, along with everything else he could get his hands on. She rattled on about complaining to Mickey that Fred had to listen to the Mariners play the White Sox that day on the radio. It was a Sunday, with a noon start, according to my Mariners schedule. Then I mentioned Mickey having left town. Janie said she hoped he had—
by now
. That indicated he was still in Alpine Monday morning or at least late Sunday night.”

Milo puffed on his cigarette. “I don’t know if it’s harder to listen to Janie or to you. That’s the flimsiest piece of speculation I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ve got a better suspect?”

He sighed again. “No. But I will check for prints. I’ll get hold of the state to take them off Mickey’s corpse. How would Mickey know who Joe was? Where’s the point of contact?”

“A bar? A tavern? At the Big Toy in Old Mill …”

Milo held up a hand. “Okay, okay. I’ll rely on forensics instead of Emma Does Disneyland. They should build a fantasy world in Anaheim just for you and your so-called theories.”

“Hey—if Mickey was already suspected of being involved in prostitution, isn’t it possible that Joe set up a meeting with him?”

“Yes, it’s possible, maybe even reasonable. You might’ve said that first. But why the fish hatchery?” Before I could speak, Milo kept talking: “I suppose it makes sense because nobody would be around at night.”

“Was Joe armed?”

Milo shook his head. “If he carried, his killer might’ve stolen
his weapon. We don’t know who left the ATV by the landing strip. My
guess
is Joe. It’s still a guess that the abandoned car ran Dobles off the road. If Borg’s prints are on the Nissan, I’ll consider it. But don’t quote me.”

“Gosh, Sheriff,” I said, “I was memorizing your every word. You haven’t yet gotten to ‘dumbshit.’ ”

“Give me time. Give me a reason why Borg would know who Dobles is.” He paused, fingering his chin. “Unless Joe told him the Feds were on Mickey’s trail. I’ll let the D.C. brain trust figure that out. Borg’s dead. He’s out of my jurisdiction. How about you getting out of my office? I’ve got so much damned paperwork to do that I won’t be home until ten.”

“You’re kidding, I hope?”

“Only a little. I’ll be lucky if I make it by seven.”

As I stood up, Dustin Fong came into the doorway. “Mullins ticketed Roger Hibbert for no taillights. His grandma’s going to be mad.”

Milo groaned. “Shit. Blatt can run interference on that one.”

“Yes, sir.” Dustin returned to the front office.

I blew Milo a kiss. “See you later, Sheriff. I feel better now. But I’m sorry for Holly’s kids. The two older ones have lost both parents. I don’t care how rotten they were. It is still sad.”

“Not your problem.” He raised his hand in a farewell salute.

What was left of the afternoon flew by. I wouldn’t get home on time, either. There was no story to write about Joe or his stepfather as undercover agents. But I did a brief article about Dobles’s release from the hospital and apparent recovery. I considered mentioning that he was the stepfather of the murder victim, then realized that was a bad idea. If I didn’t speculate in public, I didn’t want readers speculating about why the
two men happened to be in the area at the same time. Besides, they were outsiders. The locals wouldn’t care.

Mitch had done a good job on the accident. He hadn’t needed any prodding to contact the state patrol. In the process, he’d found out that not only was Mickey Borg speeding, but that he and his companion, former resident Holly Gross, had been wanted for questioning in regard to possible charges of procuring under-age prostitutes. If that didn’t grab readers’ attention, nothing would. The downside was that nobody would bother to read my editorial. Of course, most people didn’t read it when the front page was dull as dishwater.

It was already after five when I realized that I hadn’t seen Vida since I’d left to call on the sheriff. Mitch and Leo were still in the newsroom, so I asked if she’d left early to celebrate.

Leo spoke up first: “She got a phone call just before you got back and took off like a Boeing 747. No idea what that was about.”