A Killing Tide (11 page)

Lucy snapped her fingers. "Damn, I forgot. Get this—according to Ewald, there was evidence of severe bruising on Ken's body, already partially healed. Which means he'd suffered at least one beating in recent days."

"What about the normal amount of knocks he would've taken out fishing?" Chapman asked. "The waters around here aren't exactly smooth sailing."

Lucy shook her head. "Too much bruising, and in all the wrong places. Whoever administered the beating knew what he was doing. He inflicted the most damage where it wouldn't be seen—around Ken's kidneys, and on his back and ribs."

"And where it would also cause the most pain—the kind of beating that sends a message," Chapman's expression was thoughtful. "So we've got a carefully planned arson and a victim who was possibly in some kind of trouble with people who don't play nice. Did you talk to the wife?"

"Yeah, nada, but she's acting scared. We've subpoenaed Ken's bank records, and we're looking into any calls he made from his home or his cell phone. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"What about the bartender? Could he have overheard something?"

"We interviewed him this morning but didn't get much out of him. Steve makes a point of turning a deaf ear."

"A lot of unanswered questions," Ivar mused. "Too many illogical events to assume the easiest solution. Need to gather all the evidence in one place, then study it carefully."

"I agree," Chapman said.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "I tell you what—you two pick through the little bits of stuff in the collection bags and cans. I'll take a drive and see what I can find by the tavern. I need some fresh air."

But Chapman clearly wasn't through with her. "Kaz is obviously intelligent, and if Gary was a Ranger, he's also no slouch."

"What's your point?"

"That Jorgensen had motive—the argument in the tavern; means—access to the boat and the knowledge to start the fire; and opportunity—his truck was found at the wharf."

Lucy concluded she wasn't all that happy with Chapman's one-track mind. "When's the lab work coming back from the boat?"

"Some later today, the rest in a couple of days." He pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket and tossed it onto her desk. "Photos of the crowd from last night. I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look at them."

"Fine." She broke off as her phone rang. "Yeah." She listened a minute, and then said, "Yeah. Give me fifteen." She hung up and gave Chapman her coolest look. "Just so you know, Kaz had nothing to do with this."

"You may be right, but if her brother did, she'll go down with him."

"Meaning?"

"She's withholding information from me. Obstruction of justice."

Ivar nodded. "Sounds like her."

"Hey," Lucy objected.

Ivar shrugged. "She'd do anything for Gary, you know that."

"She wouldn't break the law unless she had a very good reason."

Ivar remained silent then, when Lucy glared, spread both hands.

"Just so I'm not working totally in the dark here," Chapman said, his tone taking on an edge, "do you two want to volunteer anything about your relationships with the primary suspects in this case?"

"We're just friends," Ivar quickly assured him.

"And that's all?"

"Look, we all want the same thing—to find the bad guy and bring him in," Lucy said. "Murders don't happen in our town, and Ken was a friend."

A look passed between the two men that Lucy couldn't decipher, and after a moment, Chapman nodded as if satisfied and stood up. "I've got a lot of work to do before dark," he said, and turned to go. "And I figure I've got maybe twenty-four hours before your friend is on my case about dry-docking her boat." He stopped, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Then again, I don't really have even that long, do I? Once you let Kaz borrow your car, she'll be mobile again."

Lucy flushed.

"Call your friend off, before she gets herself hurt," he suggested.

"She won't listen to me on this one." His brows arched, and she sighed. "Kaz feels responsible for Gary, feels an obligation to help him."

"The shipwreck fifteen years ago," he guessed.

She gave him a quizzical look, and he explained about the conversation he'd had with the mayor.

"Kaz believes she should've been able to save her parents that night. She's felt guilty ever since," she explained.

"Could she have?"

Lucy shook her head. "There were gale force winds that night, and storm surge well over thirty feet. Most of the waves were at least fifty feet, crest to trough. For you landlubbers, that's a five-story building. The miracle is that
she
survived. But the way she sees it, Gary's had a harder time of it, partially because of losing their parents."

"And you don't have any influence over her."

"On a lot of things, sure, but not this."

"Then let's arrest her as a material witness."

Lucy hooted. "That'd last about as long as one phone call to her lawyer ex-boyfriend in California. He'd have her out on bail within a couple of hours."

"Then see to it that you keep her out of my way, or I
will
have her arrested." He nodded at both of them and walked away.

"Well, well," Ivar said.

"What?" Lucy asked.

"Chapman and Kaz. Bad timing, though."

"What?
" Lucy wondered if her partner had been ingesting too many herbs. "He didn't even sound like he liked her."

Ivar looked amused. "And your point is?"

"Oh, right, crazy me." She gnawed on the idea. "You've heard the stories, right? About how Chapman was placed on administrative leave after the fire that killed his fiancée? And that there was some question as to whether he could've saved the arsonist in the fire six months later?"

"Yup. You telling me you're upset about a serial arsonist who got himself dead?"

"Of course not."

"So?"

"So Kaz already has enough problems on her plate without Chapman adding to them."

"Especially if she's being her typical, driven, nosy self," Ivar said, his tone wry. "I noticed you didn't tell Chapman about the rumors Sykes has been hearing regarding the fishermen."

Lucy shrugged. "We don't know whether that's connected to the fire, or even if there's any truth to what the chief has been hearing. I didn't see any point in sending Chapman off in that direction."

"Get real. No one controls where that guy goes but him."

~~~~

Chapter 9

It was still early afternoon, but as Kaz walked home from the car dealership, the weak winter light was already showing signs of fading. It would take two days to order the window for the SUV and have it installed. With Gary's truck impounded by the cops, she hoped Lucy came through fast.

A patrol car was parked across the street from the bungalow, and she changed course, heading for it. Clint Jackson. So he probably
had
been following her.

"He's not here, Clint," she said when the cop lowered his window. "Go home."

"Now, Kaz, you know I can't do that. My orders are to keep the house under surveillance."

"Why? If Gary sees your car, he'll be gone before you even have a clue he's around."

"Maybe, maybe not." Jackson rested an arm on the edge of the window. "Your brother's not God—we'll get him sooner or later." He bared his teeth in a cold smile. "Collaring your brother could be a damn good move for my career –I'm in line to make detective this year."

Kaz smiled back just as pleasantly. "If memory serves, I used to baby-sit you, didn't I?"

"Go to hell, Kaz."

She walked back across the street. Okay, so not all the cops on the force were like Lucy and Ivar. Some were assholes. If Jackson caught up with Gary before Lucy and Ivar did….Her stomach knotted.

The phone was ringing as she entered the house through the kitchen door. She jogged into the living room to answer it, only to have whoever was on the other end hang up on her. Just what she didn't need right now—some oblivious idiot calling the wrong number, over and over. Her tolerance for idiocy was at an all-time low, starting with her own.

Being attracted to Michael Chapman was the ultimate in stupidity, and reckless, besides. She couldn't understand her apparent inability to function intelligently around him. All she had to do was take one look at that rugged physique and curly dark hair, and all her brains flowed out onto the floor and rolled around like just so many marbles.

She yanked open the refrigerator door and stood there, staring inside. Gary was her only remaining family. His future and happiness were at stake, maybe even his life. And here she was, getting sucker-punched by good looks and a pair of pale blue eyes shadowed by hints of a tragic past—something for which, of course, she'd have way too much empathy. She expelled a breath.
Get a grip.
She couldn't afford to be distracted, no matter how powerful that distraction proved to be.

She gave up on the meager contents of the fridge, grabbed a handful of saltines, and walked back out the kitchen door. Waving cheerfully at Jackson, who flipped her off, she cut across the neighbor's side yard to walk the six blocks downhill to Julie and Ken's house. It was past time that she paid her respects and asked Julie what she could do to help out.

#

The Lundquists' home was in the Uniontown neighborhood, an older, working-class section of Astoria filled with narrow, multi-story Victorian homes jammed onto a steep hillside above Marine Drive, the main highway through town. Homes in Uniontown might be more modest than their cousins further uphill, but they still commanded a stunning view of the river and the bridge connecting Oregon to Washington.

Julie and Ken's house looked neglected, its shades drawn tight. The yard was not as neatly maintained as it had been a couple of months ago. Kaz couldn't hear any sounds from inside but rang the doorbell anyway. After a moment, the door opened.

Julie stood in the doorway, wearing a simple black blouse and black cotton slacks. Her pale brown hair was scrubbed back from her thin face into a ponytail, her hazel eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. "Kaz." Her tone was lifeless.

"I'm sorry," Kaz offered, spreading her hands in a futile gesture. "I don't even know what to say."

Julie stared at her for a moment and then stood aside. Kaz stepped over the threshold and then halted, her eyes widening. The house was a mess—books and papers strewn about the living room, cushions from the couch ripped open and lying on the floor, lamps toppled and broken. What used to be a pile of paperwork—probably hospital bills—now lay in a haphazard line of loose pages flung across the carpet.

"What in the world?"

"Someone broke in while I was at the funeral home." Julie swiped at a tear, then asked bitterly, "What kind of person robs people while they're arranging for a memorial service?"

"You called the police?"

"No."

Kaz looked around the room, her gut screaming at her. The destruction had a methodical feel to it—someone had been searching for something. "You have to call them, Julie. I can help—stay here with you, if you want. But you need to report this."

"No!" Julie snapped. She seemed to collect herself, drawing a breath, then said more calmly, "No more cops. They were here all morning, asking questions I couldn't answer." Her gaze shifted.

Kaz frowned. "Then let me help you clean up."

"I don't need your help." Julie bent down to retrieve a broken toy and a stack of children's books, keeping her expression hidden. "So why are you here, Kaz? If it's to ease your conscience about what Gary did, then—"

"No, that's not it at all," Kaz replied, surprised. When she tried to help by kneeling to pick up a sheaf of bills, Julie snatched them from her hands. "Julie, had Ken been acting any differently lately? You know, angry, maybe? Or desperate?"

Julie laughed without humor and waved a hand at the dilapidated furniture and threadbare carpets. "Look around. Who
wouldn't
be feeling desperate?"

"I meant, well, more desperate than just the day-to-day stuff."

"The day-to-day stuff is a pile of bills we can't pay, Bobby's chemo treatments, a furnace that decides when and how long it will work…" Julie stared down at the shards of a broken glass lampshade at her feet.

"How
is
Bobby?" Kaz couldn't imagine what it was like to watch a small child struggle with the side effects of chemo. To live daily with the fear that you might outlive your son.

"Bobby's fine," Julie replied, her tone abrupt.

"Gary mentioned that Bobby was having a tough time with side effects."

"That's over or, at least, better."

Kaz took in her closed look, her rigid posture. "Can I help out with the medical bills? Or perhaps babysit when you have to go to Portland?"

"No, look—" Julie stopped and ran a nervous hand over her thin ponytail. "I appreciate it, really I do. But my mom is paying for Bobby's treatments, and I don't want your help, Kaz."