Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (38 page)

Noel passed through the fence and pulled the gate closed. “Keep out the deer.” He followed Kyra along a little trail. The garden had seen better days. Raised vegetable beds, overgrown with weeds. Salal and Oregon grape had taken over the flower beds, and such grass as remained was infested with dandelions. Bracken coming up at the edges where the fence ran. Some large fir branches down. A onetime rose garden gone to Himalayan blackberry brambles—from thorns to thorns. “I don't think Leger is here,” he said.

“He sure isn't a gardener,” Kyra noted. “Course he's not the owner.”

“Just here for a month. Hmm.” He glanced around. The door at the back was reached by a small deck. Looked like a kitchen inside. Beside the door, a window. Was that some kind of movement in there? He studied the window, the door. Might have been. “Come on, let's ring again.”

They passed around to the front and locked the gate. Not that the deer would be interested in anything in there. Up to the stoop, again the bell. They waited. Then, yes, the sound of someone coming. The door opened a slit. Kyra noted a safety chain in place.

A man's face, maybe thirty, curly hair. Shirt open at collar. Slacks. “Yes?”

“We're looking for Frank Leger,” said Kyra.

“Uhm, that's me.”

“May we come in and talk?”

“Uh, about what?”

Noel handed him a Triple I card. “We're investigators and we'd like to chat with you for a few minutes.”

“I'm kinda busy right now; maybe you could come back?”

“You on vacation, Mr. Leger?”

“Well, yes.”

“You shouldn't be busy on your vacation. And we'll be out of your hair in five minutes.”

Leger gave that a few seconds' thought, then nodded. He closed the door, released the chain, and opened it widely.

They entered. The pleasant interior of a house in the woods. A hallway looking down to the kitchen, to the right stairs heading up to the second floor. Noel looked around. A door beneath the stairs. A living room with three chairs and a couch, a fireplace set for burning. “Have a seat.” Connected, a dining room. Maple table with six chairs, two corner cupboards filled with dishes and glassware, a side table, the kitchen beyond an open doorway. Kyra and Noel each took a living room chair, Leger the couch. “So what do you want to talk about?”

Kyra began. “You and we have similar interests, Mr. Leger.”

“We do?”

“We're all looking for the same person.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Your curiosity.”

“Yes? About what?”

“Not what. Who.”

“Who?”

“Susanna Rossini.”

“What makes you think—Oh, I know.” He smiled but his eyes remained guarded. “I was asking after her last night. At a bar in town. Know how I could find her? Is that why you're here?”

“Actually we were hoping you could tell us where she is.”

“No. Sorry. Wish I knew. But I don't. That's why I was asking around for her.”

This young man was looking decidedly uncomfortable, thought Noel, taking over. “Do you know Ms. Rossini well?”

“Don't know her at all.”

“But you're looking for her.”

“Not really looking for, I just want to meet her.” Leger shifted his body as if to move to a standing position, then thought the better of it. “Look, our few minutes are up. As I said, I'm busy.”

“What're you busy at?”

“Okay, that's enough. You've invited yourselves in, I've been polite, and now it's time for you to go.” Now he did stand.

Kyra and Noel remained seated. “Busy at what?” Noel repeated.

“Look,” Leger glanced at the card still in his hand, “Mr. Franklin. That's none of your business.” He stuck the card into his shirt pocket.

“Tell us why you want to meet Ms. Rossini, please. And then we'll go.”

Leger sighed dramatically. “Because she's supposed to be a hot chick and I like my chicks hot.”

“How do you know that?”

“What?”

“That she's hot.”

“I was told.”

“By?”

“For chrissake, what kind of interrogation is this?”

“Who told you about Susanna Rossini?”

“A friend of a friend of her cousin.”

“His or her name is?”

Leger marched to the door and opened it. “Go.”

Now Kyra and Noel followed but let Leger stand between them and the door. “The cousin's name.”

“Your last question. Trent.”

“Trent what?”

“Get out or I'm calling the police.”

So Kyra said, “Very well, Mr. Leger. Thank you for your time.” She walked past him, followed by Noel. The door closed hard behind them. She thought she could hear the chain rattling.

They reached the car. Noel started the engine. Kyra said, “A nervous liar.”

“Why's he lying, do you suppose?” Noel glanced behind, backed the car onto the road, and slowly drove down the hill.

“Well, either he knows Susanna and doesn't want to say, or he doesn't know her and really wants to meet her.”

“But why lie? We know from Beck that Leger knows she went to Reed. Why the extra fabrication?”

“Course there's the other possibility,” Kyra added.

“Yeah?”

“That he's the kidnapper.”

“And he's just hanging around the island trying to duplicate Larry Rossini's visualizing technology in that house?”

“So there's more than one kidnapper. I wonder,” Kyra mused, “what's on the second floor of that house? Is there a basement?”

“Either a basement or just a large closet under the stairs.”

“Except if he is the kidnapper, why's he hanging around Thor's asking questions about Susanna?”

Noel rubbed his brow. Thinking about this case made his head hurt. “Want to drive for a while? Sit by the ocean? I need to hear waves. I need to think.”

Raoul had to make the call right now. He'd put it off too long as it was. The boss would expect the orders to be carried out already. Those faked algorithms had to be punished. He picked up his phone and hit the code for Fredric's cell. It rang. He waited. It rang some more. Come on, Fredric—

“Hello? Raoul?”

“Who'd you expect, your mother? Where the hell were you?”

“Uh, taking a pee. Outside.”

“Something wrong with the plumbing?”

“Uh, just wanted to get out for a few minutes.”

“I told you to keep the cell with you all the time.”

“Yeah, I just—it gets heavy. In my pocket.”

What, a few ounces? What was wrong with Fredric? “Walk with a limp then. But have it right there for when I call.”

“Sure, Raoul. Will do.”

“Okay, you've got to do something for me.” How to tell Fredric, keep him aware. “We've got a problem. Those algorithms? Rossini gave us fake codes.”

“Oh for shitsake—What're you going to do?”

“What we're going to do. Make Rossini realize this is for real here. The girl, I can't remember, does she have any rings on any fingers?”

“Uhm, I think so.” Silence. “I'm pretty sure there's a ring on one of her little fingers.” A longer silence. “Yeah. Right hand, I'm pretty sure.”

“Okay, here's what's going to happen.”

BY THE TIME
Celeste-Antoinette deBourg drove onto the ferry, her mind had split in two. In one half lived her anger, in the other her saddened lust. She would never have believed she'd find herself in such a circumstance. Her times with Larry had been exceptional. The notion that she at her age could have become so enamored with a man of minimal looks, little wealth, a paunch and only adequate manners came as a grand surprise. She loved him for his brilliance—it was literally that. When he spoke of his work, when she'd seen him at work, he'd shone like the scientific star he was. And her anger? Yes, caused by Larry as well. Why had he cheated her? How could he not have known she'd find out? But he must have known. What had he been trying to do?

She sat in her car and watched islands slip by. When she debarked on Lopez she'd immediately have to turn into the departure line to board the already, she hoped, docked ferry to finish her trip on to Anacortes. Stupid ferry system—from Friday Harbor to Lopez, on to another ferry that went only between Lopez and the mainland. She'd read the schedule with incredulity. Five times a day it took two ferries to get from San Juan onto the continent. Stupidest way to organize a transportation system.

Her cell phone rang. The screen said, L. Rossini. She let it ring a dozen times. She'd get a new phone, new number, the next time she came to the States.

His conversation with Fredric had left Raoul with a feeling of deep discomfort. He had explained what needed to be done, where Fredric would find the midazolam, how to make sure it got into the girl. How long to wait for it to take effect. Where to find the tools he needed. He tried to visualize Fredric, understanding all he had to do. He'd expected some resistance. But Fredric had listened, no objection, acquiescent: yes, he could do all that. Not the Fredric he had known half his life. Fredric didn't strike him precisely as a hero, but he could be feisty. He'd argue when he disagreed, which happened often. But now he'd been passive, accepting. He never even asked why it had to be done this violently. As if he'd taken a dab of midazolam himself. Simply said yes, sure. Hadn't asked questions, just agreed: he was part of the team.

But the more Raoul relived their conversation, the more his apprehension grew. Would Fredric carry out his instructions? He knew the consequences if he didn't. Was such a threat enough? Raoul thought he knew Fredric well, but Fredric had never been in a situation like this.

Raoul weighed it out. No, he felt no certainty. Did he personally have to go to San Juan? Yes, and immediately. Make sure Fredric did it. If necessary, Raoul would do it himself. With Fredric's assistance—he had to be fully responsible.

He called three airlines. No flights scheduled could get him from Seattle to San Juan today. Float planes. Not till morning. A charter? That could be arranged. Oh, and he'd need a car rental when he got in.

He already felt better.

They had sat on some stones and stared out to sea. But only the wispiest of waves rolled in, far too calm for breakers. They had spoken little. After a while Kyra got up and walked along the shore. Noel let his mind wander. From the case. To Peter. A decent and pleasant man. Exciting? Likely not. But did Noel need exhilaration, agitation, elation in his life these days, in the future? He doubted it. The domestic pleasures of partnership were closer to his needs. A regular life, a person at home when he came back from the outside world. Conversely, spending the day at home preparing a fine meal, ready for his partner who had had a difficult day of institutional infighting, or a good day with valuable people, stories that would make Noel pleased for this man to whom life had been generous today, this week. After a while they'd be able to string good months together, and then a year, and another. Enjoying each other's company in whatever happiness came along. Even in times of difficulty; problems shared are easier to bear. Could he recreate the kind of life he'd had with Brendan?