Evidence (19 page)

“It
doesn’t appear that way, ma’am. This was what you’d call a super-mansion.”

“Then
for sure it wouldn’t be Desi’s.”

“Not
into that kind of thing.”

“He
would’ve considered it grotesque. But if he wasn’t working on it, why would he
be there?”

“That’s
what we’re trying to figure out, Ms. Flatt. This hiking group Desi and Doreen
had, how many people are we talking about?”

“Just
a few other kids, I really wasn’t paying attention.”

“And
to your knowledge Desi and Doreen weren’t romantically involved.”

“I
thought about that,” said Ricki Flatt. “Maybe, I really can’t say. Desi had so
many girls who liked him. They were always calling him. Dad used to joke he
needed a personal secretary.”

“Do
you have any knowledge of his other recent girlfriends?”

Head
shake. “Sorry, I wasn’t involved in my brother’s personal life back then and
that didn’t change after we grew up.”

“Did
you know that Doreen lived in a group home not far from your house?”

“No,
but you must mean Hope Lodge. That place was the talk of the neighborhood. My
friends joked about it, called it ‘Ho Lodge’ because the girls were wild. I’m
not saying they were, but you know how kids talk. That’s probably why my dad
said she had problems.”

“Was
he worried about her being a bad influence on Desi?”

Ricki
Flatt smiled. “My parents made a big thing about Desi and me developing our own
sense of right and wrong. But even if they had tried to rein Desi in, it
wouldn’t have worked. My brother did exactly as he pleased.”

Milo
said, “Did Desi’s strong will lead to any—I have to ask this—iffy behavior?”

“What
do you mean?”

“Anything
out of the ordinary.”

“If you consider leaving home after high school and
hitting the road for ten years out of the ordinary, sure.”

“Ten
years,” said Milo.

“Ten
lost years,” said Ricki Flatt. “Basically Desi disappeared. Once in a while
we’d get postcards.”

“From
where?”

“All
over the country. National parks, that kind of thing.”

“Not
overseas?”

“No.”

“What
did Desi do to support himself?”

“He
said odd jobs, temporary stuff that gave him time to explore nature, figure
life out.”

“Postcards,”
said Milo. “No visits back home?”

“Once,
twice a year he’d pop up—Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays. He looked great,
really happy and that reassured my parents. He was reviving the whole sixties thing—long
hair, beard, hemp sandals. But always clean and well groomed, Dad said he
looked like Hollywood’s idea of Jesus.”

“You
mentioned handling your parents’ affairs, so I assume—”

“Gone,
Lieutenant. Four years ago. They were vacationing near Mount Olympia, decided
to explore and drove onto a dirt access road that passed through a heavy
logging area. A load of huge pines came loose from a truck bed and crushed
their car. We wanted to sue—Scott and I and Des—but the lawyers said our case
was weak because the road was chained and warning signs were all around, Dad
had lifted it and driven through, anyway. In the end we settled for a hundred
thousand. The lawyers took forty percent and we split sixty with Des. He’d
cleaned up his act and started architecture school, said it would help with
tuition and living expenses. What made it horribly ironic is we’re from an old
logging family, four generations. My grandfather was a master sawyer and Dad
did some logging before he became a firefighter.”

“I’m
sorry, ma’am.”

“It
happened before Sam was born, that’s what hurts the most.
Mom
and Dad would’ve loved Sam.” Tears. “She adored Desi and now he’s gone.”

“How
did Desi react to losing your parents?”

“Terribly,”
said Ricki Flatt. “He got this empty look in his eyes, walked around for weeks
as if he was in a trance. The walking wounded, Scott called it. I’ve never seen
my brother like that, generally he’s open and mellow and accessible.”

“He
drew into himself.”

“I
remember thinking this isn’t healthy, he needs to deal with it, do some serious
grieving or he’s going to break down. I was sure he’d drop out of school but he
didn’t, he stuck with it and graduated with honors.”

Milo
tapped his pen on a corner. “Ms. Flatt, that remark you made yesterday on the
phone, about it being political. We’re still curious about that.”

Ricki
Flatt’s eyes jumped all over the place. “Forget that, that was silly. I
shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But
you did, ma’am.”

She
untied her hair, shook it loose, fastened it tighter.

“Ricki,
we have no interest except solving your brother’s murder.”

Thumping
both elbows on the table, she pressed her palms to her cheeks. Her fingertips
trailed above her ears, as if blocking out noise. See no, hear no.

Milo
said, “The only thing we’ve heard remotely political about your brother is he
was into green architecture, the whole environment thing.”

Ricki
Flatt’s left cheek twitched.

Milo
edged closer. “Did he get radical with that? Spend those ten years doing things
that might be considered illegal?”

“I
don’t know how he spent them.”

“But
you’re worried.”

“Desi…
used to talk.”

“About
what?”

“Burning
down the house,” she said. “That was the name of a song he liked. When he
visited, he’d sometimes go off on speeches.
About the
beauty of untouched wilderness. About greedy people who raped the land and
built monuments to their ego. What they needed, he said, was a good lesson.”

“Monuments,”
said Milo. “Like the one he died in. And now you’re worried he put himself in a
bad position.”

Ricki
Flatt looked up. “Oh, God, I should’ve
known
something bad was going to
happen when he gave me the
money
. Desi’s
never
been able to hold
on to money, he’s never
cared
about money.”

No
need for Milo to press. He gave her a tissue, waited until she’d patted her
eyes dry.

“All
right,” she said. “This is what happened: Des showed up six months ago with
fifty thousand dollars in cash. Two big suitcases full. He asked me to hold it
for him. I gave him a spare key to the unit.”

“We’re
talking last January,” said Milo.

“New
Year’s weekend, Scott and I were about to leave for a trip to New Mexico and
Des showed up, no advance notice.”

“Did
he say where he got the money?”

“I
know, I should’ve asked. Scott was furious with me, said it had to be drug
money or something else illegal and I’d gotten us in way over our heads. I said
that made no sense, Desi had never used dope or alcohol, took care of his body.
Scott told me I was being naïve, Desi had been on the road for years, we had no
clue about what he’d done. We got into a big fight, Scott demanded I call Desi
back, insist he take the suitcases.” Shrill laughter. “It was pretty darn
dramatic. Of course, I finally agreed.”

“So
you called your brother.”

Ricki
Flatt hung her head. “I lied to Scott—only time I’ve ever done that. Why? For
the life of me, I wish I could tell you. I just couldn’t bring myself to
confront Desi. There’s something about my brother that makes you want to say
yes to him. He’s so sweet and direct—in high school, he was voted most popular.
It wasn’t just girls who loved him, everyone did.”

I
said, “Charisma.”

“Yes,
but for me, it was more than that. With Mom and Dad gone,
there
was no one else. I guess I kept hoping we’d reconnect, be some kind of family.
Sam seemed to be a vehicle for that.” Burying her face in her hands, she
mumbled.

Milo
said, “You still have the money. You’re worried it’s political.”

Ricki
Flatt looked up. “When Desi brought it to me, he seemed nervous, made me
promise not to ask questions. I keep thinking it was payment for something
wrong
.”

“Burning
down the house.”

“Maybe
not literally,” she said. “But something … why else would he hide the money? I
promise to send it back to you as soon as I get back home but
please
don’t tell Scott I kept it.”

“Where
is it?”

“Our
storage unit. Scott and I rented one after Mom and Dad passed. For their stuff,
I couldn’t bear to get rid of anything. I tucked the suitcases in back, behind
Mom’s piano. Scott never goes in there.”

“So
Desi had a key to the unit?”

“I
gave him one. They were his parents, too.”

“When’s
the last time you actually saw the money?”

“The
last time,” she said, “had to be… a couple of weeks after I stored it, so five
months ago, give or take. I went in there and counted it. I’d never counted it
initially. Why? Once again, I don’t know.”

“Fifty
thousand.”

“In
fifty-dollar bills, bound neatly. Do you really think it has something do with
what happened to Desi?”

“Money’s
the most common motive we see, Ricki.”

“Oh,
God, I told Scott he was being paranoid, but now I’m getting sick.” She grabbed
Milo’s wrist. “Is my
family
in danger?”

“I
would hope not,” said Milo. “But we do need to get the money in a secure
place.”

“I
promise I’ll send it straight to you. I was going to stay for a few days, to
arrange for Desi to be flown back, but I’ll leave today, have the suitcases
shipped first thing in the morning.”

“Please
don’t touch them,” said Milo. “We need to process them first.”

“Process?”

“Fingerprinting,
that kind of thing. I’ll arrange for everything after you sign some forms
releasing the contents of the storage bin for inspection. Is there anything
else in your unit that belonged to Desi?”

“No,”
said Ricki Flatt. “I’ll fill out anything you need, draw you a diagram showing
where I put them. I just want them out of there.”

“I’ll
handle it, Ricki.”

“Are
Scott and Sam in danger? Please, I need an honest answer.”

“I’ve
got no indication your family’s a target.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank
God.” Gazing up at the ceiling. “What did you get me
into
, Desi?”

Ricki
Flatt filled out the search authorization.

Milo
asked her where she was staying.

“I
came straight from the airport.”

“Did
you rent a car?”

“I
took the shuttle to Westwood, then a cab.”

“I’ll
get you a place. There’s a victim compensation fund, but it’ll mean more forms
and take a while to get compensated.”

“I
don’t care about that.” Her hands waved restlessly.

Milo
called Sean Binchy over from the big D-room. Binchy was still poring over lists
of construction workers with nothing to report.

“Find
Ms. Flatt a clean, safe place to bunk down.”

Binchy
lifted her luggage. “The Star Inn on Sawtelle has the Triple A rating, cable,
and wireless and there’s an IHOP right up the block.”

“Whatever,”
said Ricki Flatt.

After
the two of them left, I said, “Political, as in baby brother might be an
eco-terrorist. It would take more than Backer spouting off for her to worry
about that.”

“Yeah,
she knows more,” said Milo, “but pushing her right now
didn’t
feel right. I’ll have Sean keep an eye on her, make sure she sticks around.”

“Backer’s
lost decade preceded his parents’ death, but their being crushed by logs
could’ve kicked up his motivation.”

“Fifty
grand to blow something up. Like a big house, but he never got to it. On the
other hand, the money could be from dope or a blackmail payoff. Or he won big
at the tables and gave it to Ricki to avoid the taxman.”

We
returned to his office where Milo called Officer Chris Kammen. The Port Angeles
cop agreed to watch the Flatt residence “as much as we can” and to handle the
search of the storage unit as soon as the paperwork came in. “Two suitcases?
What color?”

“Look
for the ones behind the piano, stuffed with cash.”

“Fifty
grand,” said Kammen. His whistle pierced the room. “So the husband’s out of the
loop, huh?”

“Flatt
doesn’t know his wife held on to the money. She’s playing nice and I want to
stay on her good side.”

“Domestic
issues,” said Kammen. “Fun.”

A
fourth try at Federal Hal’s office left Milo red-faced. “Disconnected number?
This is starting to feel personal.”

I
said, “Sure, but maybe it’s not you. It’s Doreen Fredd.”