Fixed in Fear (24 page)

The bartender stepped back and glanced toward his inattentive elder partner before speaking. “I don't know,” he said in that way that said he knew exactly what that room was used for. “I don't want no trouble.”

Mort reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and laid it gently on the bar. “Neither do we. Tell me one thing. Are we going to walk into some sort of tactical situation? Maybe somebody in there's gonna greet us with a weapon?”

“There's no guns allowed in this place.” The bartender's hushed answer caught the attention of the overweight man sitting next to where Rita stood. Mort figured something about the word
gun
seemed to register no matter how softly it was whispered. The guy looked Rita and Mort up and down before turning back to his beer.

“That's not what I asked,” Mort said. “Let's try this again. Do my partner and I need to have our service revolvers drawn when we walk through that door?”

The bartender looked again to his elder, who was too focused on the recap of the Huskies' victory over Auburn being broadcast over the wall-mounted TV to notice his partner needed guidance. The younger barman wiped a nervous hand over his mouth, leaned in, and spoke in a rapid, quiet staccato.

“Look, there's no worries about weapons. But that's an invitation-only game. They're not going to take it good some cop walking in. And they have fists. Know what I mean?” He looked more nervous than scared. “I get off in half an hour. I got plans. I don't need to be held up by some brawl that brings in who knows how many of you guys wanting to take my statement or anything.” He nodded toward the door. “Those guys are old school. They'll be in there all night. Can't you come back when I'm gone?”

Mort marveled at the logic of self-involvement. “Tell you what. Maybe there's a win for both of us. We're looking for Auggie Apuzzo. We've got no interest in the game. No interest in a brawl. You get Auggie to come out here and there's no need for my partner and me to even step foot behind that door.”

The bartender looked unsure. “How'm I supposed to do that? They got their own supply in there. Beer, snacks, whatever. They even got their own door to the john. They walk in there, it's for the night, man. Stumble out just after I lock up. Usually singing some old Eagles tune and slapping one another on the back. They have one last shot, bitchin' about their wives while I'm mopping up, and then it's adios, don't let the door hit you in the ass until next Friday.”

Mort nodded. “I understand. Looks like you better call whomever you've got plans with. Maybe even lock the front door. My partner and I are going in. We're gonna get Auggie and we're gonna deal with whatever comes of it. Then we'll need the statements of every person in the place. And I'll make sure yours is the last one we take.”

“Look, man, I don't want no trou—” The bartender's plea was cut short when the obese man sitting next to Rita slammed his hand down on the bar. He shot Mort a weary look, pushed himself off his barstool, and waddled to the back wall. He pounded on the door marked
PRIVATE
and yelled.

“Auggie, you better get out here! Simone got here about ten minutes ago and there's some jerk-off in a sailor suit won't leave her alone!”

Overweight waddled back, speaking to Mort as he climbed back onto his stool. “Auggie will be right with you.”

Five seconds later the private door flew open. A stocky man, five feet ten inches tall, wearing sweatpants and a Seahawks sweatshirt emblazoned with a giant number three, stormed out. He took four steps into the bar, stopped, and scanned the room. Mort and Rita approached him as he gave Overweight a
Where is she?
look.

“Auggie, I'm Mort Grant, Seattle PD. This is Rita Willers, chief of police, Enumclaw PD.”

Auggie's small, close-set eyes widened when he heard where Rita was from. He pivoted to his right and took just one running step before Rita kicked his legs out from under him. Auggie thudded to the floor. Rita was on him, pulling his right arm behind his back and slapping on the cuffs she had pulled from her jacket pocket before Mort had even called out a warning. Mort dragged Auggie to his feet, locked one hand on Auggie's arm, the other on the neck of the man's sweatshirt, and steered him to the door as Rita called for a squad car. He paused as he passed Overweight.

“Thanks, buddy. And when you see her, thank Simone for us.”

Overweight gave one bored nod and returned to his beer.

Mort felt the buzz in his pocket telling him he had an incoming call. He glanced at the screen. It was Lydia. If she was calling with news about Allie it would mean a longer conversation than he had time for at the moment. He clicked his phone closed and turned to Rita. “You ready?” She nodded and they headed down the hall on the second floor of the Seattle PD's headquarters.

“Which one of you was Sam and which one was Ernie?” Mort asked as he and Rita walked into the interview room. Auggie Apuzzo had been processed under an initial charge of interfering with a police officer. It was past sunset by the time he was finished with the booking process and settled into his metal chair to answer questions. Mort had used the time between bringing Auggie in and his interview to check in. He had first touched base with Larry and learned his friend had called a taxi and gone home with three boxes of Carlton's papers to review. After Mort apologized and continued his façade of being engrossed with departmental paperwork, he'd asked Larry about Bilbo Runyan.

Larry had told Mort that Runyan hadn't returned to the house before Larry decided to leave.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Auggie Apuzzo was doing his best tough-guy act. “Bert and Ernie I know. Sam and Ernie I got no clue.”

Mort sighed. He turned to Rita, who took a seat across from Auggie and laid a thick folder on the desk separating them.

“Am I going to have to go through this again?” he asked her. “Do I have to tell him we already got that other Anderson brother? How he already told us all about how Auggie was the mastermind behind the sweat lodge murders?”

“Look, I don't know anybody by that name and I don't know nothing about no murders,” Apuzzo insisted. “Somebody tells you different, they're a lying sack of shit.”

Rita opened the file and made a show of glancing through its contents. “You're telling us you never stepped foot into Tall Oaks Lodge. Never registered there as one of the Anderson brothers out of Moses Lake. Is that right? Never participated in a sweat lodge. Never slaughtered five people and burned their corpses. Is that what you're saying?”

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.” Auggie dialed his expression to satisfied smirk.

“How about the name Jerry Costigan?” Mort asked. “That name ring any bell with you?”

“Jerry? Sure I know Jerry. Our paths crossed in Monroe. He was a scared little cunt looking for somebody to protect him in the joint. Wanted to be my bitch. I don't swing that way and told him to bark up some other tree. Didn't see much of him after that. Heard tell he was pissed as all hell that I didn't cover for him. Told somebody he was going to see I got mine or some horseshit like that. Make me pay. That what this is about? Scared little Jerry Costigan making up stories about me?”

Mort was impressed. He wondered if Auggie had made that story up on the spot or if he'd had it in his back pocket all along just in case Costigan decided to finger him.

“Costigan gave you up in a heartbeat,” Mort said. “Says you planned the murders. Said in fact
you
killed all those people. Poor old Jerry had no idea what was going down. Yes, sir. He laid it all on you. Promises to say that exact thing to whoever wants to chat.”

Auggie shook his head. He was doing his best to look unconcerned, but Mort could see the man's breathing had shifted to shallow and rapid. “I can't help what nobody says about me. But some pussy talking don't make a lie true.”

Rita closed the file. “But physical evidence does. You and Jerry left a lot of that back at the lodge. All that DNA in your rooms. All those fingerprints. Prosecutor's going to have the easiest conviction of his career with you two. Not to mention the eyewitness. We've got you scheduled for a lineup in about a half hour, Auggie. The woman who drove you up to that sweat lodge site is going to take a look at you. And she's going to tell us what Costigan says is true. You're the missing Anderson brother. You're the other man she drove up there who didn't turn up dead. Auggie Apuzzo, you're under arrest for the murders of Carlton Smydon, Sam Adelsburg, Oscar Vargas, Monica Doyenne, and Audrey Moe. No more card games on Friday night for you. And the only way you're ever seeing Simone again is through three inches of glass on visitors' day.” Rita looked up to where Mort stood. “My hunch is Cheryl and Will Hayes will have no trouble getting a judge to terminate Auggie's parental rights. Little Tommy will have a good name to go along with the good life they're giving him. Big wins all the way around.”

Mort watched the man's façade crumble. Apuzzo sat through Rita reading him his Miranda staring straight ahead. The film of tears shining in his eyes told Mort that Rita had found the right tactic to get to Auggie. The room was silent for several long minutes after Auggie nodded that he understood his rights.

“I need to be able to see my son,” he finally said.

“Highly unlikely,” Mort said. “I can't think of a reason in the world any judge would give you access to that boy. Of course, once he's eighteen he'll be able to do what he pleases. But that's ten long years away. A kid can do a whole lot of forgetting in that amount of time.”

Auggie blinked several nervous times as he thought about that. “Maybe I could think of a reason. Maybe give you something to make a judge let me see my boy from time to time.”

And there it is,
Mort thought.
He's going to give up the guy who hired him. Just like they always do.

“I'm listening,” Mort said.

“What if I confess? Save the state the trouble of a trial?”

Mort shook his head. “All that physical evidence, Auggie. This is a slam dunk. Judge isn't gonna care about a confession. This trial won't last three days. It'll give the prosecutors a flashy win for the papers. Hell, it might work against you if you confess. DA's office likes to show off from time to time. Can't blame them for that.”

Auggie squirmed. Mort watched him finally settle down. Then Auggie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

Here it comes,
Mort thought.
The name, the motive, the entire case sewn up and put to bed.
Larry deserved to know why his friend had been killed. And despite the hard-ass defensive pose Abraham Smydon put up, Mort figured understanding why his half brother died might help the elderly man find a little peace himself.

“What if I gave you the person who set this whole thing up?” Auggie asked. “What if I did that? You think the judge would let me see my kid then?”

Mort looked to Rita as though he wanted her counsel. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. She was playing her part superbly.

“It couldn't hurt,” she said thoughtfully. “Save us a lot of shoe leather. Judges are always looking to be good stewards of the city's resources.”

Mort did his best to look skeptical. “It better be good, is all I'm saying. And it better stick.”

Auggie nodded. He hesitated again before speaking. “Them people who died. In the sweat lodge. There was only one who needed to. The rest of them was just cover. Making the real hit get lost in the shuffle.”

You didn't do a good job of that,
Mort thought.
Gouging out Carlton's eyes told us right away he was the target.

“And who was the real hit?” Mort asked.

“The black dude. Some kind of smart guy. Like maybe he coulda been a professor or something like that.”

Mort nodded. “Did you know him?”

Auggie shrugged. He was getting used to talking. “I watched him those two days at the lodge. Before the sweat ceremony. He was always reading. Kept to himself. Nice enough at dinner when the other guests said something to him, but he never started any conversation. Know what I mean? Seemed, I don't know, like some kind of religious guy. You know how them priests and nuns always seem so calm and quiet? He was like that.”

“So who is it who hired you to kill this nice, polite, smart, religious guy?” Rita asked. “And you get bonus points if you tell us why.”

Sweat beaded on Auggie's upper lip. He raised his cuffed hands to wipe it away. “I don't know. I don't know none of that. Guy never gave me his name.”

Rita leaned back in her chair, a look of disbelief on her face.

“And you thought
that
would get a judge's attention?” Mort asked, shaking his head.

“I can't know what I don't know, am I right? I can tell you how I come in contact. How's that? Maybe even something a little more.”

“Speak,” Mort said. “And it better lead us right to somebody's door.”

“I did time in Monroe, you know that already.” Auggie wiped his lip again. He asked for some water. Mort grabbed a plastic cup and filled it from the water cooler in the corner. Auggie drained it in one gulp. “It ain't easy finding work when you got a record like mine. But I was able to make do. Day labor kind of stuff. Mostly heavy lifting. Construction. Down at the docks. Road crew work. Shit like that. Say what you want about me, I know how to work. I started to get picked up on a regular basis. Had some decent money for a change. All of it legit.”

Mort remembered Cheryl saying Auggie hadn't paid a dime in child support in years. Apuzzo may have been finally earning his way, but he wasn't doing anything for the boy he claimed to love so much.

“Those jobs bring you to the guy who hired you for these murders?” Mort asked.