Lie Catchers (10 page)

Parker noted they’d halted in front of Liv’s family store, closed now, and dark. Liv would be at her desk upstairs, writing about Sing Lee or penning one of her satires. An image flashed of Parker bringing her coffee, kissing her neck and asking her how her latest feature was progressing. He’d stroke the feather necklace that rested on her breasts, and she’d hum at his touch. She would share a paragraph she thought was funny and they’d laugh together. He’d kiss her on the lips, then, and leave her to write while he went off to…

“Jenny needs help with breakfast cleanup, so I’ve got to get back. Ask me the fucking questions.” She wheeled away from him, heading for home.

Clearing his memory of Liv’s kiss, Parker matched Mallen’s stride. “Can you account for all your time in Seattle? Did you meet with Ev? Did you play a role in his death?”

“No, No and No.” she said, turning into the B&B sidewalk. When they reached the entry stairs, she mounted the first step and whirled around, now eye level with Parker. “I don’t like your pretense, Parker. You befriend every person in town, purposefully creating havoc with our relationships. Detectives are supposed to find killers, not foment antagonism.” She raised her hands as if to deny him entry to the B&B. “Leave Ivor and my grandmother out of this, do you understand?”

Parker took a deep breath. “We’ll have to talk again, Mallen. Until I find out how Ev died, the ‘havoc,’ as you call it, continues.”

“Well then, fuck you, Parker Browne. Like Ev, you’re determined to screw one Petersburg woman after the other, aren’t you?”

He shrugged away her vitriol. “Thanks for the exercise, Mallen.”

“Consider this your last invitation, Detective. From now on, you walk alone.” With that, she opened the door to the B&B and slammed it shut behind her.

****

“Enter,” Tuck Barber said when Parker knocked on his office door.

“Thanks for making time for me.”

“As if I had a bloody choice,” Barber said from his wide high-backed chair behind a gargantuan dark wooden desk. Shelves of books formed a backdrop for the owner of Lito’s Landing; walls to the right and left held collages of pictures, all framed in the same dark wood as the desk and the bookshelves. The effect was more library than office; formal, serious. A seat of power.

Parker walked over to a big picture of a young Sing Lee. “What he had in 1932 is yours today.”

With a hint of a smile, Barber said, “That’s a stretch,” sat back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, dark brown hair and eyebrows set against a pale, angular face. He wore a light blue denim shirt tucked into jeans, all tight against a heavily muscled body, toned by running cross country, so said Ivor. In any weather and over rough terrain, the man loped alone for miles, at least once a week.

Parker said, “I’ve been reading Liv’s column in the paper and I took a look at Sing Lee’s bio in the tourist pamphlet. Second to the canneries, this bar/liquor store is big business in Petersburg. You and Sing Lee share an important role in town.”

Slight jerk of Barber’s shoulder, eyebrows knit together. “The Lito family bought out Sing Lee’s place and turned it into Lito’s Landing. They deserve the credit.”

Parker waved his hand. “Sure. But you’ve got a story like Sing Lee’s. Poor boy makes good. A Chinaman and a Brit, Lee and you, strangers in a strange land. Hard not to build resentment kowtowing to Norwegians, hmm?” A glance at Barber’s cloudy expression had Parker chuckling. “I might be picking up some of Liv’s angst from her column. But the old case reminds me of the drama surrounding Ev’s death. Liv says
anyone
had access to Sing Lee. Same with Ev. Anyone. Everyone.” He grunted. “Hell, it could have been a
crowd
of people that did Ev in. A conspiracy.”

Open-mouthed, Barber stared at Parker.

“You’re number one on my list in the death of Everett Olson.”

“Bullshit.”

Parker walked to the desk and lowered himself into a barrel chair facing Tuck. “Statistics, Barber. You were his closest friend and business partner, though I have yet to get a handle on the exact nature of the business.” Parker caught an eye twitch from the man. “You don’t want me to get to the bottom of that one, do you? You’re sleeping with Tilly, Ev’s ex-girlfriend. You’re making money on this place, especially from liquor sales, yet you haven’t made one improvement since you bought the bar, with the exception of this room. No debts. A couple vacations to the Caribbean.” Parker waited while Barber’s eyes went steely. “Can’t blame you for seeking sunny climes. This rain gets to a person, doesn’t it?”

Barber leaned forward, palms on his desk. “Is this an interview or a bloody harangue?”

With a laugh, Parker said, “I do go off on tangents. I’m identifying with old Gus Stockton, the marshal who couldn’t find one suspect in Sing Lee’s murder while I’m finding too
many
potential killers.

Barber looked puzzled. “And you think because I’m your first pick, I’ll be motivated to help you find the real killer.”

“You game?”

“You say I’ve got the power…why not?” Barber said sarcastically.

“Money.” Parker slapped Liv’s list on the table between them. “Who’s got it and who needs it?” He pointed to Barber’s name.

“You think I’ve got plenty; I can always use more.”

“Tilly.”

A sign of discomfort flitted across Tuck’s face. “She’s squirreled some away. Needs more to quit the job she hates.”

“Will you help her get it?”

He shrugged. “She’s a tolerable screw. Maybe.”

“Everett.”

Heavy sigh from Barber. “Loose cannon. Spent whatever he made on women. Also desperate to quit his piece of shit job at the cannery. Last girlfriend, Susanna, is a big time loser.”

“Would you help him? Did he come to you for money?”

“Yes and yes. We worked together at the cannery for years. He was my friend.”

“Harriet Hanson.”

“Hurting for money. Her husband’s medical bills wiped out their savings and the business is stalled. Liv won’t leave town until she makes her mom comfortable.”

“Ivor.”

“Lives simply; would never ask.”

“Liv.”

Barber smiled. “Got her in my arms on the dance floor.” He looked down at his watch, “Counting the days until I get her into my bed.” Snapping his fingers, he pulled a sly grin. “Oh, wait, we were supposed to be talking about money, not sex. So, so sorry.” Fingers to his chin he said, “Liv Hanson needs more money than anyone in this town.”

“To get the salmon oil pills on the market, you mean.”

“She probably needs a quarter of mil in capital, with a like amount fronted by a town cannery providing the space and machinery to extract the oil.”

“Really? And will you help her?”

“Maybe if a cannery will back her.” Grinning evilly, Barber added, “And maybe if I can get her into my bed.’

****

Parker stood outside Lito’s Landing precisely at midnight, his hand on the wooden door, feeling the vibration of the music within. He didn’t want to enter about as much as he was desperate to open the door. Liv affected him that way.

He’d spent the day re-interviewing people who’d attended the fishball dinner in Ballard, including the ten year-old Osterlund boy. After a long visit with the Candy Peterson, the harbormaster, he’d made dozens of phone calls lining up hotels and witnesses in the Seattle area. By ten o’clock, he’d headed for his bedroom at the same time his father said ‘goodnight,’ but instead of shedding his clothes and crawling under the covers, he shaved, then lay in his jeans and polo shirt on the bed, shoeless, for almost two hours. He’d dozed and dreamed of Ev being held underwater by ten pairs of hands followed by erotic images of Liv, dancing naked among fully clothed revelers. His alarm woke him from a restless sleep at quarter to twelve, and like an automaton, he sat up, put on his shoes, walked downstairs, paused to put on his raingear, and headed to Lito’s Landing.

The thrumming on the door from music inside the bar and the cool rain bouncing off his hood, were oddly soothing. He would not enter and watch Liv dance with other men, but he could stand outside and wait for her.

When a couple came out the door, laughing loudly, he stepped aside and turned his head, averting his eyes from the activity within.

Why am I here, lurking like a jealous lover?

He looked up at the dark sky, letting the rain wet his face and dribble down his neck.

The door opened, silhouetting Liv against the brightness of the room.

“Parker?”

“Yes.”

“They told me you were out here.”

“I’m walking you home.”

She pulled her hood over her head and while she buttoned her black, shiny jacket, she came toward him, stopping a couple inches from his chest.

The smell of beer on her breath mixed, faintly, with sweat and perfume, aroused him immediately. Their hoods met at the crowns, tenting them together in the most sensual way, warm and intimate.

Liv licked the rain off his cheek.

“Christ,” he growled. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching and exhaled when he found they were alone.

“Your reward,” she said, giving him a lopsided grin.

They were quiet as they walked, her hand secure under his elbow, down the narrow, dark Sing Lee Alley. Parker wondered about the lack of streetlights at the same time he reveled in the gloom that cocooned them and shielded them from prying eyes. The urge to pull Liv between buildings to kiss her, was as strong as the vow he repeated in his brain:
Leave her at her store entrance. Don’t go in. Don’t go up to the apartment. She’s a suspect. A cipher. A siren. A—

“Blam!”

Liv frowned, “Wha..?” Then “Ahh!”

In a split second, Parker determined the trajectory of the bullet and pulled Liv to safety behind a store corner before another “Bing!”

“Shit,” he said as the bullet ricocheted off the corner of the building and sprayed them with wood chips. “We’re going down, baby,” he announced as he pushed her to the ground and covered her body with his.

“Bang!” A third shot.

Then quiet.

Even after the sound of a person running away grew faint, Parker lay on top of Liv, comforted by their simultaneous inhaling and exhaling, the odor of soil mixing with Liv’s perfume. He had a fleeting notion that they could stand, straighten their clothing and get on with the walk to Liv’s place. But they’d been shot at three times in Sing Lee Alley. Forget the short walk and a simple ‘do I go up to her apartment or not?’ conflict. The complications he foresaw filled him with sadness.

“Parker?” Liv said softly.

“I’m okay, baby. How about you?”

“Well, except for the two hundred pounds of dead weight on me, I th...thought I was f...fine.”

Parker rolled off her quickly when he heard the hitch in her voice. “What is it Liv? Are you hurt?”

She sat up and held out her arm, showing a rip in the shoulder of her raincoat. “I…it…I think a bullet got me. Must have been a pistol.”

He unbuttoned her coat and lifted it gently off her shoulder to see black blood gushing from a gash across her bare arm.

****

“Anyone trying to shoot someone with a pistol in this darkness is nuts,” Ivor said.

Parker groaned as he rose from a stooping position, his flashlight casting erratic swatches over the graveled alley. “Based on the sound, it had to be a pistol. Maybe he wanted to scare us; could be he never meant to hit either one of us.”

“Might explain why he ran away instead of finishing the job.” Ivor sighed. “We’ll find out who left the bar before and after you picked up Liv. Then we go door to door to find a newly discharged pistol.”

“That many guns in Petersburg?”

“Average of one per household.”

“I can guess the general reasons for everybody owning a gun, but the specifics elude me.”

Ivor shrugged, “You’ve got to shoot a big halibut in the head while he’s in the water. If you bring the fish aboard it will thrash the hell out of your boat, or beat up the occupants before you can brain it. Rifles for hunting, handguns for protection against bears and human intruders. The town is
full
of weapons, many of them unregistered.”

“Great. We’ve been out here an hour, walking the crime scene, and we’ve found one bullet, mangled. Maybe from a Colt 45. Could be an old gun from the looks of the bullet.” Parker leaned against a building. “In this gravel, not a single footprint shows up. No witnesses. Hell, we don’t even know who the shooter was targeting or trying to scare.”

Ivor shined his flashlight on Parker’s face. “True. He shot Liv, but he might have wanted to take you down. Or both of you.”

“Liv always walks home at around midnight on a Friday or Saturday night, right?”

“But you couldn’t let her walk home by herself, could you?” Ivor accused. “She’s taken that five minute route dozens of times, usually alone, but you walk with her and she gets shot.”

Parker raised his hand, shielding his face from Ivor’s flashlight. “Dammit, I was worried about her, especially since she pissed off Barber. “He hung his head. “
I
pissed off Barber.”

“You think the shooter was after you?”

“Maybe. It was black as the devil out here. Somebody shot out the streetlights.”

With a nod, Ivor said, “So he was waiting for a time when you were away from Lito’s.” He looked sharply at Parker. “Tuck knows you have an interest in my sister.”

“Damn. I…” Parker let out a breath, aware that protest was futile, and caught by the irony that others might know more about his feelings for Liv than he did. “I would never hurt her, Ivor. Let’s move her out of Petersburg, in case she
is
the target.”

Ivor said, “Good luck with that. Guaranteed, we won’t get her to stay at the Medical Center overnight like the Doc wants, either.”

Shaking his head, Parker said, “She got twenty stitches, for Christ’s sake.”

With a sigh, Ivor said, “She keeps saying she got winged by a bullet with your name on it. ‘Winged.’ Where’d she get that word?”

Parker scratched his neck with the butt of his flashlight. “She’s mad when she should be scared.”

“She pulled me aside before we left her room at the Center. Said she’ll kill both of us if we weren’t careful.”