Payment in Kind (28 page)

“What you’re saying is that this was done just for the hell of it by some stupid punk who can’t even spell?”

“Actually, that’s the funny part. According to what I can find out, Todd Farraday is now and always has been an honors student. That’s one of the reasons his mother was able to convince everybody that, except for the glass breakage, it was nothing more than an innocent prank. She’s already paid for the broken windows, by the way.”

“False reporting of crimes is a crime, not a prank,” I said.

“Unless your mama’s the mayor,” Peters returned.

We sat there silently for several moments, watching two slow-moving ferries lumber past each other as they approached the Coleman dock.

“Chances are he has nothing whatever to do with my homicides, then.”

The idea that the bomb threats and the murders were somehow connected had always been a long shot, but it had been
my
long shot and it hurt to have to give it up.

“Probably not,” Peters agreed.

Again we were silent for a time. “But wouldn’t you like to tweak him a little?” I asked. “Just for the hell of it?”

In the gloom of the darkened room, I saw Peters’ ghostly face turn in my direction. “What do you mean tweak?”

“Actually, I mean scare the living shit right out of him, make him think we’ve connected him to something that his mother won’t be able to hush up or fix. Having a homicide detective turn up on his doorstep might light a fire under that little jerk’s privileged ass.”

“Now, Beau,” Peters cautioned. “Let me remind you, his mother
is
the mayor, duly elected by the people of this city.”

I grinned back at him through the darkness. “That in itself will make the look on his face worth the price of admission.”

“It could also get you fired.”

“That’s all right. Think about it. There’s a certain justice here, Ron. You know as well as I do that some of the guys go down to the Central District and bust kids for a hell of a lot less than false reporting. The way I see it, if I scare the shit out of this spoiled creepy kid over something he
didn’t
do, it’ll even the score a little. What do you think?”

“Is my answer on or off the record?” Peters asked.

“Jeez, they’ve already taught you the finer points of PR double-speak, haven’t they? It’s off the record, Ron; now, tell me.”

“I think it’s a hell of a fine idea. I only wish I could be there to see it.”

“Want to ride along? Maybe I’ll go right now. You said he lives just up the hill.” I started to get up and then stopped. “Wait a minute. I can’t do that, not without having his actual address.”

“I just happen to have it right here,” said Ron Peters with a grin. “What are we waiting for?”

Down in the garage, Peters heaved himself into the rider’s side of the low-slung 928. Once he was inside, I loaded his chair into the hatch. It stuck out some, but I fastened it in with a collection of bungee cords. With the hatch open, however, it was going to be a mighty cool ride.

The engine roared to life as soon as I turned the key in the ignition. It was none the worse for all its storm-enforced rest. By now the streets were pretty much clear. We drove up Queen Anne to Kinnear with no difficulty.

Had the Farradays’ house been on the north side of Kinnear, it would have been impossible for Peters to be in on the interview, because all of those houses seemed to have a minimum of fifteen to twenty steps leading up to their front doors. The Farraday house, however, was on the downhill side of the street.

It was a huge, old-fashioned brick place with four white columns lining the front porch. With the exception of a single step leading up onto the porch, it was a straight shot from the street into the house.

I brought the chair around from the back and helped Peters back into it. Once settled, he looked at the house appraisingly. “I don’t think Natalie Farraday ran for office because she needed a job,” he said. “Now tell me this. What do we do if the mayor happens to be at home?”

“Punt,” I declared with a grin. “Punt and run like hell. Every man for himself.”

A
s it turned out, the mayor wasn’t home after all. Todd Farraday himself—a bespectacled, pimply-faced, sallow-skinned, long-legged kid—answered the door. He opened it only a cautious crack and peered outside.

“Who are you?” he asked.

One look at this nerdy wimp, standing there in his ratty T-shirt and jeans and his equally ratty and untied high-tops, told me that he wasn’t exactly what his mother had in mind when she brought her supposed bundle of joy home from the hospital fifteen years earlier.

“We’re police officers. Are you Todd Farraday?” I asked, holding out my card.

“Yeah. Whaddya want?”

“I’m with Homicide, Todd. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Homicide. What do you want to talk to me about?”

“A case I’m working on.”

He backed away from the door, and a breeze pushed it open in front of us. “Wait a minute, I don’t know anything at all about that.”

My statement had been innocuously general, but his immediate denial was damagingly specific. I was instantly on the alert. “You don’t know anything about what?” I demanded.

Realizing too late that he had inadvertently let something slip and trying to hedge his bets, Todd Farraday shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said miserably in an unconvincing whimper. “I mean, I wasn’t even there.”

“You weren’t where?”

“At the school district; that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? You think I’m connected to those school district murders because of what happened last fall, but I’m not. I swear to God. My mother doesn’t let me out of the house at night now, and I don’t sneak out anymore, either.”

“Is your mother home?” I asked.

Todd Farraday shook his head. “No. She’s at a meeting down in Olympia. She won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon. But don’t talk to her about this, please. She’ll kill me. She really will. She said that if I got into any more trouble of any kind, she’d send me to a military school in New Mexico. In Roswell. I was in New Mexico once,” he added mournfully. “I hated it.”

We were still standing on the porch. Todd had backed away from us across the polished hard-wood floor of the vestibule.

“I think we need to talk about this,” Ron Peters asserted quietly. “Can we come in?”

Todd looked at Ron Peters, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, haven’t I seen you on TV?”

Peters nodded. “Probably. I work in Media Relations.”

“You’re not going to put this in the paper or on the news or something, are you? My mom would die, she’d just die, and so would I!”

“Todd, we just want to get to the bottom of this,” Peters said reassuringly. “Could we come in please? It’s cold out here, and we’re letting all the warm air outside.”

“I guess,” Todd answered warily. “Come on in.”

He stood there watching as we made our way inside and closed the door behind us. I looked at him hard. “I didn’t tell you what case we were working on, Todd, but you guessed which one right away without having to be told. How come?”

He shrugged his shoulders again and turned sullen. “I dunno.”

“You do know,” I insisted, “and you’re going to tell us.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t make me tell you anything. I know my rights.”

I turned to Peters. “I guess we could just as well go then. We’ll come back later on after his mother has time to make arrangements for an attorney to be present.”

Todd Farraday’s stricken face paled visibly. “Aw shit! Don’t do that, please. I already told you. I didn’t
do
anything. I wasn’t even out of the house that night, and the guy who was…”

“What guy?”

“Just a guy, that’s all. A friend of mine. He’s the one who told me about it, after it came out in the papers. He wanted to know what he should do. I mean, like he thought I had some kind of experience, you know?”

“What did he tell you, Todd?”

“He was skiing, late at night, and he wasn’t supposed to. Jason got these new skis for Christmas, see, and he wanted to try them out. But his mother said later. They’re going up to Whistler sometime this month, but the snow was here that night, and Jason didn’t think it would hurt anything.”

I remembered then, the ski trails imprinted in the snow in front of the school district’s office the morning after the murders. Criminals working under the cover of night sometimes make the mistake of assuming it’s still the old days, when kids used to go to bed and stay there once their parents turned out the lights and locked the doors. Nowadays, the lights go out—and so do the kids, without their parents’ knowledge or consent.

More often than not, the kids themselves are up to no good, but having extra eyes on the nightime streets when they aren’t expected has worked in my favor on more than one occasion. A surge of excitement went through my body when I realized this was going to be another.

“Your friend Jason saw something?” Peters prodded gently.

Todd Farraday nodded. “And he asked me what to do about it, but he got in trouble the same time I did for sneaking out, and I told him to forget it.”

“Did he tell you what he saw?”

Todd shook his head. “I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to know.”

“What’s Jason’s last name?” I asked.

“Don’t you understand? If I tell you, he’s going to get in trouble again too. His mother probably won’t even take him to Whistler. She’ll end up telling mine, and I’ll be in trouble anyway.”

“Where does he live?” Ron Peters asked. “Around here someplace?”

Todd nodded. “A few blocks away. It’s not far.”

“Supposing you call him and tell him we’re here. Tell him we want to talk to him. We need his help, but we don’t want to get him in any more hot water. Tell him we’ll do our best to keep it a secret from his mother. You two can make up a story that you need to get an assignment from him or something, can’t you?”

Todd looked back and forth between us indecisively. “Prob’ly,” he said. “At least I could try. Wanna come on into the living room and sit down?”

Obligingly, Ron Peters wheeled himself toward the arched entrance to the living room. The unthinking words were barely out of Todd’s mouth when he realized what he’d said. Todd Farraday may have been a spoiled young punk, but he still had some vestiges of good manners left. His face flushed beet red.

“Sorry,” he said, hurrying out of the room. “I’ll go call Jason.”

A full-length oil portrait of Natalie Farraday hung over the marble-manteled fireplace. She was a handsome woman, rather than a beautiful one, posing against a tree trunk. I was standing there admiring the painting when Todd came into the room and stopped beside me.

“Jason’ll be here in a few minutes. He told his mom he has to return my Axis and Allies game.”

“This is your mother?” I asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

Todd Farraday nodded.

“Did you want to hurt her? Is that why you did it?”

“I already
told
you, I had nothing to do with…”

“I’m not talking about the murders, Todd, I’m asking about the bomb threats. Why’d you make those calls? Why’d you throw those rocks through the windows?”

“But aren’t I supposed to have my attorney…”

I turned on him savagely. “Don’t give me that shit. You already know you’ve beaten the system. You know good and well I won’t be able to touch you for that, but I deserve an answer, and, by God, I’m going to get it.”

Suddenly Todd Farraday’s eyes filled with tears. He sidled away from me and sank down sobbing on a nearby ottoman. “You don’t know what it’s like having a mother like my mom, a mother who always wants you to be perfect, who always says you have to set an example. The other kids, except for Jason, were all the time making fun of me. I just wanted to be one of the guys, you know what I mean? I just wanted to be treated like everybody else.”

“But you
weren’t
treated like everybody else,” I countered roughly, wanting to rub his nose in it. “Your mother got you off!”

“I know,” Todd Farraday responded bleakly, staring down at his empty hands. “And that wasn’t fair, either. I wanted to be treated like any other kid, but she said I’d better keep my mouth shut because having that on my record would wreck my life.”

Todd paused and looked up at me for the first time since he’d dropped onto the ottoman. “It all backfired,” he added, “and the other kids still make fun of me.”

The doorbell rang, and Todd got up to answer it, walking with his shoulders slouched. God help me, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, too. Maybe quitting drinking was turning me into some kind of sentimental slob.

Jason Ragsdale was another scrawny kid, an overgrown pup whose body had yet to grow into his feet. He too was wearing the same teenage uniform of ragged clothes and untied, ratty high-tops. These kids didn’t live on the pricey side of Queen Anne because they were poor, but you sure couldn’t tell that by looking.

“This is them,” Todd said unenthusiastically. “I told ‘em you’d tell them what you saw.”

Jason Ragsdale shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I didn’t see all that much, really. I mean, I could have been mistaken.”

“What did you see, Jason?” I asked, handing him my card. “This could be very important.”

He nodded and bit his lower lip. “If I hadn’t almost run into her, I wouldn’t have seen it. That’s why my mother said no skiing in the city. She was afraid I’d hit somebody, and I almost did. It scared me to death.”

“Tell us exactly what you saw,” Peters urged. “Try not to leave anything out.”

Jason shrugged and shook his shoulder-length locks. “I had been going up and down Fourth because there wasn’t much traffic there, and I almost ran into her. She came out of the parking lot and was walking up the hill. I didn’t know anyone was there. I flew past when she was right by the school district office, and I think, no, I’m sure, she had a gun in her hand.”

“A woman?” I asked.

“No. Not a woman really. She wasn’t very old, I mean not much older than me. She was wearing one of those knit caps, so I couldn’t see her hair, but she was young, I know that much. I saw the gun, just in a flash, you know, as I went by. I told myself I was mistaken, but then, a few minutes later…”