Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (82 page)

He shook his head.

“When I didn’t see you anymore, I thought maybe you had solved
your case and that you had been freed.”

“I wish that were true. I…” He turned his back to her. He hadn’t
planned to pursue the case tonight but the opportunity had presented itself. He
couldn’t look at her when he asked. “Do
you
know where the painting is?”

“No. Is it important to you, too?”

He turned to her. “I’m sorry. But Bowden thinks it is tied to my
case. I think your whole family is involved going back four generations. I’m
sorry, Tara.”

She got out of bed then, her mouth open slightly. “My family is
not involved in anything illegal.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Don’t start backing out now, and leaving me to wonder what you
mean.” Her words were sharp, demanding, her body rigid. “Explain yourself.”

“I think your great-grandfather procured some money with immoral
and possibly illegal trading practices. I think he passed the money on to your
grandfather, who painted clues in the picture indicating its location. I think
that is why Adam was killed, and the painting stolen.”

“Why wouldn’t I know anything about this great inheritance?”

“I don’t believe your mother knows about it either. The house
and the property were willed to her. The boys got the painting.”

“Then Uncle Vince took it. No… Chase Bowden is working for him.
He doesn’t have it either.” Tara looked into his eyes. “I never knew I lived a
lie.”

“You don’t, Tara. You’re outside it. Your grandfather left you
and Kay out of it on purpose. I think maybe that was what he had in mind, when
he painted the picture. Maybe he wanted to leave the whole family out of it,
but wasn’t sure.”

“So someone killed Adam for the money?”

Sorry that he was the one telling her this, he sighed. “I
believe so.”

“And the suspects are members of my family.” Tara stated it as a
fact.

“Not you, and not your mom, or your dad. They wouldn’t know
about it. They already got their inheritance.”

“But another cousin, like Andre, Doug or Rene… Oh, Sam. It can’t
be true.” Tara flopped on the bed and buried her face in her pillow and cried.
“They wouldn’t turn on their own blood.”

“I’m sorry, Tara. I should never have...” His voice faded.

She lifted her head from the pillow, but did not look at him.
“No. You needed to know. I’m selfish and… you need to solve your case. You need
to be freed from this world.”

“The sun will rise soon. I have to go.”

Tara lifted her head from the pillow, her red eyes beseeching
him.  “Sam. Promise me that you’ll come back tonight.” She wiped at a tear
with her thumb. “Promise to wake me, and let me help you. Please. Let me be
your friend again.”

He stared at her a second as he realized the honesty of her
request and the purity of her soul. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

7

The morning was still dark when Bowden parked the black Escape a
block away from Andre Fonck’s house in Kirkland. The residential neighborhood
probably contained over a hundred separate homes, with sixteen homes packed
inside each acre. The streets that wound through the houses were designed with
curves, cul-de-sacs and circles to confuse would-be burglars.

The theory was that burglars wouldn’t want to enter a maze to
commit a crime; they would want a simple escape route. The theory didn’t take
into account that 82 percent of all burglaries were committed by someone living
in the neighborhood.

Bowden pulled out his binoculars and studied the house. Once it
got light, his activities wouldn’t go unnoticed. The front of the house held a
front door and a three-car garage. Above the garage were a couple of bedrooms.
The main part of the house was built behind it. The light blue paint with white
trim was standard in the complex. Every fourth house boasted the same colors.

Ten feet of the yard, from the sidewalk to the house, was
manicured grass with two large, landscape rocks and a single ten-foot tall
tree. A light shown in the entryway above the door and all the windows were
dark.

Bowden set the binoculars on the seat and turned the heater down,
but let the car run. He wanted to stay warm and he wanted the windshield wipers
working. He’d parked on a curve so he could watch the house through the
windshield and wouldn’t have to turn his head.

A light came on in an upper room, glowing through the shade
drawn across the window. He looked at his watch and allowed 30 minutes to pass,
then he got out and walked to the front door. A newspaper, wrapped in a plastic
bag, lay near the porch and he picked it up before ringing the doorbell. He
waited a minute and rang it again. The foyer light turned on. He stepped up to
the door as it opened.

Andre Fonck stood inside wearing blue sweatpants under a purple
robe. He held a coffee cup in one hand and a towel in the other. He had just
finished shaving, but hadn’t had a chance to dry or comb his hair.

“Hi. I’m Detective Chase Bowden. Could I come in a moment?”

Andre took a half step backwards without saying anything, and
Bowden stepped through the narrow opening and into the house.

“Is there a place we could talk without disturbing the rest of
the family?”

“It’s just my wife. We don’t have kids. Why don’t we go into the
dinning room?”

He could smell the strong coffee in Andre’s hand, and suddenly
craved a cup. He used to drink four or five cups in the morning as he prepared
his cases.

“The coffee smells good.”

Andre paused. “Would you like some?”

“Black, please.”

He watched Andre take a mug from the cupboard and fill it. He
took the mug from Andre and sipped the coffee. His lips contracted as the sweet
substance hit his tongue.

“It’s Hazelnut Cream. My wife likes it,” Andre said, providing
an explanation. “You kind of get used to it.”

They went into the dining room, where Andre sat down. He held
his cup in both hands and rested his arms on the table.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“We need to talk about Adam.”

“About his murder?”

He nodded. “I have a wit that says you left the house shortly
before the patrol units arrived.”

Andre’s eyes widened and the mug in his hands slowly dipped
until it rested on the table. “What’s a wit?”

“Sorry. A witness. I have a witness that saw you driving away
from the house.”

“I don’t know when the police arrived.”

“But you were at the house?” He asked the question, already
knowing the answer, in an attempt to get Andre to open up a little.

“Are you going to advise me of my rights?”

He sighed. “Have I arrested you?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t need to advise you of your rights.”

“But I’m a suspect, right?”

“No. Unless you know something that we don’t.” The “we” was to
further Andre’s belief that he was a police detective.

“Don’t you guys usually work in pairs?”

“Only when we are contacting suspects. Now, I need to ask the
questions or I might be stuck here all day.” He took a sip of the coffee. He
wanted to provide a natural break in the interrogation. It was subtle
manipulation that returned the questioning to him.

“Why did you go to Barry’s house?” he asked.

“It’s not Barry’s house. It’s Kay’s. I went up there…”

Andre’s gaze darted up to his face, and fell back to the table.
Bowden knew that the rest of the sentence would determine how the interview
would go.

“… to find the painting,” Andre added.

“What painting?”

“You know. Barry reported it stolen about a week ago.”

“Sorry.” Bowden shrugged. “Paper doesn’t move through the
department that fast. But if it was stolen, why were you looking for it in Barry’s…
Kay’s house?”

“I said that Barry reported it stolen.  I don’t think it
was. I think he hid it in the house and reported it stolen.”

Bowden nodded to convey the appropriate interest. “Why would he
do that, and why would this painting be so important?”

“The painting is very valuable. Several of Pierre’s heirs wanted
it. I think Barry hid it rather than give it up.”

He swirled the coffee in his cup. The idea that the painting
remained in the house intrigued him, but it wasn’t the information he came for.

“All right. So you’re in the house and what happens?”

“Well I started….” Fonck’s eyes widened and he gripped the edge
of the table. “Wait a minute. I don’t… it wasn’t a burglary.”

He helped him out. “Did you have a key?”

“Yes.”

“Then it wasn’t a burglary. Go ahead now. You started what?”

Fonck release the table and sat back in his chair with a sigh.
“Well, I started looking through the house. I went upstairs first and looked in
the bedrooms. I couldn’t find anything, so I went back to the study. That’s when…”

Chase waited, not helping him out this time.

“Well, that’s when I found Adam. I got out of there fast. I
thought that I… well, I hadn’t been invited into the house. You see?”

“So you drove to Issaquah and called 911 from a pay phone,
because you didn’t want anyone to know you went into the house without an
invitation.”

“Yeah, I…”  He glanced up at him. “How’d you…? I called
anonymous.”

“That’s okay. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“I didn’t kill Adam!”

“Hold on. I didn’t say you did, but you left out a chunk of the
story. What happened when you found Adam?”

“I was surprised. Scared, actually. I just took off.”

He sighed audibly and placed his coffee cup on the table.

“So you found him dead?”

“Yes! I told you I didn’t kill him.” Andre squeezed his mug
between his hands, his knuckles turning white.

“You are misunderstanding my questions. I’m not accusing you of
the murder. I want to know if Adam was still alive when you found him, and died
while you were there. Did he have a chance to say anything to you? Did you find
a knife? That’s the kind of stuff I’m looking for.”

“Oh. Um. No, he was dead when I found him.”

“How did you know? Did you check? I mean did you touch the
body?”

“Yeah. I went up and put my hand on his back and shook him. Then
I grabbed his wrist and tried to find a pulse. I couldn’t find one.” He paused.
“I didn’t see a knife.”

“When you arrived, did you expect the house to be empty?”

Andre ran a hand through his black, wet hair. “It should’ve
been.”

“Did you see anyone leaving when you got there?”

“No. Adam and his sister were supposed to leave for Spokane
earlier that morning.”

“His sister?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why she would have left without him.”

Bowden tried to remember all the people he had seen coming and
going from the house. If there were houseguests, it would explain why the house
was never empty.

“They were staying at the house?”

“Yeah.”

“What did they drive?”

“Adam’s white Cherokee.”

“What’s his sister’s name?”

“Michelle.”

“Fonck?”

“Right. She’s eighteen or nineteen. She’s not married yet.”

He pulled the notebook from his pocket and flipped a couple
pages. He found the note on the white Jeep Grand Cherokee and found the plate
written beside it.

The vehicle had been parked out front when he began his
surveillance of the house. When it left, it kept coming back, and he thought
that it belonged at the residence. He remembered that the two girls usually
drove it. So where was the car? And where was Michelle?

“Thank you, Mr. Fonck. You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate
that. Look. Could I have your phone number in case other questions come up, and
I, or someone else from the police department, need to reach you?”

“Sure.”

He found a blank page in the notebook and wrote the numbers
down. He handed the mug, still half-full of coffee, back to Andre. “Thanks
again.”

“No problem.”

He walked to his car and got in. He drove around the block so
that Andre would see him leave, and so that he could watch the house from the
other side.

After parking, he flipped through his notebook. Had he missed
something during his surveillance? People had come and gone while he slept in
his car. He knew that and it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t go three days
without sleep.

But what happened to Michelle? He remembered seeing the girl.
She was about five-foot six inches tall, an inch shorter than Tara, and had
light brown hair that curled around her narrow face. The face betrayed the fact
that she was twenty pounds overweight.

A half-hour later, the garage door on Andre Fonck’s house rolled
up and the red Corvette backed out onto the street. The taillights popped on
and the backup lights went off as the car started to drive away. He shifted his
car into drive, but didn’t step on the gas.

Another car had started up and turned on its headlights.

Bowden stared at it as it pulled out onto the street. He hadn’t
turned his lights on yet and he wouldn’t until the cars had passed the first
block, but he hadn’t seen anyone enter the other vehicle. He thought about the
street as he had seen it when he went into Andre’s home. The car hadn’t been
there. It arrived while he was inside. He remembered it now, a little ways
behind his car, parked and empty—unless the driver had ducked when he
came out the door.

He drove to the first stop sign and put on his headlights as he
turned onto the street. It was just after seven-thirty in the morning and still
dark out. He pulled up behind the vehicle between him and Andre, and read the
plate, then eased back, letting the distance between the cars widen.

When they stopped at a light, he pulled out his notebook and
wrote down the plate. It was a blue Honda Civic. Maybe a cop car. He reached
for his cellphone, then muttered to himself. He didn’t have it. He’d have to
ask Cooper about it.

Soon afterwards, the Corvette went through a yellow light, and
the Civic slid through on the red, forcing him to stop as the cross traffic
filled the lane behind it. He watched as the two cars drove away. He took a
deep breath and let it out, mentally releasing his stranglehold on the steering
wheel.
There
are always days like this
.

Then, he saw Andre pull off the road and the Civic follow him.
Bowden raised up in his seat to get a better view, trying to see over the tops
of the cars passing in front of him. Andre had stopped at an espresso bar and
rolled the window down. It was one of the hundreds of bars built along the
streets of the Greater Seattle area, which sold lattes and mochas through a
drive-up window.

The light turned green and he waited until the car behind him
honked. He rolled forward and saw Andre hand a bill through the window and pull
the cup into his car. Bowden rolled the window up and pulled to the side of the
road. He gave Andre plenty of room ahead of him as he pulled out.

The blue Civic shot out onto the street, its tires spinning on
the wet pavement. The driver glanced in his rearview mirror to see how close
Bowden came to rear-ending him. Bowden flicked his high beams on. The other
driver reached up and turned the mirror, making Bowden smile and turn the high
beams off.

Andre drove onto the Microsoft Campus in Redmond. The blue Honda
pulled through the stoplight and made an illegal U-turn. He was coming back out
as Bowden pulled in, allowing him to look at the driver. The man looked at him
and gunned the Honda. The traffic backed up at the light and he couldn’t make a
U-turn so he had to let him go. But one question was answered. It wasn’t a cop
car.