Page 42 of Den of Iniquity

Obviously Hank was fishing for information, and I wasn’t prepared to breach Kyle’s confidence. Why he had left Ashland was his story to tell rather than mine.

“He made the decision,” I said, noncommittally, “but he seems to be handling it all right.”

“But how’s it possible he’d never heard of Gene Krupa?” Hank demanded. “What a crying shame. You’d think, considering his interest in drums, that his band teacher would have had the good sense to at least mention that world-famous drummer.”

It occurred to me that maybe Kyle’s band teacher, who also happened to be his father, had never heard of Gene Krupa, either. That’s what I thought but didn’t say aloud.

“Did you know Krupa is the guy who invented drum sets as they are now?” Hank continued.

“Only because Kyle told me,” I said.

“That’s why I’ve held on to mine. It’s a Gene Krupa original. My dad paid a pretty penny for it back in the day. It’s a genuine antique—a collector’s piece, if you will, but it still works. And speaking of antiques, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Remember that old car I had towed out of the garage before we tore it down to rehab the house?”

“It was an old Mustang, right?”

“Right,” Hank said, “a 1966 Shelby Mustang.”

“Shelbys were a big deal back in the day.”

“They still are,” Hank said. “I told Ellen that I’d had it towed to a junkyard, but that was a little white lie. Instead, I took it to anauto restoration outfit down in Seattle. I’m calling it a late-blooming midlife crisis. It cost me a bundle to have it brought back to life, but it’s done now and ready to be picked up. You go back and forth to Seattle a lot more often than I do. I was wondering if I could ask you for a lift to go pick it up the next time you head in that direction. I could ask Ellen to drive me there, but I want to surprise her and have it parked out front when she gets off shift.”

I love surprises.

“You bet,” I said. “I’ll probably end up driving down there sometime this coming week, but I don’t know exactly when.”

“Let me know,” he said. “I’ll be ever so grateful.”

Once the walk was over and as I headed back toward our place, a call came in from Yolanda Aguirre.

“Are you telling me that now there are three connected cases?” she asked when I answered.

“I am indeed,” I told her, so I went on to bring her up to speed on everything I had learned and how DNA and the combination of pairs of hundred-dollar bills had linked two other cases to her file 18.

“And now you believe all three are homicides?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Just a sec,” she said. A keyboard clicked in the background before she spoke again. “File 18. I remember that one. I interviewed the daughter because the mother had committed suicide. Can I contact her and let her know you’re trying to reopen the case?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “That would be premature at this point because we still don’t have enough to reopen the case. I don’t like making promises I may not be able to keep.”

“Then what do I tell the families?” Yolanda asked.

“Just let them know that a private investigator who is lookinginto a number of overdose deaths would like to speak to them about what happened to their loved one. Give them my email address. After that, we’ll have to sit around and wait to see if any of them contact me.”

“That seems fair,” she agreed. “That puts the ball in their court.”

Seeing as how I was now up-to-date as far as anything more I could do on either of my current cases, I gave myself the rest of the day off. While I’d been out walking, the “what’s for dinner” problem had been handled, and the pizza delivery guy showed up exactly on cue. We spent the evening watchingAmerica’s Funniest Videosand Masterpiece on PBS. I never expected to like a show entitledCall the Midwife, but it’s grown on me over time.

Chapter 20

Bellingham, Washington

Monday, March 2, 2020

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