Page 60 of Den of Iniquity

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I cautioned. “This is something that needs to be sorted out between the two of them—your dad and Caroline.”

“Okay, then,” Kyle agreed. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

My room service coffee arrived right then, so I signed off with Kyle to go answer the door. Once I took my first sip, I realized I owed Todd Hatcher a call as well. He needed to know where his trail of aliases had led me and that, for the moment at least, I no longer required his services. When I called, I reached his voicemail, so I left a brief message to that effect, and let it go at that. Next I called Lulu Benson and brought her up-to-date as well.

My mother was big on my saying please and thank you, and following her advice on that score has served me well during my years as a homicide cop. When someone helps me, I make it a point to thank them.

Tired of talking, I ordered dinner from room service to go with the rest of my coffee. After dinner I climbed into bed and finally got around to tackling my backed-up supply of crossword puzzles.Somewhere along the way, I drifted off. When Mel called me at ten o’clock to tell me good night, I was already fast asleep. I suspect I may have growled at her a little. Being awakened out of a sound sleep so someone can tell you good night can be annoying.

By nine o’clock Thursday morning I was back at the Evidence unit. Officer Harriman’s greeting wasn’t entirely welcoming. “I think you forgot about your damned bananas,” she muttered. “They’re starting to stink.”

She was right. When I opened the door to the locker, they were way beyond what my mother would have turned into banana bread, so I unloaded them into the nearest trash bin, which happened to be in the men’s room off the lobby. Then I followed Officer Harriman back down the hallway where she unlocked the door to my evidence room closet. I wasn’t looking forward to spending another day staring at a computer screen, but that was what I had signed on for.

Since Officer Harriman had allowed me to leave the evidence room intact, I was able to go right back to where I’d left off, which was examining the mini-mart parking lot. I could have picked up the action at 5:07p.m.—Loren hadn’t shown up at the Fremont Inn until hours later, and there was no telling when his killer might have arrived in the neighborhood—but for the sake of completeness, I backed up the footage to the twelvep.m.time stamp.

This time studying the video was a two-pronged process. Even though the woman I’d seen following Loren Gregson to his death hadn’t been pushing a loaded grocery cart, that’s what I looked for again, at least in the foreground—a stray grocery cart. One of Darius’s fellow food bank volunteers had mentioned to me that hehad been assisting that supposedly homeless woman back to her van, so I looked at vans, too—ones coming and going in the mini-mart parking lot as well as those passing by on the street.

It was painstaking, mind-numbing work. Two hours in I was only up to 2:35p.m.on the time stamp, but I was done for, and so were my eyes, so I took a break. I happened to know that there was a Krispy Kreme in the neighborhood. Wanting to worm my way back into Officer Harriman’s good graces, at lunchtime I went looking for it. I bought a box containing a dozen glazed doughnuts—two for me to eat for lunch and ten more to leave in the break room at the Evidence unit. Yes, I’m well aware that cops and doughnuts are a cliché, but the reason they are is that they happen to go together, sort of like love and marriage, as it were.

On the way back I drove past another longtime favorite—Pecos Pit Barbecue. Since I’d only brought along one change of clothes, I had already determined I was going home to Bellingham that night come hell or high water, so why not come home a hero? Mel adores Pecos Pit, so I stopped by and stood in line at a building that had started out decades earlier as a gas station. Most of the hungry customers were on their lunch breaks. I was the only one ordering an entire family dinner, which consisted of a batch of some-assembly-required barbecued beef sandwiches, keeping the buns separate from the meat. Then, armed with tubs of beef, coleslaw, and baked beans, I texted both Mel and Kyle, letting them know that I’d be home in time for dinner and that I was personally in charge of that evening’s takeout.

To say Officer Harriman was thrilled when I dropped off my peace offering on my way past would be an understatement. Once in my evidence room closet, I went back to work. Three more hoursin and shortly after sixp.m.on the video time stamp and threep.m.in real time, I called it quits. If I wanted to beat the worst of the traffic, I was probably already too late.

Officer Harriman glanced at her watch. “You’re heading out early today,” she observed.

“I live in Bellingham, so I’ve got a ninety-mile drive ahead of me.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

I now had more than 150 emails in my inbox, most of them interview transcripts from Yolanda’s assistant. I had already decided that I’d spend the next three days at home sorting my way through those.

“I won’t be back until sometime next week,” I said as I signed out on the clipboard. “I’ve got some other things to catch up on, and I’ll be working from there over the weekend.”

“Whoever he is, he must be loaded,” Officer Harriman said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your client, of course,” she said. “With all the hours you’re putting in, you must be costing him a fortune.”

I didn’t bother telling her I was working for free.

“Yup,” I said. “People get what they pay for.”

“Well, you take care now,” she added with a smile. “Afternoon traffic around here can be a real bitch.”

Thank God for Krispy Kreme!

Officer Harriman was right on both counts—traffic was a mess, and I was putting in way too many hours on this project. What had started out as a favor for Benjamin Weston was now a sprawling case with four known victims and possibly others as well. The scope of it should have required the creation of a whole task force, but so far it was a task force of one. If I was ever able toidentify the female suspect, I was pretty sure I’d be able to get someone at Seattle PD to reopen the case, even if I had to pull in a favor from Ron Peters, but for right now, if it was to be, it was up to me.

Despite heading out early, I didn’t arrive home much before dinnertime where my Pecos Pit Barbecue was received with even more enthusiasm than Officer Harriman had shown for her Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Over dinner I gave Kyle and Mel both a detailed update on my progress with the unmasking of Caroline Richards.

“Sounds like she’s had a pretty difficult life,” Mel commented. “After what she’s been through, it’s hard not to feel sorry for her. No wonder she’s somewhat troubled.”

“And she wanted you to tell me she’s sorry?” Kyle asked. “What’s that all about? What’s she sorry for?”

“Who knows?” I said. “For messing up your life, maybe, or for making a pass at your friend? Take your pick.”

“Do you think she’ll contact her aunt?”

---