Betrayal of Trust

Chapter 11

Far too often in my life I’ve been the one to bring parents-many times unsuspecting parents-the dreadful news that their beloved children are dead-that they’ve been murdered by some known or unknown assailant. Most of the time, the grief they feel rises up like a huge ocean wave-an emotional tsunami-that wipes out everything in its path. Losing a child to murder is awful.

And, having lost a wife to suicide, I can tell you that the anguish I felt after losing Anne Corley was worse than anything that ever happened to me. Nothing before and nothing since has ever come close.

But this was different. This was the suicide of a child, and Gerry Willis had been charged with the care and keeping of that lost child. The poor man’s understandable anguish seemed to suck the air out of the room. I didn’t say I understood how he felt, because I didn’t. Besides, saying something like that would have diminished us both. Mel got that, too.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Is there anything we can do?”

Gerry didn’t answer her for a long time. Instead, he sat there staring at his grandson’s still body and let tears flow unchecked. Finally he wiped his eyes and straightened his shoulders. I thought he was going to stand up. Instead, a puzzled frown crossed his face.

“I wonder where he found it,” he said. “He hadn’t worn it for several weeks. He told me he lost it, and I was pissed off about it because I paid good money for that watch. I expected him to take better care of it, but then last night, when he came to dinner, there it was on his wrist. I meant to ask him about it, but as you can imagine, last night’s dinner wasn’t a time for casual conversation.”

Mel and I exchanged glances. We had both been in this very room earlier that afternoon and had heard Josh tell us the watch was lost. How was it possible that it turned up so soon after that discussion? And where had it been in the meantime?

I looked around the room, where everything was neat as a pin-where absolutely nothing was out of place. Josh Deeson had come to this house with next to nothing. He hadn’t lost his mother’s Bible. It didn’t make sense that in all this excessive neatness he had somehow misplaced a relatively expensive watch that had to have counted as one of his prized possessions. Then again, since it came from his grandfather, maybe Josh hadn’t prized it all that much after all.

“Can I have it?” Gerry asked. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to keep it.”

Just then all those years of being a homicide cop kicked into overdrive. “I’m sorry, but you can’t have it right now,” I said. “It’s still part of the crime scene. We were about to bag it and take it into evidence, but I’ll make sure it gets back to you.”

“Promise?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I promise.”

The CSI guys were still in the room and they had been taking in every word of the conversation. Without being asked, one of the techs obligingly slipped the watch off Josh’s wrist. He placed the Seiko in a glassine bag and then passed it along to the guy who was keeping the evidence log.

Gerry looked back at Josh’s still body. “What happens next?” he asked.

“The M.E. will have to come collect the body,” I told him.

“And then an autopsy?” Gerry’s voice cracked over that last word. Josh’s voice had cracked because he was a boy becoming a man. His grandfather’s voice broke because now that transformation would never happen.

“Yes,” Mel said gently. “Under the circumstances, an autopsy is required by law.”

Gerry shuddered. “I see,” he said.

Then, heaving a sigh, he grabbed hold of the handles on the walker and pulled himself upright. “I’d better be going,” he said. “Before Marsha figures out I’m gone.”

Suspicions confirmed. Governor Longmire had no idea that Gerry had made the long pilgrimage up to the third floor, to the attic, as he had once called it.

“If you’ll give us a couple more minutes to finish packing up, Mr. Willis,” one of the CSIs said, “we can give you a hand getting back down the stairs. And then I’ll let Captain Hoyt know to send the M.E. and his guys back upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Gerry said. “That would be a big help. I think getting back down the stairs on my own might be more than I can handle.”

So much for the guys the medical examiner had scathingly referred to as the CSI “dolts.” I’d take one of them over Dr. Larry Mowat any day of the week.

Once they took Gerry with them and headed downstairs, Mel and I were left alone for the first time in the better part of an hour.

“What do you think about the note?” I asked.

“He was planning on dying,” Mel said. “If he did this because he was involved in the strangulation of that girl, it seems to me that he would have stepped up and accepted responsibility instead of denying it. On the other hand, if he didn’t do it, why commit suicide? What was it he couldn’t stand anymore?”

It was gratifying to know that Mel and I were on the same wavelength.

“Did you talk to Zoe?” I asked.

Mel shook her head. “The doctor got there too soon. He said he was giving her a sedative and wouldn’t let me hang around. I did talk to Todd, though. He says he has a photo for us. He sent a jpeg with pretty reasonable resolution to my computer. I used my air card to send it to Katie Dunn. I asked her to run us off a couple hundred copies. I have a feeling we’re going to need them. But what’s the deal with the watch?”

“The watch was missing for a period of time. If someone else had it while it was MIA,” I said, “what’s the best way to carry a watch?”

“On your wrist,” Mel answered.

“So maybe whoever had the watch made that same mistake? I’m sure the crime lab will find Josh’s DNA stuck between the links. With any kind of luck, someone else’s DNA will be stuck there, too.”

“But these are kids,” Mel objected. “What are the chances that their DNA will be in any of the databases?”

“What are the chances that we’ll find the same DNA and/or fingerprints on that blue scarf?”

“Got it,” Mel said with a smile. “Because one of the people pulling on that scarf was also wearing the watch, but if the kid’s prints aren’t in the system, that still won’t help us.”

That’s what happens in investigations-you take two steps back for each step forward.

Dr. Mowat turned up about then carrying a body bag and bringing with him two beefy assistants.

“It’s about time,” he grumbled. “I’ve had my guys waiting downstairs for damned ever.”

We stayed long enough to see the body zipped into the bag and loaded onto a gurney. I didn’t envy the two assistants the job of taking a loaded gurney back down the stairs. I also didn’t envy their having to work for Mowat.

Mowat started to follow the gurney down the hallway. When my cell phone rang he stopped, waiting, I suppose, to see if the call had anything to do with him.

“How’s it going?” Ross Connors wanted to know.

“They’re just now picking up the body.”

“So that jerk Mowat is there?” he asked.

“At the moment,” I answered.

“And it’s definitely suicide?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“I got off the phone with Katie a few moments ago,” Ross continued. “Tell Mel that the copies of that photo she asked for are ready.”

“Do you want us to stop by and pick them up?”

“No,” Ross said. “I don’t want either one of you anywhere near the office down there. Since the WSP crime lab people were on the premises, people will most likely assume they’re handling the investigation. I want to leave it that way for the time being. Of course, that’s counting on some discretion from Larry Mowat, which is probably leaning on a bent reed.

“Anyway, I told Katie to put the photos in an envelope and leave them for you at the desk at the Red Lion. And as for the garbage. .”

I had been so tied up with the crime scene investigation that I had somehow assumed that my garbage-sorting detail had gotten lost in the shuffle. Not so.

“I had one of my friends empty the garbage cans in question into a pair of tarps. He’s taken them to one of those self-storage unit places just off the freeway down in Tumwater.” He started to dictate the name and address.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Let me write this down.”

Once I had pen in hand, he gave me the information.

“Go in, ask to speak to the manager on duty. That’ll be Rebekah Ming.” It was an unusual name, and he had to spell it out for me. “Show her your ID, tell her Ross sent you,” he continued. “She’ll give you the key.”

“Great,” I said. “That’s exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of my day.” I didn’t say “sorting garbage” aloud because Dr. Mowat was right there, listening to every word.

“Right,” Ross said cheerfully. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

“Not enough,” I grumbled. “Maybe it’s time I asked for a raise.”

“Just be sure you get to the storage unit before five,” Ross said. “That’s when Rebekah goes off duty, and she’s my guy, if you will. She also knows about what’s being dropped off there. When you finish going through the stuff, she’d like you to drag everything that’s left out to their Dumpsters and get rid of it. With it being summer and all, they don’t want that stuff left inside overnight attracting vermin.”

“Yes,” I said. “I understand. I’ll get right on it first thing this afternoon.”

I also understood all too well that it was going to be a dirty, smelly job.

Mel waited until I ended the call. “Okay,” she said for Dr. Mowat’s benefit and again without mentioning the word “garbage.” “Let’s go downstairs and see if we can interview members of the family.”

The situation on the ground floor of the governor’s mansion had changed remarkably in the length of time-close to two hours-since Mel and I had gone upstairs. Time flies when you’re having fun. Earlier, except for a couple of cop cars and Dr. Mowat’s van, the driveway had been empty. Now it was packed with people-media people-with a full contingent of reporters equipped with camera crews and microphones. Mel’s Cayman was stuck right in the middle of a traffic jam of media vans. The only way we were going to extract her vehicle was by using a winch and a crane.

Captain Hoyt of the Washington State Patrol met us at the bottom of the stairs. “The reporters are waiting for a statement,” she said, nodding toward the crowd milling outside. “Are you going to do the press conference or should I?”

“Go ahead,” I said. “By all means.”

Besides, I knew Ross Connors would have my head if I put my mug in front of a television camera.

Captain Hoyt turned to Mel as if for verification.

“Please,” Mel said. “We need to talk to the family.”

“All right,” Captain Hoyt said dubiously. “But don’t say I didn’t give you first dibs.”

Mel and I let her go with cheery good wishes. Once Captain Hoyt has a few bad media experiences to her credit, she might see giving a press conference in the same kind of light Mel and I do-which is right up there with going to the dentist for a root canal.

I looked toward the study. Inside I counted at least four visitors in the room in addition to Marsha Longmire. That count made for two more occupants than the room could comfortably hold. Mel and I were standing there trying to decide what to do when Gerry Willis appeared in the doorway of the dining room, two rooms away. He was still using the walker, but he looked somewhat better. Like the governor, he seemed to have gathered his resources, composed himself, and put on his “company” face. He motioned for us to come to him. I think he was still tired from his long trip up and down the stairs.

“We were hoping to conduct some family interviews,” I ventured.

“Marsha is busy with some of her big donors, Zoe’s still sleeping, and Giselle is at her dad’s place,” Gerry said. “That leaves only me. Come have some lunch.”

Mel and I had missed breakfast, and we had both missed lunch. The last food that had passed my lips had been the peach cobbler and ice cream at Julie and Todd Hatcher’s place the night before. As hungry as I was right then, even one of Marsha Longmire’s unadulterated tuna sandwiches would have been welcome. Once I caught sight of the chow laid out buffet style on the dining room table, however, I realized that it was Tuesday. A miracle had occurred. The governor’s cook was back from her day off, and she had whipped up a spread that would have done most church potlucks proud.

“We expect people will start stopping by once word gets out,” Gerry said. “Help yourselves.”

And so we did. I picked up a small china plate from a stack on the buffet along with a tiny cloth napkin. Yesterday’s sandwiches had been served on paper napkins. Today was different-real dishes and real napkins. The cook evidently made the food and washed the dishes.

I loaded my plate with a couple of deviled eggs, some slices of ham and cheese, some grapes from a tray heaped high with fruit, and a freshly baked biscuit still hot from the oven. On a sideboard sat a coffee urn flanked by rows of china cups and saucers. There were also rows of glassware clustered around pitchers filled with various kinds of fruit juices and iced tea. Apparently an army of friends was expected rather than just a few, but at that point Mel, Gerry, and I were the only people in the dining room.

We hadn’t attempted to interview Gerry upstairs in Josh’s room. For one thing, the CSI techs had been there. For another, the poor man had been too overcome with emotion. It seemed likely that this would be one of our last chances to see him alone. Once crowds of well-wishers descended on the governor’s mansion, that wouldn’t be possible. I set my loaded plate on one corner of the dining room table. Then I sat down and pulled out my notebook. As soon as I did so, Mel reached in her purse. I didn’t have to ask. I knew she was switching on her powerful cassette recorder.

“What can you tell us about Josh’s state of mind last night?” I asked.

“Nothing, really,” Gerry said. “I’ve been going over and over it all day long, wondering if there was something out of kilter that I should have noticed, but there wasn’t. He went out for a run late in the afternoon.”

“By himself?” I asked.

“I wasn’t in any condition to go with him.”

“But no one else went along?”

“He came by my room and asked if it was okay. I admit going for a run seemed a little out of character for Josh, but Marsha was too busy with other things by then for me to ask her about it and at least he asked permission. I told him fine as long as he was back in time for dinner. He was.”

“Other than his going for a jog, did anything else strike you as unusual?” Mel asked.

“Other than the obvious? No. Josh knew he was in trouble for sneaking out the night before, so maybe he was a little quieter than usual-contrite.”

“What happened next?” Mel asked.

“Nobody felt like cooking, so we ordered a pizza and had it delivered. When the pizza got here, Zoe went upstairs and told Josh it was time for dinner. He told her he wasn’t hungry and didn’t want any. I started to go upstairs to talk to him, but Marsha went instead. She told him when things get tough, families are supposed to stick together. She also told him that he couldn’t hide out in his room forever and that he needed to come down and eat with the rest of us.

“So he did. He came to the table and ate a couple of pieces of pizza. Pepperoni is his favorite.” Gerry paused, squeezed his eyes shut, and said, “Pepperoni was his favorite. When dinner was over, he said he was tired and went back upstairs. He even excused himself before he went. I guess if there was anything unusual besides his going for a jog, being polite like that would be it. I believed the part about his being tired. After all, he was evidently out most of the previous night and then he was in school all day. That’s the last time I saw him-when he went upstairs after dinner.”

“He didn’t seem angry or upset?” Mel asked.

Gerry shook his head. “Not really. As I said already, he was subdued.”

“Tell us about the watch he was wearing,” Mel urged. “You seemed surprised to see it today.”

“I was. As I told you earlier, as far as I knew, the watch had been missing for weeks. At least that’s what Josh told me. He must have had it all along and just stopped wearing it.”

“And he was wearing it when he came down to dinner?”

Gerry nodded. “Yes,” he declared, “he was.”

“Did Josh have any visitors last night, either before dinner or after?”

“Not that we know of,” Gerry said. “I mean, no one came to the front door and rang the bell, if that’s what you mean, but how would we know for sure? We didn’t know he was getting out overnight, which he had probably been doing for months before Marsha finally caught him at it. If he’s been going in and out without our knowing it, then there’s a good chance other people have been coming in without our knowledge, too.

“But in view of what happened the previous night, he shouldn’t have been able to sneak someone in. Marsha asked the security detail to make sure that the guards that patrol the capitol campus would stop by here overnight as well. I don’t know how often they came by, but no one reported seeing any rope ladders going up or down the side of the building. If they had been there, I think someone would have noticed.”

“How did Josh get along with the governor’s girls?” Mel asked.

“With Gizzy and Zoe?” Gerry asked.

I nodded.

“Okay, I guess,” Gerry said. “I’d say it wasn’t like a real blended family-more like a blended family once removed. Even though Josh and the two girls are fairly close in age, he was my grandson, not my son. When he first got here, there was some jockeying for position and so forth, but that’s just kids. I think we made the right decision when we sent him to public school rather than Olympia Prep. With the other girls ahead of him in school, there would have been undue expectations from some of the faculty members. Josh had holes in his academic background that meant he never would have measured up. Regular high school was tough enough. Olympia Prep would have been impossible.”

“Someone mentioned that he’d been getting in fights,” I said.

“I’m not sure how it happened, but some of the kids evidently learned about what happened to his mother. They teased him about it. He was a good-looking kid, but not as good-looking as he could have been. He should have had braces to straighten his teeth, but his mother never had the money or the inclination to do that. By the time I offered to take him to an orthodontist, he didn’t want to go. He said he was too old for braces. As I understand it, the fights came out of teasing at school. One boy asked him if his teeth were crooked because he had meth mouth like his mother.”

“Kids can be such mean bastards,” Mel said.

Gerry looked at her, smiled, and nodded sadly. “That’s the only instance I know about for sure,” he said. “There were probably plenty of others. I should have protected him from all that, but I didn’t.”

Gerry Willis was back to blaming himself, not for the first time and doubtless not for the last. As far as I was concerned, he was right to do so. Josh had lived in the Willis/Longmire household for more than three years. Somebody should have stood up for him.

“You couldn’t protect him,” Mel said kindly. “No matter how much parents want to, they can’t save their kids from all the little creeps in the world. Kids have to go out there and sink or swim on their own.”

Gerry swallowed hard. “And Josh sank,” he said bleakly.

I had barely touched the food on my plate, but I no longer wanted it. Ross Connors had decreed that our cover story had to do with Mel and me investigating a phony case of school bullying. Now, with the meth-mouth comment, it seemed our cover story had turned all too real and at least two kids were dead.

“Can you give us the names of any of Josh’s friends?” Mel asked after a pause.

“Not really.”

“Outside interests? Extracurricular activities?”

“He wasn’t an athlete, if that’s what you mean. That was why the jogging surprised me. He was interested in chess, though. There’s a chess club at the high school. I met the adviser, a Mr. Dysart, briefly at an end-of-school pizza party, but I didn’t know any of the other kids. I know it sounds strange that we can’t tell you more about him, but he was a pretty self-contained kid.”

“Given his background, maybe he had to be,” I said.

“Thank you for saying that,” Gerry said.

Just then the doorbell rang. A group of people came into the house. They stopped briefly in the entryway. The door to the governor’s study opened. The people who had been closeted in there with Marsha Longmire filed out and milled around with the newcomers, talking and shaking hands. When they all started toward the living room, Mel and I decided it was time to take our leave.

“It would probably be better if we weren’t here when your guests arrive,” I said. “Is there a way we could leave without causing a disruption of some kind?”

“Sure,” he said, pointing. “You could go out through the kitchen.”

And that’s exactly what we did. The cook may have been a little surprised when we came through and asked to be let out the back way, but she was evidently used to off-the-wall requests. When we came around from the back of the building we were relieved to see that most of the media presence was gone. Captain Hoyt had done an admirable job of getting rid of them.

There were new cars scattered around the driveway, but Mel was able to squeeze the Cayman out between a bright blue Jaguar and a red Volvo station wagon without denting any of them.

We didn’t speak until we were back on the street and headed for the hotel. “So what’s the truth about Josh Deeson?” Mel demanded. “Is he a killer or a victim?”

“Maybe a little of both,” I suggested.

“Maybe the girl was one of his tormentors,” Mel said after a pause. “Maybe the killing was all about revenge, and he just couldn’t deal with the consequences.”

That seemed plausible enough. We drove the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence while I considered what Mel had just said. Unfortunately, it was all too true. When Josh Deeson came to live at the governor’s mansion, he had been dirt poor and years behind his peers in terms of academic achievement. Those separate ingredients had combined into a fateful mix that had made him ripe to become a target for mindless bullies. As a friendless loner he had most likely been the butt of countless ugly jokes. Now he was also dead.

All of that left me wondering about just one thing: Whatever happened to Josh Deeson’s civil rights and the civil rights of the unidentified girl who had been strangled with the blue scarf?

I knew that both Governor Longmire and Gerard Willis cared about what had happened to the poor kid, but Mel Soames and I were the ones who were actually charged with finding out the whys and wherefores behind Josh Deeson’s death, and the unknown girl’s death, too.

I was determined that we would do just that, come hell or high water.