Long Time Gone

CHAPTER 21

All hell broke loose after that. By the time the aid car took off for Harborview Hospital with Heather and Dillon on board followed by the rest of the Peters family, West Highland had filled up with cop cars and media vans. Queen Anne Hill was no longer my turf. In this instance, it wasn’t Brad’s or Mel’s, either. Temporarily relegated to the sidelines, we stood in the rain watching the proceedings just like the other neighborhood onlookers.

“I guess you heard what Dillon said.” Mel’s comment was a quiet one, but it packed a gut-wrenching wallop, because I had indeed heard what he said. “We shouldn’t have done it.”

It was pretty apparent that the “we” in question had to be Dillon and Heather. And as for the “it”? That had to be the murder of Rosemary Peters. All three of us-three sworn police officers-had heard what might well turn out to be Dillon Middleton’s deathbed confession. Dillon was on his way to a hospital and maybe a funeral home. As for Heather? If what Dillon had said was true, Heather Peters might well be headed for prison. The idea that she had played a part in her mother’s murder had been a possibility all along. I simply hadn’t accepted it. Now it was unavoidable.

“She told me she didn’t do it,” I muttered. It was difficult to speak. My heart was breaking for Ron and Amy-and for me. I was glad it was raining. With water coursing down my cheeks, I hoped people wouldn’t notice some of it was tears.

“She lied to you, Beau,” Mel said. “Kids lie all the time.”

“Are you going to arrest her tonight?”

“Probably not,” Mel said. “Tomorrow will be plenty of time. It’ll take that long to get an arrest warrant. Here.” She held out her hand.

“What’s this?”

“A present for you,” she said and handed me a spark-plug wire.

“That’s how you kept him from leaving?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good thinking,” I said, slipping the wire into my pocket. “And good work. How did you get her away from him?”

Mel shrugged. “We didn’t dare make a move as long as Dillon was holding the knife to her throat. But when they got close to the car, he let her loose. I think he really believed she was running away with him. That’s when we made our move.”

“She probably was running away with him,” I said. “And all the time I thought she was doing what she was doing to help her parents.”

“She was helping herself,” Mel said.

Sick at heart, I couldn’t argue the point.

A tow truck picked its way through the assortment of parked cars and came to collect the Focus. I was walking over to hand the spark-plug wire over to the tow-truck driver just as a uniformed officer popped the trunk. He lurched back several paces, and I heard him gasp, “Oh my God!”

When I turned to look, I saw that a bloodied corpse had been jammed into the tiny trunk. As soon as I saw the face, I knew who it was-Molly Wright.

A pair of homicide detectives had already been summoned to the scene of Dillon’s attempted suicide. Now Captain Kramer appeared as if on cue. He didn’t bother glancing at the car or at the open trunk. Instead he made straight for me.

“What the hell is going on here, Beaumont? I thought I told you to stop screwing around in my cases.”

Mel Soames stepped out from behind me before I had a chance to respond. “Like it or not, it happens to be our case, too,” she said reasonably enough.

“My associates,” I interjected. “Melissa Soames and Brad Norton. And this is a former associate of mine,” I added. “Captain Paul Kramer, Seattle PD Homicide, but then I believe you two have already met.”

Kramer leered at Mel. “Oh, it’s you,” he said sarcastically. “So the SHIT squad is out in force-the attorney general uber alles.”

I didn’t like his tone. And even though Mel Soames’s figure was definitely worthy of leers, I sure as hell didn’t like the way he looked at her, either. For her part, Mel seemed singularly unimpressed.

“One of the suspects in the Rosemary Peters homicide just tried to off himself here in his vehicle,” Mel told him. “But it turns out he left a little something behind for you to work on, too.”

For the first time Kramer looked inside the trunk. One glance was enough to leave him stricken. Kramer always talked a good game, but he was never all that solid when it came to crime scenes and dead bodies. I figured that was one of the main reasons he had majored in paperwork-and butt kissing.

He turned on his detectives, who had caught their first glimpse of Molly Wright’s body seconds after Kramer. “Has anybody here gotten around to calling the ME yet?” he groused. “What the hell’s the matter with you guys? And get this crime scene roped off. I don’t want anyone walking around in here. That goes for you and your pals there, Beaumont. Get the hell out and stop messing up our evidence.”

I would have said something, but Mel laid a restraining hand on my arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Walking away from Kramer, I headed for my car, which was parked several houses down the street. As I wove my way through the haphazardly parked phalanx of vehicles, Mel came trailing after me. She caught up with me when I stopped to unlock the car door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“You notice Kramer didn’t ask if we knew who the victim was,” I said.

Mel nodded. “And I noticed none of us volunteered that information, either.”

“It’s going to take time for him to figure it out. In the meantime, I’m on my way to Harborview to let Amy know what’s happened. I’d rather she heard the news from a friend rather than from Paul Kramer or the ME’s office. What about you?”

She patted her cell phone. “I’m going to get on the horn to Harry I. Ball and Ross Connors-for the same reason. They need to hear about all this from us, and it can’t wait until we get around to doing our paperwork. From the looks of those satellite vans, the story will be all over the eleven o’clock news.”

“Want a lift back to your car?” I asked.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m already wet.” She started to walk away.

“Mel?”

She turned and looked at me. “What?”

“Thanks for what you did tonight,” I said. “No matter what happens to Heather now, at least we gave her a chance. She’ll be able to plead her case in front of a judge and jury. If she’d gone off with Dillon, there’s no telling…”

“So when Brad and I get around to arresting her, there’ll be no hard feelings?”

“Right,” I said. “None.”

She walked away, disappearing into the haze of rain and flashing lights, while I headed for the hospital. It wasn’t a trip I relished. The last time I had sat in the Trauma Center waiting room, I had been there with Sue Danielson’s two boys, sitting with them when the doctor came to give us the bad news that she wasn’t going to make it. I had known that Sue was gravely wounded, so I guess I had been prepared.

Tonight, though, for Amy, news of Molly’s unexpected death would come with no warning at all, and at a time when the Peters family was already operating deep in crisis mode. Was it better to have such an emotional blow delivered by a friend? I hoped so.

The room where life-changing news was delivered daily-the place where loved ones waited and worried, wept, hoped, and despaired-was impossibly ordinary and not particularly comfortable, either. Three separate family groupings huddled miserably in various corners of the room.

The Peters family was divided into two separate camps. Tracy and an anguished, ashen-faced Heather sat at a table in the middle of the room. Amy, with the sleeping Jared’s head once again cradled in her lap, sat on a sagging couch. A uniformed officer, perched on a nearby chair, was interviewing Ron.

Nodding at Ron, I made my way over to Amy. “How’s it going?”

She looked up at me, shook her head, and smiled wanly. “I don’t know what to hope for,” she said. “If Dillon dies, it’ll break Heather’s heart. If he lives, he’ll still break her heart. The truth is, though, he held us all at knifepoint, Heather included. In my heart of hearts, I hope he dies and goes straight to hell. Is that wrong?”

“Not wrong,” I said. “And I don’t blame you.”

“You don’t?”

“Especially not now,” I told her. “Now that I know the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?” Amy asked.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Amy. Molly is dead. Her body was found in the trunk of Dillon’s vehicle a little while ago. There’s no official cause of death right now. It’s too soon. When I left, the ME had yet to arrive on the scene, but I believe she was stabbed to death.”

Amy’s hand went to her throat. Her face blanched. “No,” she said. “That’s not possible!”

Ron, catching sight of Amy’s stricken expression, pushed away from the officer and rolled over to his wife’s side. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Molly,” Amy said. “Dillon’s killed her.”

Ron looked at me for confirmation. “Is that true?” he asked.

“We don’t know for sure,” I said. “Not this soon, but Molly’s body was found in Dillon’s trunk. From the amount of blood, I’d say he stabbed her repeatedly.”

“But why?” Ron demanded. “I thought Molly was Dillon’s friend. When he showed up at the house with his knife last night and threatened us if we didn’t tell him where to find Heather, I never doubted for a moment that he’d use it on me, but I don’t understand why he’d go after Molly.”

Amy roused the sleeping Jared and handed him over to his father. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “I have to go tell the folks.”

Without a word, Ron took the child into his arms. I would have expected him to say something conciliatory, but he didn’t. There was no word of comfort or condolence from Ron as Amy stood up and smoothed her skirt. That surprised me.

“If you’d like some company, I’ll be glad to drive you,” I offered.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Seemingly struck by some kind of indecision, she stood staring at Tracy and Heather, who were sitting halfway across the room. “Would you please tell Heather, Beau?” Amy asked. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

I didn’t want to tell Heather any more than Amy did, but not for the same reason. Dillon’s damning “we” had placed Heather firmly in the enemy camp. And if she had been a part of her own mother’s murder, it didn’t seem likely that Molly’s death would come as a surprise to her, either. But I didn’t say any of that to Ron and Amy. I simply got up and walked over to the table where Heather and Tracy were sitting, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. When I got there, I could see that Heather was crying.

“What do the doctors say?” I asked.

Heather raised her teary face. “Nothing,” she said. “They haven’t told us anything at all. He could be dead by now for all I know.”

“What do you know about your aunt Molly?” I asked.

“Molly?” Heather repeated. “Nothing. I’ve tried calling her. I left messages on her machine. I thought she’d be here. She’s the only one who knows Dillon’s mother’s cell phone number. His dad’s on his way down from White Rock right now, but he doesn’t know the cell number either.”

“There’s a reason Molly isn’t here.” I said the words deliberately, examining Heather’s every expression as I spoke.

“What is it?” Heather asked. “Is something wrong?”

“We found Molly’s body a little while ago,” I said. “She was…crammed into the trunk of Dillon’s Focus.”

“No!” Heather breathed. “That’s not possible. It can’t be true.”

Heather’s histrionics didn’t impress me, and I was in no mood to pull punches. “Well, it is true,” I shot back. “I was standing right there when the trunk was opened. And don’t try to pretend you know nothing about it.”

Heather’s outburst quieted as quickly as it had begun. “But I don’t know anything about it,” she declared. “And I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anybody. You believe me, don’t you?” When I didn’t answer, Heather turned beseechingly to Amy. “Mom?”

“We have to go,” Amy said. And we left.

We rode down in the elevator and went out through the lobby without exchanging a word.

I had met Amy’s parents, Carol and Arthur Fitzgerald, but I didn’t really know them. I knew that after selling their Queen Anne home to Ron and Amy, Carol and Art had moved into a water-view condominium project in Madison Park.

Art, an old-fashioned wheeler-dealer, had made a small fortune as a building contractor. It was his loving care and expertise that had transformed what had once been a derelict Queen Anne mansion into the spacious home where Ron and Amy now lived. Art had figured out a way to install the tiny but effective elevator that made several levels of the home accessible to Ron’s wheelchair. Art was easygoing and garrulous-a guy who got things done. Carol struck me as quiet, ladylike, and dignified. I hated to be going to their home late at night on a mission to deliver such devastating news.

“You’ll need to give me directions,” I said when we were both belted into the Taurus.

“Up and over the hill on Madison,” she said. “I’ll tell you where to go. Sorry it was so frosty back there,” she added once we were under way. “It’s been like that around our house lately.”

I had noticed, but I hadn’t planned on mentioning it.

“What did he expect me to do,” Amy continued, “throw her out into the street?”

“Who?” I asked. “Heather?”

“No, Molly, of course. She burned her bridges with our parents long ago, and when she had nowhere else to go, I agreed to let her stay with us. It was the least I could do. I mean, we had the house. She had nothing, but I had no idea how bad it would be.”

“What do you mean, she burned her bridges?”

“Molly and Aaron went through money like it was water. That happens when people insist on putting every dollar they can lay hands on up their noses.”

“As in coke?” I asked.

Amy nodded. “My parents bailed them out time and time again. The last time, when they wouldn’t, is when Aaron started embezzling company funds. By selling Ron and me the house at less than market value, the folks thought they were simply keeping things fair. But Molly didn’t see it that way. To her way of thinking, the house should have been half hers. That being the case, she automatically thought we owed her a place to stay.”

“Was she still using?” I asked.

“She said she wasn’t,” Amy answered. “But I don’t know for sure. Ron told her that he wouldn’t allow the stuff in his house. She knew he meant it, but being told what to do galled her, especially considering the way she felt about Ron.”

“What’s wrong with Ron?”

“I think she thought that with Aaron gone, she and I would go back to being big and little sister, the way things were before. Meaning, of course, that she was the big sister and I was supposed to do things her way. It’s been hell. She and Ron were at loggerheads from the moment she moved in, but I just didn’t have the heart to throw her out. She’s the only sister I have.”

“But she was undermining you and Ron when it came to the kids.”

“That’s right,” Amy said bitterly. “Enter Dillon Middleton.”

“Dillon didn’t look like such great shakes to me,” I said. “So what’s the big attraction as far as Molly was concerned?”

“I have no idea,” Amy returned. “Maybe the fact that Ron couldn’t stand him made him that much more interesting as far as Molly was concerned.” She broke off. “Turn left here,” she added. “It’s the building down there at the end of the street.”

I found a visitor parking spot. “Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked as Amy reached for the door handle.

“No,” she said. “This is something I’m better off doing on my own.”

She got out of the car and walked stiffly through the now-misty rain as far as the building, where she soon disappeared from sight in the small lobby. I sat there and considered what could possibly have been Molly’s purpose in doing all she could to wreck Ron and Amy’s relationship. What had she hoped to gain by driving a wedge between these two people, or between Ron and Amy and their children? Was she so embittered by her own unhappiness that she wanted everyone else to share in her misery? That seemed unlikely, and yet what other explanation was there? And what could be the reason behind Molly’s strange obsession with a hopeless gangbanger wannabe like Dillon Middleton? None of it made any sense at all.

Eventually Amy returned. “How’d it go?” I asked.

Her chest heaved. “About how you’d expect,” she returned, brushing tears from her eyes. “Mom, especially, is brokenhearted. She and Molly hadn’t spoken for years. Mom always thought they’d mend the rift eventually. Now they never will.”

I started the car and put it in gear. “Back to the hospital?” I asked.

“Please.”

We drove back to Harborview. Upstairs in the trauma waiting room, Tracy had stretched out on a couch with one arm flung over her eyes. Jared was asleep in his father’s lap. A dry-eyed and distant Heather sat across the room in self-imposed isolation from the rest of her family.

“Now that you’re here, we should probably try to get some rest,” Ron said to Amy. His face was ashen with weariness; his voice strained. Ron Peters had aged ten years in the past week, and he looked as though he was on the edge of despair. “We can’t go to the house. It’s full of detectives. I booked us a pair of rooms down here at the Sheraton.”

“Is Heather coming, too?” Amy asked.

Ron shook his head. “I asked her, but she won’t budge.”

“It’s all right,” I told them. “Take Tracy and Jared and try to get some sleep. I’ll stay with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“I’m sure,” I said. “It’s no problem.”

After Ron and Amy left, I went out into the hallway, grabbed a soda from the vending machine, and set it on the table beside Heather. “You look like you could use a little caffeine,” I said.

She looked up at me gratefully and nodded. “Thanks,” she said.

While she popped open the can and took a sip, I sat down next to her. “Any word?”

“He’s still in surgery.”

“What about his father?” I asked, glancing around the room. “Is he here?”

“Not yet.”

We sat in silence for some time while I puzzled about how this young woman, a child who was as close to me as my own children, could possibly be a suspect in a double homicide. No wonder Ron was looking gray and drawn. I probably looked the same way myself.

“I didn’t do it, Uncle Beau,” Heather said finally, meeting my gaze with an intense blue-eyed stare of her own. “I heard what Dillon said. I heard him say we did it-like he and I did it together-but it’s not true. I never killed anybody, I swear.”

“What did Dillon have against your aunt Molly?” I asked. “Why would he hurt her? I thought Molly was his friend.”

Heather shrugged. “So did I,” she said.

A pair of doors swung open on the far side of the room and a man in surgical scrubs strode into the room. He glanced briefly around the room and then settled on Heather and me. The doctor came forward, holding out his hand. “Mr. Middleton?” he asked.

“No,” I told him. “Sorry. I’m a friend of the family. This is Heather Peters, Dillon’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” the doctor replied and then looked around the room, scanning the other two sets of family members still lingering there. “I was given to understand the father was on his way.”

“He is,” Heather said. “He’s coming down from White Rock, but he isn’t here yet. How’s Dillon? Is he going to be all right?”

The doctor looked at Heather and shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. With the new federal privacy rules in effect, I’m unable to release patient information to anyone other than an authorized relative.”

“But…” Heather objected. “Can’t you…”

“Sorry,” the doctor told her. “That’s just the way it is.” With that he turned and walked away.

“That’s not fair,” Heather called after him. “Just because I’m only a girlfriend…”

But the doors had already swung shut behind the retreating doctor, cutting her protestation off in midsentence.

“Maybe we should go,” I suggested. “You must be tired. Let me take you home.”

“No,” Heather insisted. “I’m staying.”

Which automatically meant that I was staying, too. Lamar Middleton, Dillon’s father, arrived an hour later. He was a man in his mid-fifties, balding, heavyset, and clearly distraught. Heather recognized him as soon as he came through the door, and she hurried forward to greet him.

“I’m Heather,” she said. “I recognized you from your picture. I’m so glad you’re here. Dillon’s doctor came out a little while ago, but since I’m only a girlfriend, he wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Lamar ventured behind the swinging doors and came out a few minutes later. “Dillon survived surgery,” he said. “But he’s in intensive care. He’s stable right now, but they don’t know whether or not he’ll make it. What on earth happened? What’s this all about?”

Heather began relating some of what had happened. It was when she reached the part about Molly Wright that Lamar slumped in his chair and covered his eyes with his hands.

“My God!” he exclaimed. “I should have known!”

“Should have known what?”

“That Molly would be involved in this. Living a lie is always a bad idea. I tried to tell Annette that years ago, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Who’s Annette?” I asked.

“My ex-wife,” Lamar answered.

“Dillon’s mother?”

“Not exactly,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Annette and I adopted Dillon,” he said. “But Molly Wright-she was Molly Fitzgerald then-was his birth mother.”

For me, that was when a whole lot of what had happened finally clicked into focus. No wonder Molly had been so determined to bring Dillon into the Peters family circle. She knew he was her son even if no one else did. Using Heather as bait, she had been able to keep him close to her. If Heather had moved to Tacoma, taking Dillon with her, that connection would have been disrupted; but still, did a distance of forty miles or so justify committing murder?

Heather’s eyes widened. “Did you say Aunt Molly was Dillon’s mom?” she demanded.

Lamar nodded. “Molly had broken up with her long-term boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. At first she planned to keep the baby. Then she started to date a guy named Aaron Wright. Aaron made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want to have kids. Not ever. By then Annette and I were already married. Molly came to see us, trying to figure out what to do. For one thing, it was too late to get an easy abortion. When Molly mentioned having the baby and putting it up for adoption, Annette talked her into giving him to us.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

Lamar nodded ruefully. “Annette’s always been like that. She tends to get her way-with everybody. I told her I thought it was a bad idea, especially since Molly was such a good friend, but Annette was adamant, and eventually I went along with the program. Molly stayed with us until Dillon was born, then she went back home and pretended nothing had happened. She and Aaron got married eventually, and we kept the baby.

“The problem is, Annette was a whole lot better at the idea of motherhood than she was at the reality of it. Ditto for being married. She likes the concept, but not the actual commitment part. So she took off and pretty much left Dillon’s raising up to me. I did the best I could.

“I have to hand it to Annette. Once she left me, she’s managed to marry up every time, so money isn’t a problem-not for her, anyway. So here I was, trying to raise Dillon to be a decent human being, but periodically Annette would show up-often with Molly in tow. The two of them would do the whole noncustodial parent program. You know how it works. They spoiled the kid-gave him whatever he wanted. They told him that my rules didn’t apply whenever they were around, and what kid isn’t going to go for that? Eventually it worked.”

“Dillon came here?”

Lamar nodded. “Got into trouble, dropped out of school, and came here to be with Annette-until she took off again. She rented an apartment for him while she headed for the Bay Area with her latest fling. By then, Molly’s life had turned to crap. Having lost everything else, I think she saw one last chance to get Dillon back-and keep him close.”

“Except he was going to come to Tacoma with me,” Heather said in a small voice. “He told Molly that on the phone that night. I heard him. He said that if I had to go live with Rosemary in Tacoma, he was going to go there, too. He said he’d find a different apartment. Molly didn’t want him to go. She freaked out on the phone and started screaming and yelling. I could hear her from all the way across the room. It was totally weird.”

“Maybe,” I said, “since she had already lost her son once, she didn’t want to risk losing him again. Still, having him move to Tacoma isn’t like sending him off to the ends of the earth. I still don’t understand.”

After that, the three of us were quiet for a very long time. There wasn’t much to say, and I don’t think anyone else understood any better than I did.

An hour passed and then two. It was after three in the morning when the swinging doors opened again and once more the same doctor entered the room. This time he went straight to Lamar Middleton.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Middleton,” he began. “I’m afraid your son didn’t make it.”