Part 37 (1/2)
”Beyond the call,” I said. ”Meanwhile, you probe for what she hasn't told you.”
”You,” he said, ”are immovably skeptical, that's why we're pals. Want to come? It could conceivably get psychological.”
CHAPTER.
31.
Ricki Flatt was waiting outside her room, jacket zipped, luggage on the ground.
Milo jumped out, beat her to the rear car door.
”You really didn't need to do this, Lieutenant.”
”We'll take streets, freeway's a bad idea at this hour.”
Moments later: ”How'd it go with the coroner, Ricki?”
”It took a while, but we're finally settled. I'll be able to s.h.i.+p ... to have Desi sent back in two days, spoke to the cemetery in Seattle, where my parents are buried and they've got a plot available. They referred me to a mortician here who's handling the logistics as well as the cosmetics. He said there wouldn't be that much to do, Desi still looked handsome. Any progress, Lieutenant?”
”We're chipping away, Ricki. Oh, by the way, those suitcases are out of your storage bin.”
”Great,” she said. ”I spoke to Scott this morning and he didn't mention anything, so we're fine.”
”Yes, you are, Ricki.” A beat. ”Unfortunately, we're not.”
”What do you mean?”
”Port Angeles police didn't remove the suitcases. This guy beat them to it.”
Hooking his arm, he dangled the copy of the surveillance photo sent by Chris Kammen. As Kammen had predicted, too blurry to be useful.
”Who is this?”
”We were hoping you might know.”
”Me? Why would I?”
”Could be someone local.”
”Well I don't know,” she said. ”I have absolutely no idea.” Squinting. ”He took everything?”
”Sure did.”
”How'd he get in?”
”With a key,” said Milo. ”Who besides you and Desi had one?”
”No one-does Scott know about this?”
”No reason for him to know. How about Scott? Does he have a key?”
”No, we rented it to store my parents' stuff, Scott was always bothering me to get rid of everything. Someone stole all that money? The same person who murdered Desi?”
”We don't know yet.”
Ricki Flatt returned the photo. ”That's why you offered to drive me. You think I've held back on you and want to ask more questions.”
”I'm just informing you of the situation as it stands, Ricki. Only you and Desi had keys and the guy in the photo obtained one. Do you happen to have yours right now?”
”I'm a-of course I do.” Opening her purse, she fumbled, produced a ring, shuffled. ”This one. This is mine. Meaning that person used Desi's. Meaning he did murder Desi. For the money, it's always about the d.a.m.n money!”
Burying her face in her hands, she rocked.
Milo drove another half a mile. ”Ricki, what did Desi tell you about his boss, Helga Gemein?”
”Her? This is related to Desi's job?”
”At this point it's all questions, not answers, Ricki. Did Desi talk about Helga? About work, in general?”
”He liked the job, said it was fun, kind of easy. Said he met her at a convention and she offered him a job.”
”What kind of convention?”
”He didn't say. Why? Was she involved-oh my G.o.d. The time Desi brought the money, he was traveling with a woman. I didn't tell you because it slipped my mind-it's not like he brought her with him, what happened was after Desi and I took the suitcases to storage, I asked him to stay for dinner. He said he'd love to but he needed to get back to his hotel, someone was waiting. The obvious a.s.sumption was a woman because with Desi there was always a woman. I made a crack, you're in town for a day, already have a hot date? Normally, he'd give that cute smile of his. This time, he frowned, said, 'A hot date would be the ideal, but don't lay odds on it.' Which was unusual for Desi, he was always so upbeat.”
She choked back tears. ”I remember I actually kind of gloated to myself. Finally, Don Juan has failed. How petty of me, all those stupid childhood feelings.”
I said, ”What else did he say about this woman?”
”The only other thing was that the car he was driving was hers, he needed to get it back to her. Almost as if he was ... intimidated by her.”
”The way you would be by a boss.”
”That's what made me think of it right now. Why else would Desi be intimidated by anyone, let alone a woman, unless she had some kind of power over him?”
That hadn't stopped him from propping Marjorie Holman up against a sheet of plywood.
Milo said, ”What kind of car was it?”
”American, dark, I don't remember. I really wasn't paying attention.”
Milo nudged the file over to me. I thumbed through, found the Internet photos he'd printed of 2002 Buick LeSabres.
Ricki Flatt said, ”Cars aren't my thing, but sure, that could be it. This is Helga's car?”