Part 27 (1/2)

”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 a.s.sortment 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 G.o.d!”

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 h.e.l.l is going on here, Beaumont? I thought I told you to stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 a.s.sociates,” I interjected. ”Melissa Soames and Brad Norton. And this is a former a.s.sociate 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 s.h.i.+T 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.u.t.t 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 h.e.l.l'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 h.e.l.l 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 h.e.l.l. 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.”