Part 28 (2/2)

”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 pa.s.sed 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.”

CHAPTER 22.

WITHOUT A WORD, Heather bolted from the room. I charged after her. When I finally caught up with her, she was outside the front entrance, standing bare-armed and bareheaded in the pouring rain.

”Heather,” I urged. ”Come back inside.”

She shrugged off my hand. ”I don't want to,” she said. ”Leave me alone.”

”It's cold and wet out here.”

”Who cares? If Dillon's dead, I should be dead, too. Maybe I'll catch pneumonia and die.”

Then, to my surprise, she stopped talking and fell sobbing against my chest. Comforting her as best I could, I led her to my car and helped her inside. I turned on the engine, the heater, and the defroster as well, then I waited for her to stop crying.

”Your parents are staying at a hotel downtown,” I told her when she had finally cried herself out. ”Do you want to go there?”

Heather shook her head. ”I want to go home,” she said.

”You can't. The last I heard, your house was full of cops, so I guess you're stuck with me.”

”But...” Heather began. Then she fell quiet. ”Okay,” she said finally.

Once again I took Heather up to my condo in Belltown Terrace. I expected her to head straight for bed. G.o.d knows I was ready.

”Can I use your computer?” she asked.

”My computer? At this hour?”

”I need to check my e-mail.” She paused. ”Dillon told me in the ambulance that he sent me a message in case he didn't find me. I need to see what he said. Please.”

So I led Heather into the den and helped her log on to my clunky old desktop. Then I went out into the living room to give her some privacy. I settled back in my old recliner and kicked off my shoes. My s.h.i.+rt and trousers were still damp, and they stuck to the leather, but I didn't bother to change. Then I called down to the Sheraton. Not wanting to awaken Ron and Amy in case they had managed to fall asleep, I left a message letting them know that Dillon had died and that I had taken Heather home with me.

A few minutes after I hung up the phone, I heard Heather crying again. I stayed where I was, figuring that if she needed consolation she'd come looking for it. Then I heard the sound of the printer coming on-line. Finally Heather emerged from the den, wiping a trail of tears from her face. Wordlessly she handed me a single sheet of paper: Baby, Molly Wright is a evil woman. Why did I ever think she was my friend? I don't know why, but she really really hated your dad. She called him a stupid cripple and said he had turned Amy and her parents against her. She told me that night that getting rid of Rosemary would get rid of him, too, because he'd be in jail and that way Molly and Amy would be friends again and we could all live in your house together, since it was half hers, too. I didn't want to help her, but she told me that if I didn't help, she would turn me in for selling drugs which, sorry to say, I have been doing because it's a very good way for me to earn money and I knew if your dad ever found out he would send me to jail. And so I did help her and I'm sorry and scared. I really wanted to go back home yesterday because Canada doesn't have the death penalty for murder like the US does. When you wouldn't come with me, I got so mad but I didn't mean to hit you, I really really didn't. Molly's coming over to see me in a little while. She says we should go to Canada together right now, tonight. I told her I would, but that is a lie. If I don't see you tonight, I hope you have a good life. I'm sorry for everything and I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life. Dillon.

When I finished reading, I looked up to see Heather watching me closely. I couldn't speak, but I was saying a small prayer of grat.i.tude to Dillon Middleton. Suicide is said to be the most selfish of acts, yet in writing this note he had clearly exonerated Heather. Yes, her heart was broken-just as Amy had said it would be-but Dillon had gone out of his way to lift the cloud of suspicion that would otherwise have settled around her.

”That's who he meant when he said 'we,' ” Heather said. ”He meant Molly and him.”

I nodded. ”And he was right,” I said when I was once again capable of speech. ”Molly Wright was an evil woman.”

”I don't understand. Why did she hate my dad so?” Heather asked.

I remembered what Amy had said earlier, about how much Molly had liked being Amy's older sister and how much Amy hadn't appreciated being bossed around.

”Because she was jealous,” I answered. ”Because your father's a good man-a good husband and father. From Molly's point of view, it must have seemed as though her sister had everything Molly's own life was lacking. In some twisted way, she thought pus.h.i.+ng your father out of the picture would somehow even the score.”

Heather thought about that for a time. ”Do you think she told Dillon the truth?” Heather asked finally. Her intense eyes were focused on my face. ”When he stabbed her, do you think he had any idea that she was really his mother?”

”I don't know,” I said. ”She certainly hadn't told him when he wrote this, and the e-mail is time-dated at five twenty-nine. If she did tell him, it would have been later than this.”

Heather reached for the paper, took it back, and then held it against her chest as if by holding tight to that precious piece of paper she could somehow reach across time and s.p.a.ce and touch Dillon as well. ”Will you have to give this to the detectives?”

”Yes,” I said. ”They'll need to have it-a copy of it, anyway. It's what they'll use to clear the two cases.”

I thought about Heather in one of the interview rooms on the homicide floor at Seattle PD. Maybe the interview rooms in the new building weren't quite as grim as the gritty old ones in the Public Safety Building. Still, I didn't like to think about her being interviewed by detectives with Paul Kramer hanging around on the sidelines.

”I could call Mel Soames,” I said. ”She'd come over to talk to you.”

”Right now?” Heather asked.

”If I asked her.” I thought that was true, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure. Regardless, it was worth a try.

”I could just as well talk to her now,” Heather said. ”I won't be able to sleep.”

”Go get out of those wet clothes, then,” I said. ”There's a robe and a pair of sweats in the guest room. I'll call Mel and see what she says.”

And even though it was four o'clock in the morning as I dialed her number, and even though I again awakened her out of a sound sleep, Mel Soames didn't blow me out of the water. ”I'll be there in half an hour,” she said. ”But on two hours of sleep, this better include breakfast.”

I was snoozing in the recliner when the doorman called to let me know Mel was on her way up. I tapped on the guest-room door to summon Heather. Contrary to what she had said, she was sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. I eased the hard copy of Dillon's last e-mail out from under her hand and left her sleeping. Armed with a freshly poured cup of coffee, I opened the door and met Mel in the corridor before she had a chance to ring the bell.

Considering the hour and the time she'd had available to get up and dressed, Mel looked surprisingly well put together in a dove-gray suit and a cream-colored blouse. ”It's going to be a long day,” she said. ”I decided to wear what I'm going to wear to Elvira Marchbank's funeral later on rather than having to run back and forth across the lake. By the way,” she added, ”you look like h.e.l.l.”

”Gee, thanks. This happens to be how I look when I don't get any sleep,” I told her. ”Obviously lack of sleep has no effect on you whatsoever.”

”Is that a compliment?” she asked.

”I think so.”

”Good. Now what's up?”

”Heather's asleep in the other room, but take a look at this.”

I handed her Dillon's final e-mail. She read it with pursed lips. ”Five twenty-nine,” she mused. ”That would be consistent with what we found out.”

”Which is?”

”After we left Ron and Amy's, Brad and I went back over to Dillon's apartment on the back side of Queen Anne Hill. All we had to do was look in the window to know we'd found ourselves a crime scene. There was blood spatter everywhere. We immediately called it in to Seattle PD. Your friend Kramer-who's a complete jacka.s.s, by the way...”

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