Tuesday, April 2, 2013

DEATH OF AN IMMORTAL 11

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CHAPTER 11.


Carlan drove back to Bend, his mind churning.  He wasn't going to accomplish anything in Portland, not with Brosterhouse in the way.  Despite Jamie's restraining order, in his hometown he was still in pretty good standing with his colleagues, many of whom had their own problems with ex-wives and girlfriends.
He also had a trump card.  The last time he was in trouble with his boss, Captain Anderson, he'd been relegated to deskwork.  There, he'd come across a discrepancy in the inventory of guns.  He'd known from the moment that he reported the missing rifles that his boss had sold them for cash, and his boss had known that he knew.  
Carlan was careful not to overuse this useful piece of information.  He was satisfied staying a patrolman, where the possibility of bribes for traffic stops and other misdemeanors were available.  Being a detective entailed more oversight, not to mention that authorities tended to be harsher about any hanky-panky with felonies.  
Still -- he’d saved this information for a rainy day.
He pulled into the police station parking lot, and checked the Captain's parking space.  Empty.  Damn.  He'd forgotten that Anderson took Mondays off.  He'd have to wait until tomorrow.
He pulled out onto the highway and headed downtown, to room 23 of the Badlands Motel.   The Cadillac Escalade was there, despite it being mid-afternoon.  He thought about knocking on the door, but decided his first plan was still the best plan, despite the opportunity.  When he took this bastard down, he didn't want there to be any questions.
When he pulled out again, the car seemed to make its way to the Hardaway house without any conscious thought on his part.  Many a night he had spent parked out in front, hoping to get a glimpse of Jamie, hoping she would talk to him, let him explain.  The restraining order should have kept him away, but who was going to arrest him?
He'd been patiently waiting for hours every day.  Then about a week ago, Sylvie came out one afternoon and marched directly to his car.
"She isn't here."
"What?"
"Jamie isn't here, so there's no sense stalking her."
"I'm not stalking anyone.  I just want to talk to her.  After that, I'll leave her alone."
Sylvie didn't argue with him, just turned around and walked back into the house.   It was only weeks later that the arrest in Portland for prostitution of one Jamie Lee Howe had been picked up by his search engine.  After weeks of seething resentment and anger, it turned out she hadn’t even been home.  He didn't mind her yelling at him, he didn't even mind the restraining order.  But leaving without telling him?
He’d headed for Portland the very same day.  
She should have stayed in Bend, let him take care of her.  It made no sense for her to go the valley, and it especially boggled his mind that she had resorted to selling her body.  Hell, it had taken him months to get a little, and even then he'd had to be insistent about it. 
If she had stayed with him, she would never have had to worry about anything ever again.  All because he'd slapped her, just that once.  Hell, Dad had slapped his Mom a hundred times and they had been perfectly happy...
He got out of the car, adjusted his belt, the gun as usual making him feel powerful and secure.  He walked up the door, trying to remember that first date with Jamie, the coy little kiss at the end.  But instead, his mind wandered to the shape of Sylvie -- the way her slender body had sashayed a little walking away from him.  Was she trying to give him a message? That he'd chosen the wrong sister?
The old man answered the door.  "Hey, Howard.  Just coming by to check and see how you're doin'."
Howard stared at him with blurry eyes, as if trying to remember who he was. Then he broke out in a grin.  "Officer Carlan, how good to see you!"
Jamie’s parents had always liked him.  Because he was a cop, they had thought he would be a good catch for Jamie.  Apparently, Howard either hadn't known about the restraining order or had forgotten.  When Jamie's mother came out of the kitchen, he could see from her hard eyes that she had known and hadn't forgotten.
But Howard had already invited him in, and Carlan quickly sat down on one of the couches.  He smiled at Jamie's mother -- Jennifer?  Jean?  Best not to guess.  
"Please don't make any effort on my part, I just wanted to come by and express my sorrow at Jamie's ...passing.  I wish I could have been there...I would have kept her safe."
"Bend is a lot safer," Howard agreed.  "I can't figure it out.  Why she did it.  Why go to Portland with all those lowlifes?"
Jamie's mom almost said something and then decided against it.
"One good thing came out of Jamie's death," Howard said.  There was a strangled sound from the other couch, and Howard blanched.  "I mean...No, Honey…nothing good came out of it.  I didn't mean it that way.  I'm just talking about the insurance, you know..." His eyes pleaded with his wife, but she wouldn't look back at him.
"Insurance?"
"Turns out, Jamie bought an insurance policy for Sylvie's education.  A big amount, too, unless I'm mistaken."
"That was quick," Carlan said.  Better and better.  Unlike with Jamie where he'd had to pay for everything, Sylvie could pay her way.  "I've never heard of a policy that only pays for school."
"That's what I said," Howard exclaimed, looking to his wife for confirmation.  "But the guy said that there was some flexibility there -- like, if Sylvie was living at home she could use it for expenses..."
"He actually came to your door?"  Now Carlan had heard everything.  Usually you had to track down the insurance companies and hold their feet to the fire to get anything out of them.
"I'm pretty sure he's good for it, too.  He was driving a big Cadillac Escalade."
Carlan froze.  The smile fell off his face.
"What?" Howard said, looking alarmed.  "What's wrong?"
"Nothing...I forgot an appointment," Carlan said, getting up.  “Again, my condolences to both of you.  Be sure and give Sylvie my best."
He made his way to the door, but Jamie's mother spoke for the first time.  A whiskey and cigarette voice, deeper and more alarming than her husband.
"Stay away from Sylvie."
"Honey!" Howard exclaimed.  "What are you talking about!"
Jean -- that was her name, he suddenly remembered-- got up and pushed Carlan toward the door.  He didn't resist.  "What are you talking about?" he said in protest.
"Jeanie -- that was really rude!" Howard said.
As the door began to close behind him, Carlan heard the old woman say,  "Howard.  Sometimes you’re so blind.

He sat in the car for another ten minutes, trying to wrap his brain around what he'd just learned.
Why would the killer be offering Sylvie money for school?  Guilt?  Remorse?   Was it a trap to lure another young girl to her death?  What was his game?  Who was this guy and why was he targeting a single family like this?
For a moment he wondered if he should wait for this guy to deliver the 'insurance' payment before taking him down.  The money would come in handy.  But he quickly discarded the idea.  Ridiculous to believe that the guy was going to hand over money to a girl he’d never met. 
No, this was a cold-blooded murderer and he was trying to entice Sylvie into his trap.  
Carlan decided he couldn't wait until tomorrow to take this ‘Jonathon Evers’ down.   He'd track down Captain Anderson on his day off, call in his favor.  He had been to his superior's house once for a Halloween party, somewhere in the lower West Hills, a steep road -- Roanoke Avenue, that was the name of the street.  He’d get an arrest warrant for the man in Room 23 of the Badlands Motel and search the room for evidence.
Even if he couldn't make the charges stick, he would at least warn the guy away from Sylvie.  The Hardaways just didn't know what a good friend they had in him. 
He’d lost Jamie, but he wasn't going to lose Sylvie. 





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