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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