get by on so little sleep?”
“I’ve always been that way,” she said. “It drove my mother crazy.”
“I can see why,” he said. “Now what’s happening?”
“Remember what you wanted to do in the family room?”
“I wanted to do it in the family room?” he asked, rolling over onto his back. “When?”
“Not that.” Joanna giggled. “I’m talking about the train track.”
“Oh, right, the train track. You said you didn’t want it.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” she said, “and I’ve changed my mind. If it’s not too late, we should put the track in after all.”
“I thought you said it was weird and you wanted normal.”
Joanna sighed. “We’re not normal. Why should our family room be any different?”
“Well, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“I told you. It’s fine.”
“Great, then, we’ll have trains. Oh, by the way. I forgot to tell you. We agreed on Gayle.”
“Gayle what?”
“Gayle Dixon. My pen name. Drew and I finally worked it out today. She’s sending me an agency contract for me to sign and rewrite suggestions. When those are done she wants me to send the manuscript back under the nom de plume of Gayle Dixon.”
“I still think it’s strange that you have to change your name.”
“So do I,” Butch agreed. “But you’ll still love me, won’t you? Even if I turn into someone named Gayle?”
“As long as Gayle keeps the same meat-loaf recipe.”
“The name may change,” Butch said, chuckling. “but the food is bound to remain the same. Now, is that the only reason you woke me up – to talk about model trains?”
“Maybe not the only one,” she told him.
“Show me,” he said.
THE TOW-TRUCK DRIVER was kind enough to drop me off at some anonymously forgettable, cheapo motel close to the airport. The next morning I took the motel shuttle to catch my plane. Surprisingly enough, the early- morning flight to Seattle was almost deserted. The Husky fans had evidently all gone home to Seattle, and I had no idea who had won or lost the game.
I had a whole row of three seats to myself. With no one crowding me and no one to talk to, I had plenty of time to think. With some effort, I managed to keep my mind off both Anne Corley and Joanna Brady.
I had yet to speak to Ross Alan Connors, but that was my first priority. As soon as I landed at Sea-Tac, I rented a car and drove straight down to Olympia. On the way, I called the office and spoke to Barbara Galvin, Unit B’s office manager.
“Where are you?” she asked. “Still in Arizona?”
“I’m on my way home,” I told her.
“Did you hear about what happened to Ross Connors’s wife?” Barbara asked.
“Yes, I did. In fact, that’s why I’m calling,” I told her. “I need his address. I want to send flowers.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “The whole squad is chipping in and sending a single arrangement.”
“I want to do my own,” I said.
“Well, okay, then,” she agreed. “Suit yourself.”
She gave me an address on Water Street. Once I arrived in Olympia, I wasn’t surprised to find the attorney general’s home was within easy walking distance of the capitol complex. The house wasn’t quite as imposing as the one Anne Corley had been raised in, but it came close. Built of red brick and boasting a genuine slate roof, it was a showy kind of place, with a three-story round turret on one side. The expansive yard was surrounded by an ornamental iron fence with a bronze fleur-de-lis topping every post.
Up and down the narrow street, late-model upscale cars – Mercedeses, Jaguars, and an understated Lexus or two – were parked on either side. When I rang the bell, a uniformed maid answered the door. I gave her my card. Minutes later, I was led inside. Hearing voices in the living room, I was a bit miffed at being directed away from the piss-elegant crowd that had come to mingle and comfort Ross Connors in his hour of need. Underlings like J.P. Beaumont, however, were shunted away from other, more important, guests. As I allowed myself to be unceremoniously herded up the staircase that wound through the turret, it irked me that Ross was keeping me out of sight and out of mind.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I reached the small single room at the top of the stairs and discovered that Ross Alan Connors was already there before me, all alone and seated at a battered, old-fashioned teacher’s desk. Windows in the room offered a panoramic view of the water hinted at in the street name. But if you’re used to looking out the window at the majesty of Elliott Bay, the puddle that is Capitol Lake doesn’t count for much.
But just then Ross Connors wasn’t enjoying the view such as it was. In fact, I doubt he even saw it. When he rose to meet me, I was shocked by the haggard look on his face and the dark hollows under his eyes. His normally florid complexion was sallow and gray. There was no trace of the man I knew as a high-flying lawyer and glad- handing politician. Ross Connors was a doubly defeated man, bereft and betrayed. Unfortunately, I knew exactly how he felt because I had been there, too. My heart ached with sympathy.
“Hello, J.P.,” he said somberly. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“I came straight here. I’m so sorry about Francine…”
“I know, I know,” he said impatiently, brushing aside my condolences. “Sit down.” He motioned me toward a sagging, butt-sprung leather recliner that could have been a brother to the re-covered wreck in my own living room. “Who told you about it?”
“Your mother. I talked to her yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh,” he said.
Not knowing what to say next, I waited for him to continue.
“She left me a note,” Ross Connors said finally, his voice brittle with emotion. “She said she listened in the other night when you and I spoke on the phone. She was sure that once the FBI got involved, the whole thing would come out. She said she couldn’t face it.”
He paused. I knew what
“I know she was involved with Louis Maddern,” I said quietly. “It’s all in the telephone logs. I can show you…”
“That no-good son of a bitch!” Connors muttered fiercely. “It must have been going on behind my back for years, and I never figured it out. How could I have been so stupid that I never had a clue? But somebody else must have figured it out – someone who works for UPPI. Maddern, Maddern, and Peek didn’t get that big piece of UPPI’s business by random selection, J.P. They figured out that that worm Louis Maddern might be able to deliver something more valuable than legal representation and, God help me, he did!”
“Latisha’s whereabouts,” I supplied.
Ross nodded miserably. “I didn’t even realize I had said anything. It must have slipped out. Francine and I didn’t have any secrets from each other, at least…” We both saw heartbreak where that sentence was going. He broke off and didn’t finish.
Half a minute later, he continued. “One way or another, Louis must have weaseled the information out of Francine. Once she put it all together and realized it was her fault that Latisha Wall was dead, Francine couldn’t live with herself. She was Louis Maddern’s lover. She was also his partner in crime, but until Sunday night, I don’t think she had any idea. Then yesterday, at lunch…”
Again he broke off and couldn’t go on.
“Ross, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was with you at lunch.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t say anything out of line. Francine knew me very well. She must have read it in my face.”
He fell silent. We sat without speaking for more than a minute. “It’s such a shock. I’m still ragged around the edges,” he said at last. “All those nice people downstairs. They want to tell me how sorry they are – how much they care – but it hurts too much to hear it. That’s why I’m hiding out up here, where no one can find me.”
