Evidence

“Pardon?”

“Swiss or Asian, which is it?”

“This is important?”

“It’s a murder investigation, Mr. Babcock. The victim’s a woman named Dahlia Gemein.”

“Gemein,” said the controller. “Then you already know.”

“I’ll take that to mean Swiss.”

“You never heard it from me.” Milo clicked off.

I said, “Daddy Gemein’s held on to the house two years after Dahlia disappeared. Maybe it’s the family’s West Coast getaway, as in sister gets to live here, too.”

Milo said, “Kinda cute and traditional for Helga, but with Daddy paying the bills, she’s flexible.” Gloving up, he loped up the driveway, paused to peer through windows, continued to the garage, tried the door. Locked, but he managed to budge it an inch from the ground, squint through the crack.

Standing, he dusted himself off. “Little red Boxster, red motorcycle, looks like a Kawasaki. Be interesting if either was spotted on or near Borodi.”

He called Don Boxmeister, gave him the info.

Perfect timing; the arson squad’s canvass was in full swing and a red bike had been spotted the day before the fire. Three blocks west of Borodi, parked illegally on a particularly dark section of street. The neighbor who’d seen it hadn’t bothered to call it in. Boxmeister’s other nugget was forensic: Initial analysis of residue found at the scene was consistent with vegan Jell-O, and scorched wires suggested electronic timing devices.

Milo gave Boxmeister Ati Meneng’s story, then hung up and searched the inside cover of a notepad where he keeps a list he doesn’t want on his computer: phone numbers of cooperative judges. Each time he begins a new pad, he recopies meticulously.

Running his finger down the small-print, back-slanted columns, he said, “This is your lucky day, Judge LaVigne.”

LaVigne was available in chambers and Milo went full-bore, making more of the blond jogger than was justified by the facts, labeling the red Kawasaki as “rock-solid physical evidence.” Emphasizing Helga Gemein’s virulent hatred for humanity and evasive behavior when initially questioned, he tossed in speculation about international terrorist links, maybe even neo-Nazi connections.

“Exactly, Your Honor, like Baader-Meinhof, all over again. Meaning the house-and I’m looking at it right now-could be a source of weapons, explosives, bomb timers, all of which has been implicated in the arson as well as the multiple murders. Top of that, the suspect may already be gone, we really need this warrant now.”

It was as good a performance as I’ve seen and within seconds, he was winking and giving the thumbs-up. “Love that guy, he’ll draft it himself, all I need to do is get it picked up and filed.”

A call to Sean Binchy took care of the trip to the criminal courts building. Binchy was still at Manny Forbush’s law office, soon as he had the dupes of GHC’s hard drives he’d head downtown.

We waited for the locksmith and the bomb squad and the explosives dogs. Milo ’s cell battery was depleted and he switched to my car phone to get his messages. Lots of bureaucratic trash and one that mattered: Officer Chris Kammen of the Port Angeles, Washington, police department.

Kammen’s basso rattled the hands-off speaker. “Hey, how’s it going? We went over to that storage unit at four a.m. These people are neat-freaks, just about the most organized junk pile I’ve ever seen. Which is why I’m confident telling you there are no suitcases full of money. Not behind the piano or anywhere else.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” said Kammen. “Fortunately for you, the facility’s got after-hours video that actually works. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t tell much. At eleven forty-three p.m. a male Caucasian in a dark hoodie used a key to gain entry and came out ten minutes later carrying what my grandma would call two stout valises. I’m getting a copy of the tape to send you, but trust me, it’s not going to accomplish diddly. All you got is shadows and blur, the hood covers his face completely.”

“How do you know he’s Caucasian?”

“White hands.”

“He didn’t bother gloving,” said Milo. “Apparently not.”

“Maybe that’s because finding his prints in the bin wouldn’t be suspicious. Mrs. Flatt was really nervous about Mr. Flatt finding out she held on to them. Maybe he did.”

Kammen said, “I wondered the same thing so first thing I did was look Flatt up, and trust me, it’s not him. He’s a big boy, six six, used to play basketball for P.A. High, power forward, good outside shot, I remember the name now. We used the gate as a frame of reference to get a measure on Hoodie and he’s closer to five ten.”

“Definitely a male?”

“Why? You got a bad girl in your sights?”

“Square in our sights. Looks like she burned down the big house early this morning.”

“The same one?” said Kammen. “Where the bodies were?”

“Yup.”

“Whoa, it’s complicated out in L.A. What time did the house fry?”

“Three a.m.”

“Then Hoodie’s not your torch, no way he could be here close to midnight and get back in time. You can’t get a direct flight out of here that late and even if you made it to Seattle, what with drive time and airport time and two-plus hours of fly time? I’ll send you the tape so you can judge for yourself, but this is a guy. Unless your bad girl has broad shoulders and humongous hands and walks like a guy.” Chuckle. “Then again, you’re in L.A. ”

Milo said, “I’m sure you’re right, but our girl does have theoretical access to a private jet.”

“Oh,” said Kammen. “Yeah, you’re L.A. But even so, it would be a hell of a squeeze. Tell you what, though, I’ll call general aviation at our airport, see who flew in and out and from where.”

“Thanks.”

“Hell of a thing, someone beating us to the storage bin. We would’ve gone in at a normal time but we didn’t want the husband to show up. Can’t help it if the gods weren’t smiling. Bye.”

The car grew silent.

I said, “Two people do the murder, two people manage the arson and recover the money. Maybe Helga’s not as antisocial as she claims.”

“Dick and Jane murder duet?”

“Down from a quartet. Helga paid Backer and Doreen to torch Teddy’s real estate. Gave them a cash deposit, meaning the total payment might have been more.”

“Six-figure job, no shortage of motivation,” said Milo. “Helga hires them but in the process learns enough about arson to make the two of them unnecessary and gets rid of them. Then she sends her buddy to get the dough back. How would she know where Backer stashed it?”

“That’s the kind of info a fellow might divulge when bargaining for his life. Or watching his girlfriend get raped by a gun. Same for the location of the storage locker key. If Backer was carrying it on his person, that made it even easier.”

“Helluva lot of effort to burn down a heap of wood.” Reaching back, he retrieved his attache case, found the Gemein family photo.

I said, “Helga lied to everyone about applying for the Kraeker expansion contract. The place means something to her, maybe because that party was the last time the family was together. As cold as she is, she loved her sister. Dahlia may have been the only person she ever loved. Take that away, you focus your anger, destroy what you can.”

“Sutma. For all we know, Helga’s got a secret religious side, gets off on visions of Teddy never entering heaven.” He studied the shot some more. “Look at how they’re positioned: Dahlia’s standing away from the rest of them.”