could hardly restrain himself. He wanted to get started. This was his moment of glory, his first big case. He almost panted with enthusiasm. The whole idea made me weary beyond words.
The doctor had given me the slug. I handed it to Watty, who in turn gave it to Detective Means. “It’ll match the ones from Brodie, Suzanne Barstogi, and Kincaid,” I said. “It’s from my departmental-issue thirty-eight.”
We went up to the apartment. I was thirsty. I went to the refrigerator for something to drink. That was how I found the leftover wedding cake, neatly covered in plastic wrap, sitting on the bottom shelf. Peters saw me sag against the cupboard for support. He came and peered over my shoulder. “Jesus,” he said.
He scraped it off the plate and ran the garbage disposal. Everybody needs a friend like Ron Peters, especially at a time like that.
We went back into the living room. Means asked the questions. Watkins was there to handle administrative procedures. I was a little surprised Means let Peters and Watkins stay. I expected him to throw his weight around.
He turned on a recorder and read me my rights. “I understand the deceased, Anne Corley, was your fiancee?” he asked.
“No,” I said softly. “She was my wife.”
Chapter 26
Watkins and Means left hours later. I don’t know when. Peters walked them down to their cars. He came back and poured a MacNaughton’s for me and a gin and tonic for himself. He handed me my drink and an envelope.
“I found it under the front seat of the Datsun.”
I held the envelope up and looked at it. My name was written in bold letters on the outside. A small piece of paper fluttered out of it. I caught it in midair. “You’ll have to write the last chapter yourself,” it said.
I crushed the paper in my fist. “Goddamn her! She knew! She forced my hand!” Peters sat on the couch. “Did you look at it?” I asked.
He nodded. “You probably shouldn’t have read it right now.” Peters had pulled the plug on both phones in the house, effectively shutting out all unwanted intruders.
I gazed at Seattle’s downtown skyline, the golden lights Anne Corley had loved. Or at least seemed to have loved — but then, she seemed to have loved me too. That showed how much I knew. Peters waited quietly, not prying, ready to listen when I was ready to talk. He had gotten a hell of a lot older and wiser in the last few days.
I tossed the wad of paper to Peters. He opened it and reread it.
“We talked about it once, you know,” I told him. “She asked me if, given the same circumstances, I’d do it again. When I got her out of the water, that was the last thing she said to me. She repeated what I said, that I’d do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Kill. Kill someone in self-defense. I told her I thought I would.” My voice broke, tears blurred my vision. Peters got up and took my empty glass to the kitchen. He returned with a full one.
“You were right,” he said. “Don’t you think Anne knew you would? Don’t you think she counted on it?”
“But why? And if she knew, knew it was coming, why the fuck did she marry me?”
Peters shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.
For the first time I thought of Ralph Ames. I closed my eyes and shook my head. “What?” Peters asked.
“Ames, her attorney. He’ll be back in Phoenix by now. Someone should call him, I guess.”
Peters stood up. “What’s his number? I’ll call.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d better do it myself.” The bandage on my chest made it difficult for me to move. Peters reattached the cord to the wall plug and handed me the phone. I got Ames’ home number from information. I dialed direct, hoping like hell he wouldn’t answer. He did, on the third ring.
“Ralph Ames speaking,” he said in his best three-piece-suit diction.
I cleared my throat. “It’s Beau, J. P. Beaumont, calling from Seattle. It’s about Anne.”
“Thank God, I’ve been trying to call—”
“She’s dead, Ralph, I…” I interrupted, but I couldn’t go on. There was stark silence on the other end of the line.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I could hear sympathy in his voice, sympathy and concern. “It wasn’t a car wreck, Ralph, nothing like that. I shot her. She was trying to kill me.”
“There’s a plane from Phoenix that gets into Sea-Tac tomorrow morning at ten. Have someone out there to meet me.”
“But…” I started to object. He didn’t hear me. The receiver clicked in my ear.
I put down the phone. “He’s coming up,” I told Peters. “He wants someone to meet him at the airport at ten in the morning.”
Peters took my glass and gave me a mock salute. “Aye aye, sir,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
The phone rang. I had forgotten to unplug the cord. It was Karen, calling from Cucamonga. “Katy Powell called me an hour ago. I’m sorry, Beau. Are you all right?”
Surprised to hear her voice, I mumbled something unintelligible. I was touched that she had bothered to call.
“The kids don’t know what to say. They’re sorry too. Do you have someone there with you?”
I looked at Peters. “Yes, I do. My partner. He’s staying over.”
The conversation fumbled along for another minute or two. When I hung up, Peters looked at me quizzically. “Your ex?”
I nodded.
“It was nice of her to call.”
We pulled the plug on the phone before it had a chance to ring again. Peters and I proceeded to get shit- faced drunk. We ran out of gin and MacNaughton’s about the same time. I passed out in the leather chair. When I woke up the next morning, there was nothing left in the liquor cabinet but a half jug of vermouth. I had a terrible hangover. Anne Corley Beaumont was still dead.
Peters went down to stuff some money in the Datsun’s parking meter. I told him I’d break his face if he brought up a newspaper.
I didn’t want to see what they’d print about Anne and me. Talk is cheap, though, and I don’t know if I would have been able to carry out my threat. I was in a good deal of pain. I was grateful the doctor had insisted on giving me a prescription of painkillers. I helped myself to a generous dosage, not only for my shoulder but also for my head. Nothing helped the ache in my heart.
Peters called in sick for the day. It wasn’t a lie. Neither of us is a very capable drinker. Without the haze of bourbon, I worried about Ames’ arrival. I was sure he meant trouble, that he was flying in to bird-dog the investigation. If the coroner called it justifiable homicide, Ames would still try to see to it that I lost my job. After all, Anne had been one of his prime clients. It was the least he could do.
Peters tried to talk me out of going to the airport, but I insisted. I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, like a kid who’d rather have his licking sooner than later. We went down to the lobby. The Datsun was parked across the street. Behind it sat a rust-colored Volvo.
“Goddamn! What the hell is he doing here?”
“Come on, Peters, you didn’t expect Max to miss a sideshow like this, did you? I’m surprised he didn’t turn up in the emergency room yesterday.”
Max crawled out of the Volvo as we crossed the street. “Did you marry her so you wouldn’t have to testify against her?”
My fist caught him full in the mouth. A front tooth gave way under my knuckle. Cole fell like a stunned ox. He lay partially on the curb and partially in the street. Hitting him was pure gut reflex. I couldn’t help myself. Then I
