with all the computerized bells and whistles. There was something wonderfully simple and straightforward about the old days when you picked up a telephone receiver and some nice lady said, 'Number, please.' Back then, if you wanted to bill a call to another number, all you had to do was say so.
In Gabe's office at the crime lab in Tacoma, I discovered the hard way that it isn't easy to make the Washington State Patrol's long distance provider coordinate with Seattle P.D.'s long distance provider. I dialed in access codes until I was blue in the face before I finally made a telephone actually ring in far-off La Jolla, California, at ten after five.
Not only did the phone ring, but-miracle of miracles-a live human voice answered, 'Homicide Captain Wayne Kilpatrick speaking.'
'Detective Beaumont of the Seattle Police Department, Captain,' I said.
'Oh, yeah,' he returned. 'I just found your message asking about whether or not there are any new developments. Unfortunately, I don't have much of anything to report from this end. I turned that situation over to one of my people, Detective Enders. Haven't you heard from her yet?'
'Not so far.'
'Hold the phone and let me see if I can track her down.'
He put me on hold. I was grateful that, instead of the strains of Muzak, only silence greeted my ear. After what seemed like several minutes, Kilpatrick came back on the line. 'Are you still there?'
'So far.'
'Hold on and I'll transfer you.'
After only one ring, a woman answered. 'Detective Lucille Enders,' she said.
'Detective Beaumont here,' I said. 'Seattle P.D.'
'Sorry I didn't get back to you earlier-I got called out on another case.'
'That's all right. Do you have anything for me?'
'As a matter of fact, I do. I spent a big part of my morning at Alpha-Cyte talking to a guy named Harry Moore who owns the place. I picked up Lizbeth Wolf's mother's name, address, and phone number, but I still haven't been able to locate her. Moore seemed really broken up by the idea that something may have happened to Lizbeth Wolf. He wanted details, and I told him I didn't have any. That he'd have to talk to you or to someone else up there in Seattle to get the whole story. He gave me his direct line at work as well as his home number. He said for you to go ahead and call regardless of how late it is.'
She read off the numbers, and I jotted them down. 'And the mother?'
I heard the shuffle of pages as Detective Enders thumbed through her own notebook. 'Here it is. Her name's Anna Dorn. She lives in Laguna Beach.'
'What about finding anyone connected to the other victim, to Don Wolf?' I asked.
'I've run into a brick wall there,' Detective Enders told me. 'It's as though he never existed. Are you sure you didn't make him up?'
'I'm relatively certain I didn't.'
I looked over my notes. 'How far is Laguna Beach from where you are?' I asked.
'Ninety minutes or so, depending on traffic. Why?'
'Damn!' I said. 'That's too far. I guess I'd better call there and see if someone in the Laguna Beach police department will go out and track her down.'
'Why, what's going on?'
'Don Wolf's name was inadvertently released to the media today, and the connection to Lizbeth can't be far behind,' I explained. 'I'm afraid the mother will end up seeing it on television or reading it in the newspaper before we have a chance to notify her in person, especially since we still don't know for sure whether or not the second victim is Lizbeth Wolf.'
'I'll handle it,' Lucille Enders said briskly. 'I'm off shift now. I was just completing some paperwork. I'll leave for Laguna Beach as soon as I finish.'
'I can't ask you to do that, Detective Enders. I'll-'
'Nobody's asking me,' Lucille cut in. 'I'm telling you, I'll handle it. And I'll call you and let you know when it's been done.'
'Why would you do that?' I asked.
'Because I'm a mother, too,' Lucille Enders answered. 'And because Lizbeth Wolf is Anna Dorn's only child.'
'Thank you,' I said. 'Thank you very much.'
Who says there's no place in the world for women detectives? Maybe I would have said so once, but not anymore. I've learned my lesson.
When I finished that call, at least I already knew all the necessary codes. Compared to the first long distance call, the second one was a snap. And even though it was almost five-thirty by then, Harry Moore answered his direct line at Alpha-Cyte.
'Detective Beaumont,' he said. 'Ever since Detective Enders left, I've been sitting here hoping you'd call. Tell me, what happened?'
'It's all very sketchy, so far. At this time, we're reasonably sure Don Wolf was murdered. If the victim found in his apartment turns out to be his wife, she may or may not have committed suicide.'
Harry Moore's sharp intake of breath was almost a sob. 'Oh, my God!' he whimpered. 'Suicide? I was afraid that's what you were going to say. If she killed herself, it's my fault. All my fault.'
'Why would it be your fault?'
'We had a big argument, a couple of days after Christmas. She left in a huff.'
'What was the argument about?'
'What else? That worthless husband of hers.'
In Harry Moore I had encountered yet another nonfan of the late, great Donald Wolf.
'Wait a minute, Mr. Moore. Let me ask a question. How well do you know Lizbeth Wolf?'
'Very well. She started working here as an intern while she was still in college. I trained her myself. She's done virtually every job here, from the most intricate research procedures to typing annual reports.'
'Can you tell me if she was right- or left-handed?'
'Left, of course. Why do you need to know that?'
I closed my eyes, remembering the scene in Don Wolf's bedroom. I could still see a clear image of the dead woman's lifeless left hand, complete with gold wedding band, hanging down on the left-hand side of the bed. Potentially, that made one more piece of the puzzle slip into place. The gun had been found on the other side of the bed. If Lizbeth Wolf actually turned out to be the victim, Audrey Cummings was right in saying she hadn't committed suicide.
'In that case, Mr. Moore, if it's any consolation, I think I can assure you that the dead woman, whoever she is, was murdered.'
'Did Don Wolf kill her?' Harry asked.
Good question. We had all been going on the assumption that Don Wolf had died first, thus leaving him out as a suspect in the death of the woman found in his condo. That possibly erroneous conclusion was largely based on the fact that his body had been found first. I made myself a note to check with Audrey Cummings to see if the autopsy had allowed them to pinpoint time of death for either victim.
'By person or persons unknown,' I said.
'Just wait,' Harry Moore said. 'You'll see. I always knew there was something terribly wrong with that guy. Oh, he looked great. He was a snazzy dresser-a real lady's man. But when he waltzed in here last summer and swept Lizbeth off her feet the way he did, I knew right then something wasn't right. Lizbeth had been with me for so long that she seemed more like a member of my family than an employee. Like the daughter I never had. Maybe I was a little overprotective, and I think Lizbeth resented it. But jeez, I could tell from the start that the guy was bad news. It's hard for someone like me to keep my mouth shut. Then last week, when the SOB proved me right, I had to go and open my big yap and tell her ‘I told you so.' After that, all hell broke loose.'
'Maybe you should try telling me the whole story,' I suggested, 'from the beginning.'
Harry took a deep breath. 'Don Wolf showed up down here midsummer of last year. I forget now where he and Lizbeth met. Once they did, it was whirlwind courtship time. Within weeks, she was wearing a rock for an engagement ring. I tried to tell her that he was rushing things too much and pressuring her into getting married
