there.'
'How much money?' Tim Blaine asked.
'One hundred g's,' Grace Highsmith said. 'I believe that's how the tough guys always say it in the movies. I've never been quite sure why they use that term. What does the letter g have to do with a thousand dollars?'
By then, I was a grizzled veteran of Grace Highsmith's little surprises. Tim Blaine wasn't. When she said that, the stunned look on his face probably wasn't all that different from the look on mine the day before when she had dumped the. 32 auto out of her purse onto the linen tablecloth in Azalea's Fountain Court.
I could have told Grace that g refers to grand as in thousand, but I didn't feel like making any more contributions toward her growing criminal vocabulary.
'Back to Virginia Marks for a moment,' I said. 'Even after you knew Don Wolf was dead, Virginia kept working for you. Why was that?'
Grace shrugged. 'By then, I assumed we needed to know everything we could about him in case Suzanne needed information on him to mount Latty's defense. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem as though there was much to find out.'
'That's what Virginia's trip to California was all about?'
Grace nodded.
'Did she learn anything important?'
'Not really. I only talked to her briefly on the telephone. She said she had learned a few things, but that she'd get back to me later on today with the details. I wasn't all that excited about it because it sounded to me as though it was mostly more of the same.'
'The same what?'
'The same old nothing,' Grace answered. 'At least, nothing much. She never did have any luck tracing his background prior to his going to work for D.G.I. last June. She said it was almost like he was dropped onto this planet, fully grown and fully educated, at age thirty-two. Virginia thought maybe he might be part of the federal witness protection program.'
The slight discrepancy was so small that it almost sailed right past me without my noticing. 'Wait a minute,' I said, 'did you say last June?'
Grace nodded, 'Yes.'
'But I thought…' The people in the shop stayed quiet while I thumbed through my notebook, looking for the notes from my interview with Bill Whitten. And once I found them, I spent more time searching through and deciphering my hasty scribbles until I found the exact reference.
'Here it is. According to what Bill Whitten told me, Don Wolf went to work for D.G.I. in early October.'
'No,' Grace said. 'You're wrong about that. I'm sure Virginia told me he started working for D.G.I. much earlier than that, way back last summer sometime. Virginia didn't say exactly, but it sounded as though it was a consulting job of some kind. I'm sure she would have addressed that issue in her report if she'd ever had a chance to deliver it. She usually faxed me a written copy a little in advance of our face-to-face. That gave me a chance to think about it beforehand and to make note of any questions.'
Tim and I exchanged glances. Most likely, he was thinking about Virginia Marks' missing computer. I know I was.
'But she didn't fax you anything last night after she got back to town?'
'No. Not as far as I know. She might have. There was a whole stack of paper in the tray this morning. It looked to me like it mostly had to do with shipments to and from the shop.'
The bell over the door jangled noisily, and in walked Latty Gibson. She paused just inside the door and looked questioningly from face to face.
'Why are you still here?' she demanded, settling her gaze on me. 'What's going on?'
'We were just talking to your Aunt Grace,' I said. 'We had to ask her some questions as well.'
'Are you done now?'
Tim was already on his way to the door. 'Yes,' he said. 'Now that you mention it, I think we are pretty much finished, aren't we, Detective Beaumont?'
'Evidently,' I said dryly.
Nodding to each of the ladies in turn, I followed Detective Blaine out into the street. 'Isn't she something!' Tim Blaine was saying as I caught up with him.
'I'll say,' I agreed. 'I've only known her for two days, but I can tell you that Grace Highsmith is full of surprises.'
'I wasn't talking about Grace,' he said. 'I mean Latty. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. How could that son of a bitch do that to her! I swear, if he weren't dead already…'
As I said before, the late Don Wolf was amazingly unlamented. Even people who never met him were glad he was dead. It should have been enough to give the guy a complex. 'You and everybody else,' I said.
'I believe somebody's out to get her,' Tim continued. 'They're trying to frame her. Maybe Virginia Marks was even in on it. That business with her finding the gun is just too much of a coincidence.'
Cops aren't ever supposed to mix business with pleasure. With good reason. The people who turn up involved in homicide cases-suspects and witnesses alike-are supposed to be off limits, especially when it comes to romantic entanglements. The prohibition makes perfect sense. Once an investigator has a personal connection to someone involved in the case, his perspective and judgment both become clouded, and his impartiality flies right out the window.
Assuming the mantle of wise old man, I made a futile attempt to give Tim Blaine the benefit of my own hard-won experience. When I set out to pop his romantic bubble, I was speaking from the unenviable position of first-hand experience. Of being able to say, 'Do as I say, not as I do.' After all, years ago, when I fell for one of my own prime suspects, that relationship had come within inches of being fatal-for both of us.
'Tim,' I said, 'would you mind if I gave you a word of advice?'
'What's that?' he asked.
'Forget about Latty Gibson, at least for the time being.'
'Forget about her? Are you kidding?'
'No,' I said. 'I'm not kidding at all. I'm as serious as I can be. And I'm telling you this for your own good.'
Our eyes met for a moment as we stood there on that sunlit sidewalk. 'I'll take it under advisement,' he agreed grudgingly. 'But I'm not making any promises.'
He turned toward his Ford, reached down, and wrenched open the door. 'See you around,' he added, before climbing in and slamming the door shut behind him.
In other words, 'Screw you!' As I watched him drive away, I realized I had never told him about the real implications of Latty leaving her coat with the gun in it somewhere on the premises of D.G.I. That was all right, though. Blaine was a Bellevue police officer, and Bill Whitten was in Seattle.
The day before, Captain Powell had threatened to add more personnel to the case if, after twenty-four hours, Kramer, Arnold, and I weren't making measurable progress. As far as I could tell, we weren't. That meant that if Powell had carried through on his promise to increase the body count, we'd be able to draft someone to go to D.G.I. and collect the missing coat.
Tossing Don Wolf's jacket over my shoulder, I crossed the street to my own car. At three o'clock in the afternoon, there was already a traffic jam on Main Street in Old Bellevue. With the interview over, I reached down to check my pager. I wasn't particularly concerned when I realized it wasn't there on my belt where it belonged. I reasoned that I had probably left it on the bathroom counter earlier when I stripped out of my clothes for that quick shower. But that was no great loss. If people who knew me were trying to reach me, they were probably used to the idea that I didn't return calls instantly.
As I waited for my turn to go play in the gridlock, I checked the recall button on my cell phone. Naturally, there was a call.
At first, I thought my caller might be Ralph, but when I tried reaching him at Belltown Terrace, there was no answer. Next, I checked in with the department.
'Sergeant Watkins here,' Watty said, answering his phone.
'Did Kramer ever show up?' I asked.
'As a matter of fact, he did. But before I put him through to you, I've got a bone to pick with you, Detective
