always talked a good game, but he was never all that solid when it came to crime scenes and dead bodies. I figured that was one of the main reasons he had majored in paperwork-and butt kissing.
He turned on his detectives, who had caught their first glimpse of Molly Wright’s body seconds after Kramer. “Has anybody here gotten around to calling the ME yet?” he groused. “What the hell’s the matter with you guys? And get this crime scene roped off. I don’t want anyone walking around in here. That goes for you and your pals there, Beaumont. Get the hell out and stop messing up our evidence.”
I would have said something, but Mel laid a restraining hand on my arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Walking away from Kramer, I headed for my car, which was parked several houses down the street. As I wove my way through the haphazardly parked phalanx of vehicles, Mel came trailing after me. She caught up with me when I stopped to unlock the car door. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“You notice Kramer didn’t ask if we knew who the victim was,” I said.
Mel nodded. “And I noticed none of us volunteered that information, either.”
“It’s going to take time for him to figure it out. In the meantime, I’m on my way to Harborview to let Amy know what’s happened. I’d rather she heard the news from a friend rather than from Paul Kramer or the ME’s office. What about you?”
She patted her cell phone. “I’m going to get on the horn to Harry I. Ball and Ross Connors-for the same reason. They need to hear about all this from us, and it can’t wait until we get around to doing our paperwork. From the looks of those satellite vans, the story will be all over the eleven o’clock news.”
“Want a lift back to your car?” I asked.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m already wet.” She started to walk away.
“Mel?”
She turned and looked at me. “What?”
“Thanks for what you did tonight,” I said. “No matter what happens to Heather now, at least we gave her a chance. She’ll be able to plead her case in front of a judge and jury. If she’d gone off with Dillon, there’s no telling…”
“So when Brad and I get around to arresting her, there’ll be no hard feelings?”
“Right,” I said. “None.”
She walked away, disappearing into the haze of rain and flashing lights, while I headed for the hospital. It wasn’t a trip I relished. The last time I had sat in the Trauma Center waiting room, I had been there with Sue Danielson’s two boys, sitting with them when the doctor came to give us the bad news that she wasn’t going to make it. I had known that Sue was gravely wounded, so I guess I had been prepared.
Tonight, though, for Amy, news of Molly’s unexpected death would come with no warning at all, and at a time when the Peters family was already operating deep in crisis mode. Was it better to have such an emotional blow delivered by a friend? I hoped so.
The room where life-changing news was delivered daily-the place where loved ones waited and worried, wept, hoped, and despaired-was impossibly ordinary and not particularly comfortable, either. Three separate family groupings huddled miserably in various corners of the room.
The Peters family was divided into two separate camps. Tracy and an anguished, ashen-faced Heather sat at a table in the middle of the room. Amy, with the sleeping Jared’s head once again cradled in her lap, sat on a sagging couch. A uniformed officer, perched on a nearby chair, was interviewing Ron.
Nodding at Ron, I made my way over to Amy. “How’s it going?”
She looked up at me, shook her head, and smiled wanly. “I don’t know what to hope for,” she said. “If Dillon dies, it’ll break Heather’s heart. If he lives, he’ll still break her heart. The truth is, though, he held us all at knifepoint, Heather included. In my heart of hearts, I hope he dies and goes straight to hell. Is that wrong?”
“Not wrong,” I said. “And I don’t blame you.”
“You don’t?”
“Especially not now,” I told her. “Now that I know the rest of it.”
“The rest of what?” Amy asked.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Amy. Molly is dead. Her body was found in the trunk of Dillon’s vehicle a little while ago. There’s no official cause of death right now. It’s too soon. When I left, the ME had yet to arrive on the scene, but I believe she was stabbed to death.”
Amy’s hand went to her throat. Her face blanched. “No,” she said. “That’s not possible!”
Ron, catching sight of Amy’s stricken expression, pushed away from the officer and rolled over to his wife’s side. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Molly,” Amy said. “Dillon’s killed her.”
Ron looked at me for confirmation. “Is that true?” he asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” I said. “Not this soon, but Molly’s body was found in Dillon’s trunk. From the amount of blood, I’d say he stabbed her repeatedly.”
“But why?” Ron demanded. “I thought Molly was Dillon’s friend. When he showed up at the house with his knife last night and threatened us if we didn’t tell him where to find Heather, I never doubted for a moment that he’d use it on me, but I don’t understand why he’d go after Molly.”
Amy roused the sleeping Jared and handed him over to his father. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “I have to go tell the folks.”
Without a word, Ron took the child into his arms. I would have expected him to say something conciliatory, but he didn’t. There was no word of comfort or condolence from Ron as Amy stood up and smoothed her skirt. That surprised me.
“If you’d like some company, I’ll be glad to drive you,” I offered.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Seemingly struck by some kind of indecision, she stood staring at Tracy and Heather, who were sitting halfway across the room. “Would you please tell Heather, Beau?” Amy asked. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
I didn’t want to tell Heather any more than Amy did, but not for the same reason. Dillon’s damning “we” had placed Heather firmly in the enemy camp. And if she had been a part of her own mother’s murder, it didn’t seem likely that Molly’s death would come as a surprise to her, either. But I didn’t say any of that to Ron and Amy. I simply got up and walked over to the table where Heather and Tracy were sitting, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. When I got there, I could see that Heather was crying.
“What do the doctors say?” I asked.
Heather raised her teary face. “Nothing,” she said. “They haven’t told us anything at all. He could be dead by now for all I know.”
“What do you know about your aunt Molly?” I asked.
“Molly?” Heather repeated. “Nothing. I’ve tried calling her. I left messages on her machine. I thought she’d be here. She’s the only one who knows Dillon’s mother’s cell phone number. His dad’s on his way down from White Rock right now, but he doesn’t know the cell number either.”
“There’s a reason Molly isn’t here.” I said the words deliberately, examining Heather’s every expression as I spoke.
“What is it?” Heather asked. “Is something wrong?”
“We found Molly’s body a little while ago,” I said. “She was…crammed into the trunk of Dillon’s Focus.”
“No!” Heather breathed. “That’s not possible. It can’t be true.”
Heather’s histrionics didn’t impress me, and I was in no mood to pull punches. “Well, it is true,” I shot back. “I was standing right there when the trunk was opened. And don’t try to pretend you know nothing about it.”
Heather’s outburst quieted as quickly as it had begun. “But I don’t know anything about it,” she declared. “And I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anybody. You believe me, don’t you?” When I didn’t answer, Heather turned beseechingly to Amy. “Mom?”
“We have to go,” Amy said. And we left.
We rode down in the elevator and went out through the lobby without exchanging a word.
I had met Amy’s parents, Carol and Arthur Fitzgerald, but I didn’t really know them. I knew that after selling their Queen Anne home to Ron and Amy, Carol and Art had moved into a water-view condominium project in Madison Park.
Art, an old-fashioned wheeler-dealer, had made a small fortune as a building contractor. It was his loving
