files.”
“And not just from Washington, either,” Ross said. “The girl who was shot in Kent was from Portland and was visiting her grandmother over the summer. The girl in the head-on collision was from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. These days kids have driver’s licenses and cars. The girl in the video could be from Canada for all we know. Mel, I know you’ve worked with agencies in other states in the U.S. as well as in Canada. I want you to do it again.”
“Yes, sir,” Mel said. “Will do.”
“You showed the video to Josh?” Ross asked.
“We did.”
“What kind of reaction?”
“Shock,” Mel said. “He claimed he hadn’t seen it before, and I think he was telling the truth about that, but I’m not so sure he was being truthful when he said he didn’t know her.”
Ross nodded. “Right,” he said. “So where do kids meet other kids?”
“School, the mall, the movies,” I suggested.
“Okay,” Ross said. “So here’s the deal. Todd is a hard worker. I’m assuming that by the time you finish sorting your first batch of trash, he’ll have come up with the photo. Then I want you to hit the bricks. We’ll start with secondary schools within a fifty-mile radius or so. I’ll have Katie put together a list of school principals along with their contact information. Someone out there knows who this girl is.
“Again, when you talk to the principals, your cover story is that we’re investigating a possible case of bullying. School bullying is a big deal these days, the media flavor of the month. People will be a lot more likely to help if they think that’s all it is. They’ll turn skittish if they know it’s a homicide.
“And speaking of skittish. You’re going to need to talk to the governor’s daughters. They may not be best pals with Josh, but kids always know what other kids in the family are up to. When we were kids, my older sisters all thought I was a regular pain in the butt, but they would have died first before ratting me out to our parents. And I felt the same way about them. Someone needs to interview the girls.”
I was already shaking my head in objection. “Ross, I already know that isn’t going to happen. Marsha Longmire isn’t going to let us within arm’s reach of Zoe and Giselle Longmire. Neither is Garvin McCarthy.”
“You’re right,” Ross said. “I’m sure Garvin has seen to it that you’ve been declared persona non grata as far as the governor’s mansion is concerned, but this may help.”
He slid a piece of paper across the desk. On it was a Lacey address I didn’t recognize. Lacey is a suburb just north of Olympia.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
Ross smiled. “That would be the address of Sid Longmire, the governor’s ex, and the ex’s new wife, Monica. They live in a gated community on a golf course in Lacey, and they share custody of the two daughters, Zoe and Giselle. Actually, now that Giselle is eighteen, officially they share custody of the younger daughter only. Considering the way ex-wives and new wives usually interact, I have a feeling you’ll have a lot more luck interviewing Zoe at her father’s house than you will at the governor’s mansion.”
I folded up the address and put it in my wallet. Ross Connors is a wily old bastard. He’s a good guy to have in your corner, but I think it would be a bad idea to piss him off.
“Is that all?” I asked.
He nodded. “For right now.”
“Okay, then,” I said, standing up and offering my hand. “If you’ve got an early-morning plane to catch, we’d better be going.”
Mel followed suit.
“You’ll keep me apprised of any and all progress?” Ross asked.
“Absolutely,” Mel said.
We left the office and started for the front door, expecting to make it there on our own. Ross had told Mrs. O’Malley good night sometime earlier, but she was nonetheless hovering somewhere in the background.
“Right this way,” she said, appearing out of nowhere. She was still in her uniform; still in her apron.
She led us to the door, opened it, and shooed us into the hall.
“May the saints preserve you,” she said.
Since I was riding back to the hotel with Mel at the wheel, that wasn’t such a strange wish.
“Thank you,” I said. “And the same to you.”
Chapter 9
We went back to the hotel. It wasn’t that late, but it had been a long day, and my knees were killing me. I took some Aleve and went to bed. Mel was still at the desk in the corner checking her e-mail when I drifted off to never-never land, thinking about Gerry Willis’s grandson, Josh Deeson.
Mel is more of a night owl than I am. That doesn’t mean she’s a slugabed in the morning, because she’s able to function on far less sleep than I do. I went to bed early, she went to bed late, and we both got up at the same time.
Don’t try to tell me that God doesn’t have a sense of humor, because S/He does. Just the morning before I had been pondering the joys of having separate bathrooms. The next day dawned with us ensconced in the Olympia Red Lion with only a single bathroom in sight. And, in the world of bathroom use, men and women are definitely not created equal. Women win; men lose.
The bathroom had a single washbasin and what would have been an adequate countertop had Mel been there alone. I found a place in among her bottles and potions to put my shaving kit on a temporary basis. I’d had the good sense to shower while Mel was out on her morning run and had my shaving kit safely back in my luggage when she came back. Once she disappeared into the bathroom to shower and do her makeup, when a need arose, I had to take myself down to the lobby and make use of a men’s room down there.
I was back in the room, seated at the desk, and had just booted up my computer when she emerged from the bathroom looking like a million bucks. Not so long ago, her appearing like that within touching distance would have caused me to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and try talking her out of the clothing she had just put on.
Not on this particular morning. I believe I may have mentioned that I hate having bad knees. They interfere with far more important activities than just going up and down stairs.
“Did you check your e-mail yet?” She asked the question while slipping on a fetchingly dangly pair of earrings.
Like purses, earrings are something else that must be chosen by the person who will wear them rather than by the person purchasing them. At this late date I have finally concluded that bringing Mel along on the shopping trips is a foolproof way of making sure all her birthday and Christmas presents are perfect.
On that morning in Olympia, what floored me was that she performed this tricky operation-putting what looked like chandeliers into tiny holes in her earlobes-without having to look in a mirror, even though one of those was there on the wall right next to her. And please do not ask me to explain why someone who has been shot more than once would turn squeamish at the idea of putting on a pair of pierced earrings. All I can say is I’m glad the earrings were destined for Mel’s ears and not for mine.
As for e-mail? Yes, we’re on the same account, so we can both see the list of each other’s new mail. But it’s like using the bathroom together. It’s just not done. I don’t read hers and she doesn’t read mine.
I scrolled through my list of new mail, including any number of male enhancement messages, until I found the one with the subject line of Beaumont. I opened it and read the following:
