“I sure as hell did!” she declared.
“Let me take a look at it.” I scrambled up out of the desk chair, hurried to the bed, and lifted the ice pack off her knuckle. There was a neat cut across one of them where one of Mowat’s front teeth had broken the skin. The whole back of her fist was already discolored and swollen. I could tell from looking at it that her hand probably hurt like hell. I also knew she’d bite her tongue off before she’d admit it. Without being asked, I went straight to my shaving kit and got her a couple of Aleves. I came back from the bathroom with the pills and a glass of water.
“He’s probably filing a complaint even as we speak,” she said once she had swallowed the tablets.
“Were there any witnesses?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” she scoffed. “Jerks like that always make sure there are no witnesses.”
“Did you write up a report the last time he hassled you?”
“I did,” Mel said. “It’s in the file. There’s evidently been some bad blood between Mowat and Ross. At the time Ross told me he’d appreciate it if I’d leave it at that. And I did. Now all bets are off. If he files a complaint, I’ll file a countercomplaint.”
“Do you want me to go over to the morgue, finish witnessing the autopsy, and clean Mowat’s clock while I’m at it?”
She gave me a sheepish grin. “Thanks for the offer of being my Sir Galahad, but don’t bother. I already did a reasonable job of cleaning his clock myself. As for that autopsy? It turns out that wasn’t really scheduled for today after all. That was just a ruse to get me over to the morgue.”
“A phony autopsy as opposed to phony etchings,” I muttered. “Classy.”
Mel’s phone rang. Because she would have had to put down the ice pack to answer it, I plucked it out of her pocket and answered it for her.
“Mel Soames’s line,” I said.
“She punched him?” Ross Connors roared into my ear. “She flat-out punched him?”
“No,” I said. “I think it was more of a balled-fist situation than something flat-out.”
“Don’t be cute, Beau,” Ross said. “Mowat just called my office and raised all kinds of hell with Katie Dunn. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get a whole lot of sympathy from that quarter. Katie doesn’t like him any more than I do. How’s Mel?”
“She’d talk on the phone herself, but she’s holding an ice pack on her knuckles,” I told him. “She can’t do both at the same time.”
“Put me on speaker, then,” he said. “I need to talk to both of you.”
With some difficulty I managed to punch the appropriate numbers to activate the speaker function. It seems to me that there should be some standard operations that go from one kind of cell phone to another. That’s not the case, though. The controls on Mel’s phone differ enough from mine that I’m always baffled when I have to do anything with her phone.
“Are you there, Mel?” Ross asked.
“I’m here,” she answered.
“Good. Are you okay?”
“My knuckles are a little swollen, but I’m fine. Why?”
“I’ve had people monitoring new missing persons cases from all over the state in hopes of identifying the Jane Doe on Josh Deeson’s phone. A promising lead just turned up with the Lewis County Sheriff’s Department. The girl’s name is Rachel Camber. She’s fifteen years old, Anglo, and she’s been missing since Sunday. Her folks, who probably won’t qualify for any Parents of the Year Award, woke up this morning and figured out that their teenage daughter wasn’t home and hadn’t been home for several days.”
“Any other info on the girl?” Mel asked.
“Only that this isn’t the first time she’s run away. More like number three or four.”
“Where did she go the other times?”
“If the deputy found out during his initial contact with the parents, I don’t have that information at this time.”
“What about a photo?” I asked. “Does Lewis County have one and can they send us a copy?”
“As I understand it, the deputy who took the report picked up a copy of last year’s school photo while he was there at the house. He’s bringing it with him, and he’s on his way from Packwood to Chehalis right now. It’s about an hour and a half from Packwood to Chehalis. He’s probably another hour out at least. Between Olympia and there it’s right around half an hour. If Mel is up to it, I’d like you to be waiting for him at the sheriff’s department in Chehalis when he gets there.”
“I’m up to it,” Mel said determinedly.
“Keep ice on that hand and let Beau do the driving,” Ross advised her. “You know where the Lewis County Sheriff’s Department is located?”
That question was evidently directed at me. I knew how to get there all too well. Once, years ago, I’d been hauled into the Lewis County Jail by an overly enthusiastic deputy. It wasn’t one of my best moments, and it wasn’t something I had ever mentioned to Mel, or to Ross Connors, either. Some things are better left unsaid.
“Don’t worry,” I told them both. “I can find it.”
“As for Larry Mowat,” Ross continued, “don’t you worry about him for a moment, Mel. If he tries to make any kind of fuss about what happened between you, I’ll squash him flat like the bug he is.”
“Thank you,” Mel said.
I was all for squashing Dr. Larry Mowat. I would have told Ross Connors thank you, too, but it was Mel’s deal, not mine, and it wasn’t my place.
“I’m at the airport getting ready to fly out of Spokane,” Ross continued. “I have a few minutes before the plane is due to board. You probably don’t need to leave for Chehalis for another half hour, so how about bringing me up to date on what went on at the governor’s mansion. I’ve been out of the loop.”
Before Mel left for Larry Mowat’s faux autopsy, she had sent Ross a fairly detailed report about what had gone on at the Josh Deeson crime scene. Ross hadn’t seen it because he refuses to use his damned computer.
I had half a mind to pull Mel’s report up on the computer and simply read it to him word for word, but I didn’t. Instead we told him about our time at the governor’s mansion. We touched on everything we could remember off the top of our heads, including the part about Josh having been bullied by the kids at school as well as Mel’s and my reading of his supposed suicide note.
“It sounds like you don’t think he killed the girl,” Ross said.
“I think it’s possible he didn’t kill her,” Mel corrected, “but we’re going to have to prove it one way or the other.”
Mel has a way of saying things that allows for cover later on if that should prove necessary. She’d make an excellent politician, if she didn’t occasionally feel obliged to punch someone in the mouth.
“The watch sounds important,” Ross continued. “I’ll contact the crime lab and get them working on collecting DNA from the watchband. I told the guys in Spokane to do the same thing on the scarf. Once we have DNA profiles, all we’ll need is a couple of suspects so we can match them up. Case solved.”
That was my idea, too.
“What about the garbage detail?” he asked. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Too bad,” Ross said. “I was hoping you’d find something that would help us.”
“So was I,” I said.
I could hear a public address system talking in the background.
“Oops,” Ross said. “They just called my flight. I need to go.”
He hung up. I stripped off my shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops in favor of something a little more official-looking. If Mel and I were going to drive to Packwood that night to tell some poor unsuspecting parents that their precious daughter had most likely been murdered, then I wanted to look the part. That difficult assignment requires a certain amount of gravitas. In my book, it also requires a sports jacket and a tie, no exceptions. For those kinds of occasions, Mel favors a tailored suit and low heels. It’s what we do.
Once we were both properly put together, we refreshed Mel’s ice pack and rode down to the car. Mel insisted on bringing along our computers and our air cards in case we had any waiting time on our hands later.
I happen to know that Packwood is in the far reaches of Lewis County, within ten miles or so of Mount Rainier and right up against the edge of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. I thought the likelihood of our having an
