“But you’re interfering in the investigation of a homicide.”
“Yes,” Mel said. “There’s apparently a lot of that going around this morning. But I regret to inform you, Dr. Epstein, that before my partner and I can provide any information regarding the victim’s identity, you’ll need to go through official channels, too.”
“Give me the attorney general’s name and number,” Dr. Epstein said. “I’ll give him a call.”
Shaking her head, Mel dug in her purse. I knew exactly where this was going and how it was going to turn out.
“Unfortunately,” Mel said, “there aren’t any shortcuts. Before you can talk to the AG, you’ll need to speak with our immediate supervisor. Here’s his name and number.” Mel handed Dr. Epstein a business card.
“Come on, Beau,” Mel said. “We’ve got places to go and things to do.”
We were almost back to our separate cars before Dr. Epstein looked down at the card in her hand. I saw her lips move as she read the words printed there. “Harry I. Ball.” She looked up and glared at us. “Is this some kind of joke?” she yelled.
“No,” Mel called back. “It’s not a joke.”
But of course it was-a very old S.H.I.T. squad joke, and being able to turn it loose on Dr. Epstein made the whole morning seem a little brighter. I realized that old jokes are just fine as long as you personally aren’t the butt of them.
When we reached our vehicles, I was going to tell Mel thank you, but she was already on the phone with Barbara Galvin back at the Squad B office in Bellevue.
“That’s right,” she was saying. “Her name is Dr. Epstein. She’s a royal pain in the butt. She’s going to want to talk to Harry about our helping her identify her homicide victim. The longer you can stall her, the better.”
There was a pause. “What are we going to do in the meantime?” Mel looked at me and grinned. “With any kind of luck, Mr. Beaumont here is going to buy his partner some breakfast.”
We drove back to the Harrison exit and ate a farmer’s breakfast at the Country Cousin, one of I-5’s longtime roadhouse destinations. My only regret was that it was breakfast time-far too early for the Country Cousin’s signature fried chicken. I had to make do with chicken-fried steak instead.
School was out everywhere, so the main dining room was crowded with vacationers traveling with hordes of noisy ankle-biters, none of whom, it seemed, were ever required to stay in their seats during mealtimes. By begging, we managed to be seated in an otherwise empty section of the restaurant. Not only was it quieter, I felt we could discuss the complexities of our two co-joined cases without someone at a nearby table listening to our every word.
In the old days, we would have come up with a couple of quarters and dragged a single copy of some dead- tree newspaper into the restaurant with us. Instead, we brought in our computers, fired up our air cards, and read online versions, both of us scanning quickly to see how much of the Josh Deeson story was now common knowledge.
Finished reading, Mel closed her computer, sipped her coffee, and looked thoughtful. “If Rachel Camber didn’t die until twelve hours ago, the snuff film was a fake,” she said at last.
“So it would appear,” I said. “And an effective one at that. The first time someone made it
“Yes,” Mel said. “And the ‘here’ in question happens to be partway between Olympia and Packwood, but why would someone pull a stunt like pretending to kill someone?” Mel asked. “And what does any of it have to do with Josh Deeson?”
“Our first order of business,” I said, “is making the connection between Josh and Rachel. But let me ask you this: Did you notice what happened when you showed Rachel’s photo to Dr. Epstein?”
Mel shrugged. “Yes, the minute she saw it, she knew who it was. I could see in her face that she recognized her-that the girl in the photo was the same person the diver had just dragged out of the mud puddle.”
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s my opinion, too. Now think back to when we showed Josh Deeson that video when we were up in his room. Do you remember his reaction?”
“Sure,” Mel said. “He was shocked by what he was seeing, just like everyone else who sees it is shocked.”
“What else?”
“He claimed he didn’t know the dead girl-that he had no idea who she was.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
While the waitress brought our platters of food and poured more coffee, Mel considered the question.
“Yes, I do,” she said finally.
“So do I, as a matter of fact,” I agreed once the waitress left us alone. “Josh was just a kid. If he had known who the dead girl was at the time we showed him the video, we would have seen some sign of recognition on his face, just as we both did on Dr. Epstein’s face a little while ago. Doctors are trained to keep from revealing their thoughts and feelings. Josh had no such training. If he had known who Rachel was, he would have ratted himself out.”
“But I still don’t understand what we’re dealing with here,” Mel said. “If Josh had no idea who the girl was, what was the point of sending him that video? Shock value, maybe, or some kind of joke? Maybe whoever’s behind it was hoping that someone at school, like a teacher or an administrator, would find the offending video on Josh’s phone. That would probably have been enough to land him in all kinds of hot water. He might even have been expelled. Imagine how the media would have jumped on that. The only fly in that ointment is that Governor Longmire was the one who found the video, not someone from school. And instead of being expelled from school, now Josh is dead.”
Nodding, I picked up my phone. I scanned through my call history until I found Todd Hatcher’s number. When I dialed it, Julie answered.
“You missed him,” she told me. “He had an early-morning breakfast meeting in Olympia today. He said if you called I should tell you that he’s tracking on the ISPs and that he expects to have some additional information for you by the end of the day.”
There was a click on my phone that meant a new call was coming in. I checked, saw that the caller was Harry, and let that one go to voice mail.
“Okay,” I said to Julie. “Just tell him we’re waiting to hear from him.”
By then Mel’s phone was ringing. “Hi, Harry,” she said. “What’s up?” She glanced at me, smiled, bit off a mouthful of toast, and then chewed while Harry gave her an ear-splitting blast.
“Yes,” Mel said finally when she could get a word in edgewise. “She struck us that way, too. Pushy.”
Harry went off on another rant. Mel calmly bit off another hunk of toast. “Absolutely,” she said finally. “That’s the impression we got from Sheriff Tyler-that the murder happened elsewhere. This is just a dump site.”
There was another long pause during which Mel listened to Harry while sipping her coffee and pouring herself another cup from the carafe the waitress had left on the table. I couldn’t help noticing that the knuckles on the back of her hand provided an interesting study in bar-brawl-worthy bruises.
“Yes,” Mel said brightly, nodding in my direction, as though expecting my wholehearted agreement. “Of course. We’ll be glad to give her the message. Sure thing, and we’ll keep you posted, too.”
Mel ended the call.
“What message?” I asked. “For whom?”
“For Dr. Epstein,” Mel said. “Who else? This case now involves three separate jurisdictions. Dr. Epstein called and gave Harry a ration, so Harry called Ross to pass it on, and Ross called Sheriff Tyler. Upshot is, what goes around comes around. Special Homicide is now in charge of this investigation. You and I are primary.”
“What are we supposed to do, spend the whole day sitting around Chehalis with our hands in our pockets waiting for Dr. Epstein to get around to doing an autopsy so we can witness same?”
“No,” Mel said with a grin. “It’s much better than that. Ross is faxing Sheriff Tyler an order expressly forbidding Dr. Epstein from performing the autopsy and remanding the custody of the Centralia victim to the King County medical examiner’s office in Seattle. You and I are expected to drive to Packwood, give Rachel’s folks the bad news, and then bring them to Chehalis, where we’ll ask them to identify the remains as is and before the body is transported to Seattle.”
“As is?” I asked. “You mean without cleaning her up at all?”
