After all, look who was reading it. I was. Reluctantly. Furtively. As though hoping I wouldn't be caught. I usually make it a point not to read newspapers, especially in public.
The article went on to discuss Seattle's poor showing in the construction industry's accident statistics, how the city was tenth in the nation for number of construction deaths per billion dollars' worth of new construction. There was even a quote, attributed to Martin Green, Executive Director of Ironworkers Local 165, saying that part of the problem was due to a lack of building inspections by the state.
Martin Green. The name leaped out at me. I wondered if it wasn't the same irate Mr. Green from the lobby of Belltown Terrace. Probably.
I sat down and read the entire article again, and then, out of boredom, I read the whole paper. On the back of the front page of the last section, just before the want ads, was a much smaller article, a brief obituary about Logan Tyree, the victim of a boating accident, whose body had been pulled from Lake Union on Saturday afternoon. That one told me nothing I didn't already know.
I was almost finished with the crossword puzzle when Cassie Young came looking for me.
'There you are, Detective Beaumont. I couldn't find you anywhere.' My work on the set that morning had evidently redeemed me in her eyes and she had restored me to the rank of detective. 'Are you coming to dinner tonight?'
'I don't know. This is the first I've heard anything about it. What is it, a command performance?'
'Something like that,' she replied dryly, ignoring the derision in my response. 'Mr. Goldfarb said for you to meet us at Gooey's, the bar at the Sheraton. Seven o'clock. We'll all go together from there.'
Derrick Parker came up behind her just as she finished speaking. 'Go where?' he asked. The miracle-working makeup had been removed. He had looked fine during the filming, but now he was a wreck.
'Dinner tonight. You're invited too, Derrick. Are you coming?'
'That depends,' Derrick waffled. 'Can I bring a date?'
'Suit yourself.' Cassie turned and started away.
'Hey, wait a minute,' I called after her. 'Does that mean we're dismissed? School's out for the summer?' She didn't dignify my question with a reply. I watched her walk away. 'For someone her age, she doesn't have much of a sense of humor,' I remarked to Derrick Parker.
He was watching her as well. Her punk red hair looked like a rooster's comb in the glaring sunlight. 'Nobody in the movie business can afford to have a sense of humor,' Derrick told me, 'least of all if they're assistant to someone like Goldfarb.'
Without further discussion, he and I started toward my car. On the way I handed him the newspaper section with the page containing the article on Logan Tyree folded out. 'Thought you might be interested. That's the guy we pulled out of the water the other day,' I said.
'So you found out who he was?'
'Somebody did,' I answered.
Derrick scanned the article as we walked. 'You were right about him not being a jumper. It says here his boat burned. That's funny. He didn't look burned to me.'
'It exploded first,' I explained. 'He was probably blown clear by the force of the blast. I've seen people come through things like that with hardly a scratch. He must have hit his head on the cabin roof on the way out, or maybe he struck something in the water.'
'The article said he was thirty-seven,' Derrick continued. 'That's only two years older than I am.'
Derrick Parker must have been feeling twinges of his own mortality. I notice symptoms of that occasionally myself, especially the morning after the night before, so I didn't have a whole lot of sympathy. 'If you think that's bad, you should read what's on the front page,' I told him. 'She was only twenty-eight.'
He read the construction accident article while we drove and, sure enough, he felt even worse. We went by my apartment so Derrick could retrieve his bottle of Glenlivet, then I took him back to the hotel. He said he was planning to take a nap. That seemed like a helluva good idea to me, too. As soon as I got home, I flopped across the bed fully clothed and fell asleep.
Peters called at six. 'I gave you time enough to get home before I called,' he said. 'Did you see it?'
'Did I see what?'
'The article in the paper about the woman who fell off Masters Plaza yesterday morning.'
'I saw it. What about her?'
'Don't you think it's a hell of a coincidence for two ironworkers to die in separate accidents in less than a week?'
Usually I'm the one who jumps to conclusions. I wondered briefly if Peters hadn't been in bed too long and his brain was going soft. 'Wait a minute here,' I cautioned. 'Logan Tyree died in a boating accident. Angie Dixon fell off a building in front of God and everybody. How can the two be related?'
Peters didn't waste any time in throwing his best punch. 'Tyree's ex-girlfriend left town.'
'So what?'
Peters went right on, totally ignoring my question. 'I was talking to Manny a little while ago, just passing the time of day. I asked how it was going. Manny said he and Kramer talked to Mrs. Tyree and then went to Bellevue looking for the girlfriend. She's split. Gone. Moved out along with her two kids. They talked to the girlfriend's mother.'
'When did she leave?'
'This morning, I guess, not long before Manny and Kramer got there.'
'Where are you going with all this?' I asked. 'Did the mother act as though there was any problem?'
'No, she says Linda always pulls stunts like this, like taking off without telling anyone where she's going.'
'So what's the point? The mother's not worried, but you are?'
'That's right.'
'How come, Peters? What's eating you?'
'Think about it for a minute, Beau. Didn't you tell me that Corbett guy said Tyree had a jealous wife?'
'That's what he said.'
'And that the girlfriend, Linda Decker, met him while she was attending an ironworking apprenticeship class?'
'That's right, too.'
'And now this Angie Dixon. She's an apprentice, too. Maybe Logan Tyree made friends with more than one of his students.'
It began to come together. I could see the pattern building in Peters' brain. It didn't take an overly active imagination. 'You think maybe Linda Decker's scared that she's next? You think she's hiding out?'
'The thought crossed my mind.'
'In that case, maybe somebody should check out Katherine Tyree.'
Peters breathed a sigh of relief. 'Bingo,' he said. 'You're not a fast study, Beau. I thought you'd never pick up on it.'
'Is this a subtle hint?' I asked. 'And is the somebody doing the checking going to be me?'
'It sure as hell can't be me,' Peters responded bleakly. 'In the meantime, those other assholes are absolutely determined that the incidents aren't related in any way.'
'Did you mention your suspicions to Manny?'
There was a slight pause before Peters answered. 'No,' he said reluctantly. 'Not exactly.'
I laughed. I couldn't help it. 'All right, all right. I'll do it. I can't today because in a few minutes I have to be down at the Sheraton, but I told Watty I'd be taking a few days off once we finished up on the movie. I'll have some time to check into it and no one will be the wiser. You're still gunning for Kramer, aren't you.'
When he answered, Peters' voice was hushed. 'You'd better believe it,' he breathed. 'You'd by God better believe it.'
CHAPTER 8
