He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a wadded piece of newspaper, which he straightened across the knee of his jeans before he handed it to me. “This was in the paper today,” he said, pointing. “That’s her. At least I think it is.”
I looked down at the clipping from the P.-I. Staring back at me was a poor reproduction of Erin Kelsey’s senior high school picture.
“You’re going to have to tell your parents, Jason,” I said at once. “If it turns out that you’re an actual eyewitness, there’ll be depositions to take, court appearances. Your parents will have to know.”
He nodded. “It’s all right,” he said gruffly, his changing voice cracking under the strain. “I mean, I get mad at my parents all the time too, but I could never shoot ‘em.”
“Fortunately for society, most people can’t,” I said. “Most people come up with other, more civilized, ways of dealing with their problems.”
For the next half hour, I went over in detail everything Jason Ragsdale could remember about the night of the murders. He was good on everything but the times, because he wasn’t sure what time he had left the house. It was close to eleven by the time I finished the interview and he headed for the door.
“I’d better get going,” he said. “I got school tomorrow.”
“Will you tell your parents?” I asked. “It would probably be better if they heard it from you first.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“As soon as you do, I’ll want to talk to them as well.”
“How come? They didn’t see anything.”
“No, but you did, and the woman you saw may come back to this neighborhood looking for you. After all, you can link her to the scene of the crime at the time the murders took place. Your parents may want to take some precautions for your own protection.”
“You mean she might come back looking for me?” Jason’s eyes grew wide.
“That’s right.”
“Shit, man. I never thought of that. I’ll tell ‘em. First thing in the morning.”
Jason Ragsdale got up and started toward the door but stood there before it indecisively for a moment, shifting back and forth. He seemed suddenly very young and unsure of himself, a kid thrust out into a world where bogeymen, or women, as the case may be, were free to roam the earth.
“Would you like a ride home?” I offered.
He was too damn macho to admit to wanting a ride. “No. I’ll be all right.” With that, Jason Ragsdale hustled out into the night, pausing long enough to peer around cautiously before stepping off the porch.
As I watched him go, I was grateful that, for this one time at least, Jason Ragsdale had been where he wasn’t supposed to be when he wasn’t supposed to be there. And I was also thankful that despite all that, and even despite the bomb threats, Jason and Todd probably weren’t such bad kids after all. Maybe in the long run there was some cause for hope.
And then I remembered Erin Kelsey, and I wasn’t so sure.
“Are you psychic, or just plain lucky, or what?” Peters asked with a dubious shake of his head when he was once more seated in the 928 and I had finished loading his chair into the back. “I don’t understand how you did that.”
“How I did what?”
“Managed to figure out there was a connection between the bomb threats and the murders when no reasonable connection existed. How did you tie them together?”
“Pure dumb luck,” I laughed, “because it wasn’t exactly scientific, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of connection I expected. Just you wait. In a couple of years, Tracie and Heather will be sneaking out in the middle of the night too.”
“Like hell they will,” Peters muttered determinedly. “Not my kids.”
“I believe those come under the heading of famous last words,” I told him. I’m equally sure those weren’t words he wanted to hear.
A thoughtful silence followed. “You never suspected the daughter, did you?” Peters commented finally.
It was true. The idea that Erin Kelsey might be our killer still rocked me.
“No,” I replied. “Never. That one came as a bolt out of the blue, although…” Suddenly a portion of Andrea Stovall’s message came back to me.
“Although what?” Peters asked impatiently. “Don’t leave me hanging in midsentence like that.”
“Andrea Stovall. When she called down this morning and talked to Kramer to tell him she was leaving town.”
“What about it?”
“She told him Erin Kelsey had called to warn her that her father was on the loose and might come looking for her.”
“Nice kid,” Peters said. “Sounds like she’s trying to pin the rap on her daddy and buy him a one-way ticket to Walla Walla.”
“That’s the thing. She sure doesn’t look the part.”
“Looks can be deceiving, Beau. Where was she late Sunday night?”
“According to what her father told us, Erin had left for school in Eugene much earlier in the day. Sometime during the early afternoon, I think.”
“That may be what she told him,” Peters reasoned, “but since we have an eyewitness who puts her at the scene of the crime much later in the evening, she must have lied to her dear old dad. It’s that simple. Did anyone say whether or not she and her mother quarreled while she was home for vacation?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Have you gotten any other readings that things weren’t okay between mother and child?”
“Not a glimmer,” I answered. “Not from Pete Kelsey, Maxwell Cole, or the grandparents, either. The only thing I can figure is that Erin somehow must have learned the truth about what was going on between her parents and decided to get involved.”
“And what exactly is the truth about her parents?” Peters asked. “Try to look at it through her eyes. First she finds out that for years her sainted mother has been messing around with other women on the side. Next she learns that her father isn’t who or what he always said he was. I mean to tell you, this kid’s world is flying into a million pieces, and where the hell does that leave her? Think about it.”
“Up shit creek?” I suggested. “Lost? Angry?”
“All of the above,” Peters responded. “Every damn one of them.”
By now we were back in the parking garage at Belltown Terrace. I followed Peters as he deftly maneuvered his chair into the small confines of the P-3 elevator lobby and pushed the UP button.
“You want to stop by the apartment for a few minutes? Amy says there’s just enough leftover New Year’s eggnog to divide three ways. I’m talking straight eggnog here,” Peters added with a smile.
I shook my head. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll pass. It’s been a helluva long day.”
Peters got off on seventeen, and I rode on up to the penthouse thinking that at last I would be able to crawl into bed and get a good night’s sleep. That was not to be.
When you’re up to your eyeballs in a case, it hardly ever is.
Chapter 24
In the apartment, my all-too-dutiful message-counting light was blinking furiously-six in all. A full deck. I was tempted to ignore the machine and go straight off to bed, pretending I’d never seen it, but I’m a detective, and I was working a case. In the end, I caved in and listened.
As soon as I began playing back the messages, I was glad I did. They were from two very different people, neither one of whom I would have expected to call me voluntarily-Andrea Stovall and Erin Kelsey.
The first was from Andrea Stovall. It gave her name and number, and that was all. I put the message playback on pause and returned Andrea’s call before listening to any of the other messages. I tried dialing the number, only to be told that I had to dial a “one” first. That time the phone rang and was answered
