Cafe Underground Presents
COMING UP ROSES
Book 2 -- Chapters 3
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 3
Back in her office, Andi typed the essential points of the morning's interviews into her computer; a listing of times, names and places. Her notebook held material for the investigation, the computer files were essential for justifying their work in an bill.
Lena had been constantly on the phone since Andi returned. Andi reached for the receiver, giving silent thanks for extra lines. She dialed Ramirez's office number.
He didn't answer--no surprise; she left a voice mail message asking if he'd like to meet for coffee, then looked up Betty Dao and Jennifer Gould's numbers and left requests for meeting times.
Andi looked over to Lena as she took information on the missing-person from Tacoma. Lena lifted her chin and blew a little kiss before returning to taking notes. Andi tuned out Lena's conversation and punched in the number of Freedom, Inc.
The fussy, female voice on the other end of the line was far from helpful. Yes, the convenience store was one of those they managed, "but.." she drawled nasally, there was no information available to the public. She kept asking if Andi was an attorney and the exact nature of her problem.
Andi repeated for the third time that she was a private investigator and that she was interested in the security system tapes for the last few days.
The voice asked again if there had been an accident? Had somebody fallen? Was it related to shoplifting prosecution? She asked again if Andi was an attorney.
Finally succumbing to frustration, Andi repeated that she was not making a complaint and asked for the owner to return her call.
The voice, in a doubtful, worried tone, said that she didn't know if they would be able to or not...
Andi replied as icily as possible, "Please ask them to...this may be important to solving a crime...thank you." and hung up, fuming.
She tried Ramirez again, but didn't leave a second message when the ringing phone gave way to his out-going message. She made a half-dozen futile calls to the Farm Bureau and agricultural extensions of local universities hoping for background material on the worth and markets for twenty-four specialized, hybrid dwarf-roses. She drew a blank. No one even pretended to be interested--roses weren't considered an agricultural commodity.
Ten minutes later Lena was still on the phone, so Andi returned to the thankless task of bailing her pending box below flood-stage; slogging through billings and proof-reading correspondence before signing at the bottom. Twenty minutes later the phone rang. Andi looked up--Lena, still on her phone, glanced over again, this time with a smile and shrug. Andi grudgingly picked up the receiver and said "Investigatory Services, Wicksham here..."
It was a neutral male voice. "Returning your call, Ms. Wicksham...you do work quickly. I didn't expect to hear from you for a day or two."
Andi closed her eyes and massaged her temples against a sense that her brain was expanding beyond the discomfort stage. "And who is this I'm speaking to?"
"William Tyson, Ms. Wicksham...I'm returning your call."
Andi had a moment of confusion. She hadn't called Tyson--that she was sure of. She was about to tell him so when he continued.
"...you called the office of Freedom, Incorporated about monday's surveillance tapes?"
Andi let out her breath. "Oh, yes...Mr. Tyson of course...I was taken aback for a minute...couldn't get you in context. You're the owner of the convenience store?"
"It's one of my holdings..." he admitted a bit defensively. "Thinking of the store's tapes is brilliant. Frankly, I'd harbored some doubt, but this impresses me. I've pulled an old tape and see what I think you're after...the view of the corner outside?"
"I was hoping to see who'd come by...are the tapes available?" Andi had little faith. The tape she wanted would be, maybe they weren't kept more than twenty-four hours, maybe the camera was on the fritz. To her surprise, Tyson responded cheerfully.
"I've called to have that day's tapes brought over...we rotate in a ten day cycle. You'll have to forgive the grainy quality, they're not intended to be broadcast quality...and to keep to a manageable length we only grab stills every fifteen seconds, but you can see the intersection and identify cars..." there was a pause as if he was viewing a tape right then, "...maybe drivers..."
"Can I get monday's tape?" Andi asked in her very nicest voice. No sense beating around the bush.
"I'll run a copy soon as I get it...you can pick it up at your convenience."
Andi was startled at the cooperation. "I could come this afternoon...or tomorrow morning..."
"This afternoon's better..." Tyson said curtly. "Morning's aren't generally. Say four...four-thirty?"
Andi almost tipped her coffee pulling over her notebook and scrambling for a pen.
He gave her his address, efficiently repeating it twice. "I hope it will help..." he offered in closing.
She said "Yes...I hope so too..." and mumbled "Thanks." before he rang off.
Lena looked up. "Bad news?" she asked, a touch of concern in her voice.
"No, I think we just got lucky..." She shook her head, jotted a final note and filled Lena in on the morning's events.
Before heading out to West Linn, Andi visited with Mrs. Knowles, spending forty minutes discussing options for gathering embarrassing evidence. She steered her away from wire-taps and stressed the advantage of keeping the surveillance with the bounds of her property. Mrs. Knowles seemed in no hurry, chatting chummily about skip-traces and DNA evidence while expressing a gifted amateur's interest in investigation.
Andi mused that Knowles might really be researching a book and toyed with the idea of asking right-out. It was flattering to think of a character patterned after her style. The idea bubbled titillatingly on the way to Tyson's. Maybe K.D. Lang for the movie version, Andi could almost see herself in dark glasses, lounging on the busy set.
Tyson's house was new--a ranch style with clean, Mexican-style tan stucco, blue tile roof and a formal, monastic-looking front door opening onto the north side's paved courtyard. On the south, three wings of the house wrapped a patio with an acre of windows looking down a serpentine private drive. His avocation was testified to by row upon row of roses in terraced courses cut into the hillsides and looking for all the world like a vineyard.
The door was answered by a thin, clean-shaven, humorless young man in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved golf shirt who looked as if he'd be more comfortable in a uniform.
She was obviously expected. Without asking her name, the young man nodded her in and led wordlessly through a hardwood-floored entry, down a wide hall lined with display cabinets and a collection of American flags, past a formal living room over-looking the patio-courtyard, to a closed door that he politely knocked upon. Andi glanced at a case at her elbow with a civil war sword and scabbard decorated with tassels and an eagle. Her grim escort stared straight-ahead facing the door. Mounted on the wall beside the frame was a punch-in key-pad of the type used for electronic combination-locks.
There was an audible metallic click near the knob. The young man courteously opened the door and stood aside, letting Andi enter alone.
Andi entered and heard the door close and lock behind her. To her left, William Tyson sat behind a desk in a room resplendent with collectable, and undoubtedly expensive, military memorabilia. The walls were crowded with professionally-framed displays of battle ribbons and yellowing hand-written documents. A flag with stripes and a circle of stars in its blue field was mounted under glass, its frayed edges were charred, its heavy fabric looked hand-stitched.
Another flag stood on an eagle-mounted pole just behind and to a side of Tyson's chair; to the desk's left was a wide window opened for fresh air, but barred with close-set security bars. A few feet in front of the window a couch and end-table stood at right angles to the desk, bordering the area before it like a reviewing stand.
Tyson rose graciously, asking if she wanted anything, coffee, water, a beer? He could have Rex make iced tea...
"No, I don't really have time..." answered Andi, it was hard not to peer about her. "Your hobby?" asked Andi, waving hand vaguely. The display case beside her held rank upon rank of little metal toy-soldiers, the exquisitely painted uniforms with black belts and buttons were chipped and weathered, next to them stood an identical case with a historic review of the history of pistols, muzzle-loaders with ball-shot, percussion-caps, old revolvers, trophy show-pieces and modern automatics.
"My most valuable are in here...it's my favorite place to work." Tyson was obviously enjoying his role as host.
"I thought roses were..." began Andi, a bit in awe at the collection around her.
Tyson smiled. "...roses are fascinating...but I hire a worker to do the labor. My primary passion is military memorabilia and firearms. I take care of these things myself..." he said a bit pridefully. He moved from behind his desk and paused at her side. "But, I know...you want that tape..." he shook his head as if musing at her lack of appreciation.
"I heard you were a gun expert...you and Mr. Feight I think?" Andi tossed the thought out like a baited hook.
"You appreciate fire-arms? That would make sense in your profession...I've got a Gluck full auto you'd like..." He mentioned it lightly, in the manner another host might ask regarding her choice of wines.
Andi watched him tap a code into the waiting key-pad and check to see that the door was locked.
"I've a private, indoor range in the basement and a functional collection like few collectors in the country..." His eyes gleamed with pride and ardor.
"Perhaps another time..." Andi demurred, "Unfortunately, I've booked myself solid...I didn't expect this trip today..."
Tyson nodded understandingly.
Andi continued, "I hear you and Mr. Feight rebuilt guns...loaded bullets...fixed antiques..."
"Oh yes...we did..." he paused for a moment of appropriate sorrow. "...I'm going to miss having him to talk to..." He turned a corner, stepping slowly to match her pace so they remained congenially side by side.
"Were you surprised when you learned of the rose's disappearance?" Andi asked conversationally.
"No not really, Rex had mumbled something or other about it..." Tyson acknowledged distractedly as he opened a door and led her into a small screening room with five tastefully upholstered chairs set before the largest TV screen as Andi'd ever seen. He passed across to enter another room with a video library and editing suite with two grey monitors and a rack of professional decks and recorders. He took a tape laying on the corner of the counter and checked the label. "Yes...here it is. I really didn't view much...but it's the one you wanted..."
Andi took the tape and turned back toward the door. "Thank you very much..."
"You mentioned wanting to tour my roses?" Tyson lifted his eyebrows in an obvious invitation.
"Next time'll be better. When I come and take your statement..." She didn't like Tyson and wasn't ready to spend an hour talking to him. "...I simply haven't time." She shook her head and gave a tight-lipped smile.
Tyson nodded again, commiserating knowingly of busy schedules, led her back to the entry and graciously showed her out.
She didn't catch a second glimpse of Rex.
It was past their usual closing hour by the time she got back to the office. Lena filled her in on what she'd missed--Betty Dao, Warren Laroux and Jennifer Gould had each called to claim filled calendars and request alternate times--the only time available for all of them was two days away. For good measure, waiting until Andi would be on her way home, phoned Tyson to set up a formal one with him as well.
Ramirez called back, requesting a ten in the morning coffee-date. Lena had confirmed and asked him to check with his woman-friend Tanya about whether friday or saturday night were best for a dinner together.
Andi took the information without responding, straightening the files on her desk as she listened. It rankled her to be scheduled without being asked, but if she voiced dissent Lena would threaten her with a cellular phone. Now, Andi just nodded at each point--the subject was perennial, better silence than losing another round.
They performed their ritual end-of-day office-cleaning and left for home discussing whether a larger Persian-style rug or two or three smaller ones would better grace their office floor.
She and Lena had been working together two years, living together for one and had exchanged more barbed words in the last couple months than in that whole time before. Perhaps it was post-honeymoon reassessment. What started with a appreciative glance had swept into a business relationship, through friendship to a giddy romance and settled into comfortable cohabitation.
Andi cooked dinner and ruminated on their lives while Lena watered houseplants. She put water on to boil, got out an onion and murmured a choice expletive that they hadn't bought fresh herbs. The relationship was fine; as a liaison it was extraordinary, as a business partnership successful, as a friendship secure--so what was the matter? She chopped onion, sauted the dried basil and thyme in butter--the problem was that there wasn't an obvious problem only evidence that pointed to one. She tossed the diced onion into the skillet to saute, then added a half-empty bottle of white wine rescued from the refrigerator. Somehow, despite getting any freedom she asked for, she felt a loss of freedom.
That evening over linguine in clam sauce and salad they discussed clients. "Our clients and Simpson....all live close...had casual and regular access...each had motive and opportunity."
"...an embarrassment of suspects..." Lena quipped as she piled salad greens on her plate.
Andi smirked indulgently. "Everybody but Feight benefitted from him kicking off."
Lena spooned grated romano on her pasta. "They hired you...that's something..."
"But if one of 'em was guilty, they couldn't very well object. It's denial...I tell them flat out they're the likely suspects and they just give placid smiles." Andi took a sip of water and stabbed a slice of tomato.
"Which one hired you?" Lena mumbled mushily through a mouth-full of linguine. She gave a silly, embarrassed grin and dabbed her napkin to her mouth.
"Warren Laroux, but he's sharp enough to figure it might deflect suspicion. I don't like any of them..." Andi gave an exaggerated shudder as if shaking off their memory.
"They're only clients..." Lena shook her head disparagingly. "...it's not like you live with them or anything." She paused and gave Andi a thoughtful appraisal. " I think you should consider getting a matronly dress and a pair of sensible walking shoes for this case...maybe little white gloves...stolen roses are a very `Miss Marple' sort of mystery."
Andi looked across the table in shocked dismay. "You're terrible...matronly dress...Lena..." she threw her wadded-up napkin--it glanced off Lena's shoulder and fell to the floor. "Perhaps you're forgetting, my able friend and colleague...you're following a precarious tradition...Miss Marple never had a Watson, and Poirot's Captain Hastings didn't stick around long, did he?" Andi gave a superior wink and shook a reproachful finger.
"You can't threaten me, Sherlock..." Lena said smugly, daintily touching her lips with her napkin and bobbing her head saucily back and forth. "Hastings didn't do books or answer the phone and Sherlock's Watson wasn't computer literate...I'm not scared. Some of us are indispensable."
After helping clean dishes and kitchen, Lena retired to the couch with a paperback and Andi closeted herself in the bedroom to phone her mom. She dialed twice, but the phone rang endlessly, without even a machine to take a message.
Her mother said she might not be available. It was like her to be out of touch, Andi grumbled, but she was secretly relieved.
She reviewed the convenience-store tape with Lena curled beside her reading a Walter Moseley mystery. Logging in the corner's traffic wasn't very difficult, there wasn't much to keep track of. Andi pushed fast-forward, watching intently until something flashed beyond the window. She went through the entire tape twice, copying every shot with cars or people onto a second tape.
Between dawn and five o'clock, nine figures walked past the window. Four different people--one making a single return trip, first east, then west and one making the circuit twice. Of the remaining three, two walked east, towards Feight's house while one strolled toward the county road. She could see all nine clearly enough, none looked familiar and none carried anything that could have been roses.
Thirty-four vehicles left the dead-end lane, turning onto the county road, twenty-eight entered. It was such a short, little road, she was surprised there'd be that much traffic.
She reviewed cars going in and out and decided she'd reasonable confidence that none slipped by un-recorded. A really fast-moving car at exactly the right instant might just barely swing in from the county road without being caught, but heading outward, the stop sign demanded at least slowing before turning and most cars appeared in two or three frames. She looked carefully, but couldn't read a single license plate.
Andi scribbled two pages of notes--the time and date of each frame glowed handily in the video's lower right-hand corner. Some of the vehicles could be sorted by function--two were police cars and one the county van retrieving Feight's body. As Tyson mentioned, when the driver's window was open and the car headed east she could recognize drivers. Nineteen different vehicles made sixty-two trips. She picked the best examples of each car each trip and took an instamatic photograph of her screen.
The next morning at the office Andi beat against the latest barrage of incoming paperwork, only breaking at nine twenty-five because Lena swung around with a level gaze and insisted she call her mother. Andi was going to argue, but saw Lena's eyes and gracefully reached for the phone.
"Hi, Mom? It's Andi. How you doing?" Andi couldn't think of anything to say. She hoped the conversation wouldn't be weepy.
"...OK." Tension rasped like static in her mother's voice. "...I thought there'd be results by now, but evidently they're asking more specialists for comment...Dr. George says it's not a good sign."
Andi murmured "Sorry..." in a whisper.
"...They're giving me pain pills that make me feel pretty good...you haven't called Cinny yet have you?" Her mother sounded tired and a great cloud seemed to hang over the conversation.
"Didn't you ask for me to hold off?" Andi asked, reliving three decades of concern that she'd done something wrong.
"Yes, of course..." Mrs. Wicksham responded quickly, "...there are a few things I wanted to think out before we tell her."
"Like what?" Andi played with the pencils on her desk, placing a third and fourth atop two laying before her. She carefully laid a fifth crossways on the third and fourth.
"Like how long I'm likely to be around..." replied her mother quietly.
"What?" demanded Andi, suddenly refocused on the conversation. "...how long you're going to live?" The pencils were swept away with a sweep of her hand--two clattered noisily to the floor.
"Well..." her mother began cautiously, "...there are different treatments with various trade offs..." There was along awkward pause that Andi didn't have courage to break. She waited, feeling the seconds tick, until her mother continued. "One oncologist is pushing massive chemo...but it could kill me and would make me weaker and frailer than I'd otherwise be..."
"...would it save you?" Andi burst in, anxious for the answer.
"Save me...?" Her mother's question seemed to question if Andi'd been listening.
Andi chewed her lip and remained quiet.
"...no, it won't honey...no, I'm sorry...it won't..."
There was a moment of silence. "...Mom..." Andi wailed plaintively.
"Andi..." her mother responded sternly, "...you have to be strong with this...anyway we don't know the results of the latest tests."
Andi took a breath. "OK, Mom...I'm OK."
"Different treatments may prolong my life for weeks or maybe months, but that's all..."
"I see." encouraged Andi quietly, shutting her eyes, surrendering to that feeling of falling--adrift at the speed of sound.
"I've given it a lot of thought..." She took a deep breath. "...and I've decided that quality...enjoying the act of being alive...that's most important."
Andi could feel the lump in her stomach harden to stone then turn to an icy leaden mass. "Ok..." she murmured. She'd never confront her mother on something this serious, but inside she shrieked for another answer.
"...and there are other factors to consider..." her mother continued in her fussy, businesslike manner. "I know it's only vanity...but I don't want to lose my hair..."
"But to save your life?" questioned Andi outwardly timid, but inwardly raging with frustration.
"If it did that I'd be doing it now...but it won't..." Mrs. Wicksham responded with definition. "...and...there's the problem of cost...my insurance won't cover everything. Things like marrow transplants would leave nothing in my estate if I went the full-service route."
"Mom..." Andi said forthrightly, "...Cinny and I don't care about your money. If you'd ask us we'd throw that money into treatments at the blink of an eye..."
"Yes, I know dear..." Andi could envision her mother smiling tolerantly. "...but it's not your decision. For me, the idea that I could help you and Lena buy a house or something is more important than an extra month of life, especially a month of mortal illness. Think of it as a motherly gift...a legacy and tradition I want to hand down. Hopefully you'll do the same when it's your turn."
"Turn?...Mom...you're talking about dying!" Andi's concern erupted as outrage.
Her mother chuckled. "All of us, including you are going to die, dear...I'm talking about knowing when death's ahead. It's an incredible blessing to be able to plan it. So many people have accidents or can't face the truth...surely you know me enough to understand..." She laughed, she actually laughed, a healthy, robust laugh.
Andi made a growling sound in her throat. "...we're talking about your oft-discussed control issues..." she grumbled, not at all pleased at the lightness of her mother's tone.
"Yes dear...I suppose we are. But I've forged them over decades and they're liable to continue. Anyway, I'm weighing all possibilities."
"OK, Mom..." Andi sighed in concession. Her mother had called the shots all through her childhood; this wasn't the time to begin to fighting it.
"I've always felt Cinny to be the frailer of the two of you. Here I'm asking you to shield her...maybe it's been a mistake, but I've always done it. You've always been a solid stoic..." Mrs. Wicksham paused, fearing misunderstanding. "...it's really a complement..."
"You still don't want me to call?" asked Andi, eager to interrupt. She didn't want to point out that stoic meant shut-down.
"No, don't...until we can tell her something surer..."
"Surely the doctors can't predict..." Andi argued.
"True...that's true dear," her mother responded. "but I can..." There was a long moment of silence, then she continued. "Anyway, that's enough for now. I've made reservations for a night in that motel at the coast...I want to walk along the beach...it always helped me make decisions. We'll talk when I get back. OK?"
"OK, Mom...." Andi murmured automatically, she hadn't digested much of what her mother'd been saying. "Talk to you then..." She almost said goodbye, but bit it off at the last moment. She didn't ever want to say that to her again.
"So long Andi...I love you...I love you a lot. I'll call..."
"I love you too..." Again `goodbye' almost slipped through her teeth.
Without another word, her mother ended the call.
Andi stood and turned to look out the window at the traffic on Hawthorne.
Three or four minutes ticked past unnoticed, and Lena appeared at her elbow. "Serious stuff?" she asked, slipping her hand in to Andi's and squeezing tightly.
"She's..." Andi started, but stopped. She shook her head, there was nothing she could say.
"You've got a date with Ramirez in twenty minutes...I can cancel for you..."
"Naw...it wouldn't be right." Andi shook off the clammy feeling that had taken her. "What I need is a good strong dose of life and friendship." She smiled up at Lena with a hopeless little smile and gave her hand a squeeze before turning back to her desk.
Lena blinked and pursed her lips together. "...I can do that..." She swept gracefully back to her chair and sat a moment to collect herself. "Now about your date with Ramirez...not that I'm jealous of you flitting around with your low-life pals in sleazy dens of inequity..." Lena turned half-away and touched her fingers to her brow in a classic pose of feminine anguish.
"Right...Ramirez is a low-life friend..." snorted Andi, happy to exchange repartee for gloom. "...and we're meeting at the Underground...you could have dealt yourself in to this get-together you know..." She stared fixedly at Lena and tapped her foot impatiently. "...you still could come along."
"Never mind...somebody has to shoulder the burden and be responsible...go, go off and be happy...never mind me..." Lena used a squeaky falsetto when she played Jewish mother. She dropped the voice as Andi neared the door, instructing unromanticly. "Get him to commit to a time for our dinner--he was supposed to have asked Tanya."
"Will do..." Andi smile over her shoulder. "Want me to bring back a treat?"
Lena held up crossed fingers as if warding off a vampire. "Get thee behind me Satan...and don't forget...your afternoon's booked with Dao, Laroux, Tyson and Gould..."
Andi ground her teeth as she crossed into the hall, beating a timely retreat.
To the side of the deli counter installed two years ago to increase off-sale comestibles, Ramirez, coat off, his shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow and pen in hand, leaned over a paper strewn table--the perfect image of a harried, public-sector professional getting out of the office to get things done.
Andi ordered an Earl Grey tea and a small Caesar salad and pointed to Ramirez's table before sauntering over to slouch tensely in the chair to his right. She pointedly averted her eyes to show disinterest in whatever he was trying to make sense of. "What do you know about the rose business?" she finally offered as a greeting.
"...they like well drained soil and lots of sun...get varieties that are suited to your micro-climate and blast aphids with the hose..." Ramirez didn't look up from his work.
"That's a lot...more than me actually..." Andi admitted graciously. "I got twenty-four missing roses worth a humble retirement, but can't tell one from another."
"Luckily you're after the thief and not the plants..." observed Ramirez, looking over the tops of his glasses.
"Yeah, but my list of possible perps overlaps my client list." Andi looked over to the counter to see if her salad and tea were coming.
"I'm hardly moved...you cash your checks and take a holiday when you're done..." Ramirez didn't break a smile as he re-piled his work and put it aside. "Seems you're hanging with a better class of people..."
"I hardly think so...we don't share values."
"Family values?" Ramirez offered, deadpan.
"I got family values...they got free enterprise values." Andi didn't crack a smile either--until admitting, "Maybe I'd be selfish if I had more money."
"Gotta honor political and fiscal diversity, Wicksham..." Ramirez turned a cynical eye her way as if passing on the wisdom of the ages, "...gotta make room for all sorts. The rich want more--it's a bore--get used to it."
"You are a bright spot on a dreary day..." Andi gave him an up-and-down sweep of her eyes. "You know..." she leaned back in her chair, "...Darrel Feight might have discovered the theft and died of grief...or he might have dug them up himself and died of remorse."
Ramirez lifted his latte to his lips, then but it back down without sipping. "Yeah...?" he asked neutrally.
"Well, my contract says roses, but it seems I've also been hired to check-out Feight's death." Andi rocked her chair back forward and favored Ramirez with a sour grin.
"Quit whining...there's something real...Feight's dead, the roses are gone...there's something to investigate either way you fold it. If one of your clients didn't off him, maybe all went in together." offered Ramirez dryly.
"Naw..." Andi rejected, "...they wouldn't trust each other...there's not one among 'em I'd trust enough to kill somebody with." A waitress brought her salad and tea, setting them before her, smiling and holding her eye for a moment longer than she needed to.
"Does that imply there are people you would kill somebody with?" asked Ramirez levelly. The waitress turned half-away, but paused mid-step, lingering to hear her reply. Ramirez lifted his cup, sipped, made a face and set the mug down.
"I guess it's a friends-and-family thing...slay together to stay together." Andi responded sourly. The waitress glided back to the counter.
"Lena said you got some neat evidence--so don't poor-mouth to me about what to do." Ramirez blinked and forced a smile for her benefit.
Andi grinned and tapped the table with a finger tip. "...a video of cars entering and leaving Feight's dead-end lane." She smirked, picked up her fork and paused with it poised over her salad.
"Neat...does it show newly-dug roses and a close-up of the driver?" Ramirez rubbed his eyes and tilted his chair back on two legs.
Andi gave a humoring smile and shook her head. "...too bad huh? I haven't had time to match cars and people." She tossed a rubber-band bound pile of photos across the table. "Sorry, no license plates..." She sampled her Caesar salad, and allowed herself a slight swoon at the salty, anchovy taste.
"A car jock might ID make and year..." Ramirez glanced through the photos and tossed them back.
Andi nodded, chewed and swallowed. "Good idea. By the way I was supposed to ask..."
"Tanya says saturday...she'll bake French bread and a dessert mousse if you do European or dim sum if you do the Far East."
"Far east from here's Europe, Ramirez..." Andi pointed out over a fork impaled crouton.
"Are you being difficult, Wicksham?" he countered. "She takes her angst out on friends..." he extended open palms before him and lifted his eyes in an appeal to heaven.
Andi concentrated on her salad while Ramirez rambled about inter-department gossip she only half-followed. When she finished, he efficiently gathered his papers and said, "Ready to go? I'll walk you out."
"Sure..." Andi said with a smile as she pulled out a twenty and dropped it to the table. "I'll pay for your coffee if you take it up...leave a tip...I'm going to the loo."
Ramirez smiled, waved her on and reached for the bill.
When she came back out Ramirez was still sitting at the table. "Ready?" Andi turned to go.
"Sit down Wicksham..." Ramirez instructed grim-faced, nodding to her chair.
"What's up officer?" Andi mugged, "...change your mind about saturday?"
"Where did you get that twenty?" he asked bluntly.
"I don't know..." complained Andi incredulously. "Jesus, get a grip....did it have drug residue on it or something?"
"Can it..." prompted Ramirez in his cop voice. "Got any others?"
Andi reached in her pocket and threw her folded few bills on the table. There was one other twenty. "I got them cashing a fifty for corn chips."
"You broke a fifty for corn chips?" It was Ramirez's turn to be incredulous. He held the twenties up to the light and examined them.
"It's a long story...at the store with the surveillance camera--the chips were a business expense. I gave the clerk the fifty...he said he had lots of twenties."
"Both these are bogus, Wicksham..." Ramirez said flatly. "You're out forty dollars, because these go with me to the station."
"They what?" exclaimed Andi in anger.
"It's the way it is, amiga...funny money gets confiscated when found." Ramirez shrugged his shoulders and tucked the bills in his shirt pocket.
"So who pays me back?" demanded Andi. "You better at least pick up my tea and salad..." she pouted--it was clear there'd be no justice.
"OK, I'll catch your salad...don't get your panties in a twist. You think I want this aggravation?"
"Great...I get stiffed forty bucks because you got a work ethic on steroids and eyeballs without enough work to keep 'em out of mischief..."
"OK, OK...I'll get a lunch next week too...but that's as much payoff as guilt's going to get you." Ramirez had risen again, picked up his pile of paperwork and walked over to the register.
Outside, they parted ways. "You better give a call and tell me about this money thing, Ramirez...taking my twenties...you better not be pulling a fast one."
"I'll call, Wicksham...auf Wiedersehen. Keep your powder dry..."
Andi stopped in at the foreign-car mechanic two blocks up SE 50th before returning to her car. As Ramirez guessed, a kid doing a brake-job was able to ID makes and models and make guesses as to years. Andi stopped to get a couple packets of instamatic film and made a quick run to West Linn to see what cars she'd find.
The clouds were clearing, hurrying off to the south-east and leaving wide expanses of pale-blue sky. Andi first drove Jennifer Gould's house and parked just off to a side--she could see both house and garage easily from the road over a rustic split-rail fence. Gould's roses filled a third of an acre plot behind the house--neat straight rows with tended paths and a fairly large-sized green house. A classic Ford Mustang with a red and white interior was parked in the carport with a Ford pickup and a tan Volvo station wagon waited before the front door.
Flipping through her photos Andi found no Volvos or Ford trucks, but she did have shots of the Mustang coming and going--six grainy photos with the vague shape of driver or driver and passenger. Without getting out of her car, she took a quick photo of both the all three vehicles, noted the location, time and date on the photo's fronts and drove on.
Warren Laroux's home lay up a drive behind a double row of trees that extended beyond the house. So much for her desire to not attract attention--she took a deep breath and signed on for the direct approach, pulling up the drive and brazenly looking at the cars under the four-car covered carport. Three cars were parked in its shade and another, a grey, late-model Nova was tucked just beyond, next to a tree.
She glanced nervously toward the house, waiting the inevitable confrontation. The sound of a blaring TV burbled through some window, but minute after minute passed and nobody came out to challenge and she finished her quick survey.
A Chevy Blazer, a grey Lincoln Continental and a Mercedes coupe were sheltered by the carport. She took four quick snapshots, jotted the license numbers and ground back down the gravel driveway without pausing to look through the photos.
Elizabeth Dao's house was one of two tucked among a stand of cedars and firs up a small private drive. A gnarled Monterey pine and decorative screen half-shielded the entry from the parking area. The grounds had a natural esthetic, but were fastidiously tended. Andi ignored the tastefully meandering stepping-stones leading to the front door and stepped around to the side to inspect the double garage set twenty feet back from the front plane of the dwelling.
The lights in the house appeared out, she listened carefully but couldn't hear music or TV. No cars were parked in front--perhaps Dao wasn't home. With a guilty glance over her shoulder, Andi raised on tiptoe to peek through a side window into the garage's interior. A red Porche waited on the far side of the wide garage. The dimly lit space was sparsely filled; an empty work bench, wide shelves with token clutter--no car parts, tools or gardening equipment.
The lack of gardening equipment made Andi pause. She walked around back looking for a tool shed, but found only a two-level deck extending from the shadow-draped home into sunlight. There wasn't a rose bush in sight as she made a complete circuit around the house. The grounds were set up for minimal maintenance; no beds of annuals or bulbs, few shrubs. Native vegetation was prominently utilized, low-woody ground covers and the strong lines of trees trunks seemed a far different image than she would expect from somebody with a passion for something as Euro-centric as miniature roses. Puzzling on that, Andi returned to the garage, held the camera up to the glass to snap a quick shot though the window of the Porche and returned to her car to re-check the video's snapshots.
There was red Porche among them and Warren Laroux's Chevy Blazer passed the convenience store three times each way last monday--she recognized him in the shadowed interior of the Blazer, frozen in time, hands on the wheel. He faced forward in the photos, unaware that anyone would be watching.
Of the nineteen cars she'd logged entering or leaving Feight's lane she'd accounted for six--all in all not a promising start.
She drove slowly to William Tyson's, pulling up the twisting drive and parking at the top. There were three garages--with the house, they enclosed a pebbled-concrete quadrilateral. There were no cars parked in the open, but there was a atmosphere of tension that made Andi opt for ringing the door bell rather than peeking into the garage's windows.
The door was opened immediately by the clean-cut young man that greeted her yesterday. "Yes?" He asked expectantly. "Is Mr. Tyson expecting you?" His face was unreadable, his voice wary, but polite, but his steely eyes seemed to stare right through her.
"No, Rex...I'm Andi Wicksham...I was here yesterday..." she held out a business card that the young man took, but pointedly didn't bother to read. "I've been hired by a group that includes Mr. Tyson to look into the disappearance of some roses from a neighboring property. I'd like to see what vehicles are here so I can eliminate them from my search..."
Rex silently weighed her words, blinked and said, "Please wait...I'll ask Mr. Tyson..." The door swung silently closed and Andi stepped away from the door to enjoy the moment of sunshine.
A few minutes later the doors of all three garages began automatically opening. The formal entry's door reopened, Rex stepped out and carefully closed it behind him.
One garage held farm equipment; a narrow-gauge tractor and trailers with various attachments, an all-terrain vehicle, and two walls of carefully maintained tools and equipment.
The other two garages were more conventional, between them easily housing six vehicles; an open topped jeep, a suburban station-wagon, a light-yellow Corvette convertible, a new-looking, brown Ford pickup with tinted windows, mud-flaps and fog-lights, a silver Mercedes with tinted windows that looked like a small limousine, and a dark green 850 BMW.
The BMW was the one Andi expected. Andi thought she'd recognized Tyson in her photos, identifying his closely-cropped head through the lightly-tinted side-windows. For Rex's benefit she suppressed any sign of recognition, neutrally getting shots of all six cars and the tractor and ATV for good measure. Her crew-cut attendant stood by mutely observing, hands clasp behind his back, neither helping or inhibiting in any way.
She jotted license plate numbers, made a final double-check of her pictures, then offered Rex a quick "Goodby," returned to her car and sped down the twisting drive.
Returning to Feight's road by the convenience store, she made her way up the narrow lane to its end, stopping at each driveway to peer and snap photos of cars. There were seven private drives, six with obvious dwellings and one with a locked gate across a little-used rutted road winding its way out of sight.
No one contested her presence, though she drew suspicious stares at least twice. She let the gated road go--it hadn't been used in a while, no tracks appeared in the ruts and the padlock had a soft dusting of rust that came off on her fingers attesting to little if any recent use.
She saved visiting Feight's property for the end--turning her car to park facing out as far from the house as she could. Three vehicles stood in the parking area, an old, blue rusting step-side pickup, a light-blue Honda Accord, and a bronze Toyota Corolla. With an uneasy glance toward the tree-hidden house, she snapped her photographs and returned to the convenience store to buy a bottle of juice and look through her photos. The same bored employee set aside his paperback to wait on her when she entered.
She considered hassling him over the bills he'd slipped her. Somebody owed her forty dollars--but she pushed the thought from her mind--it made more sense to pad her bill by a couple of hours. She smiled for the camera and escaped to her car.
Surprisingly, two vehicles from Feight's matched her photos from the video. Andi flipped through her notebook to the listing of times she logged. The pickup exited and returned early that morning; out from 6:21 to 6:51 AM--the Honda Accord made a similar run from 12:43 to 1:19. One trip each, out and back. Was it Feight or his niece who'd driven? Andi kicked herself for not knocking. She considered going back, but backed down, the issue would resolve itself in time.
She looked through the photos of neighbor's cars, identifying six more of monday's vehicles. She counted them up--six from the neighbors, the two parked at Feight's, Gould's Mustang, Laroux's Chevy Blazer, and Tyson's BMW--she'd accounted for eleven of the nineteen--subtract two police cars, and a morgue van and she'd almost aced the problem.
Andi went through all her photos again without picking out anything else. She stretched rubber bands around the piles, tossed them into the passenger seat and drove back to her office. Maybe Lena could be talked into going out for a late bite of lunch--Andi remembered her missing forty dollars. Damn; it wasn't one thing it was another. She'd have to hit the bank machine or expect Lena to pay.
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