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Authors: J. A. Jance
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“I wouldn’t be in Huggins’ shoes for all the tea in China. If this thing gets blown out of proportion, lots of political heads could roll. Homer Watkins isn’t a lightweight.” “How come you know so much about him?”
“There’s enough in the papers that you can piece it together. Your problem is, you only read the crossword puzzles. Crosswords do not informed citizens make.”
“Leave me alone. They’re nothing but propaganda.”
“Let’s don’t go into that, Beau. I like current events. You like history. I like sprout sandwiches. You like hamburgers. Neither of us is going to change.”
I reached for the file folder Peters held in his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to give this to a Detective Huggins. You’re not the investigating officer.”
“For God’s sake, Peters,” I protested. “Don’t be an ass. I’m the one who called and asked for it, remember?”
“Captain Powell gave me specific orders that the report goes to Huggins. You’re on vacation. Powell doesn’t want you screwing around in somebody else’s case.”
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” I said.
Peters ignored my outburst. He had joined forces with the captain and the chaplain to corner me into a “vacation.” He, more than the rest, understood my loss. “How’re you doing, Beau?” he asked solicitously, changing topics. “You’re looking better, like you’re getting some rest. ” I smiled to myself, considering my total sleep from the night before. I decided against depriving Peters of his illusions. “Sleeping like a baby,” I said, grinning.
Huggins showed up about then. He saw us through the plateglass windows and knocked to be let in. I introduced him to Peters. Within minutes the table was strewn with the grisly contents of the envelope. Maybe Peters couldn’t give them to me, but nobody told Huggins not to. The pictures were there-the senseless slaughter,, the bloodied house. Denise Wilson had fought Lathrop. She hadn’t died easily. She had battled him through every room before it was over. The pictures sickened me, as did Lathrop’s smirking mug shot. There was no picture of Donald Wilson in the file. Without Maxwell Cole’s contribution, we would have been up a creek. “We’re screening all the people on the ferries. We’ll be talking to employees and guests here today,” Huggins told us. “Someone will have seen him. You don’t just appear and disappear like that unless you’re a goddamned Houdini.”
“He’s not at his house?” I asked. Huggins shook his head. “Is there any other way to get here besides a ferry?” I continued. “There are float planes and charter boats.
We’re checking all of them, but it doesn’t look to me as though he has that kind of money. He came over on the ferries, I’m sure of it, and we’ve got those babies covered.”
Peters smiled. “You’ve heard that old joke going around Seattle, haven’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“What does a San Juan County police officer use for a squad car? A Washington State Ferry with blinking blue lights.”
Huggins glared at him. “Very funny,” he said, “but we do a hell of a good job around here.”
Every once in a while Peters pulls a stunt that convinces me he’s not nearly so old as his years. Then there are times when he’s as wise as the old man of the sea.
This wasn’t one of those times.
Chapter 10
I CALLED Ralph Ames, my attorney in Phoenix. Along with the car, I inherited Ames from Anne Corley. In six months’ time, he had become an invaluable friend over and above being my attorney. I called him at home. “What’re you doing?” I asked.
“Cleaning the pool,” he replied.
I have little patience with people who own pools or boats. They’re both holes you pour money into. Not only that, it’s a point of honor to do all the work yourself, from swabbing decks to cleaning filters. “Did you ever consider hiring someone to do it?” “No, Beau. I don’t jog. Cleaning the
“There’s enough in the papers that you can piece it together. Your problem is, you only read the crossword puzzles. Crosswords do not informed citizens make.”
“Leave me alone. They’re nothing but propaganda.”
“Let’s don’t go into that, Beau. I like current events. You like history. I like sprout sandwiches. You like hamburgers. Neither of us is going to change.”
I reached for the file folder Peters held in his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to give this to a Detective Huggins. You’re not the investigating officer.”
“For God’s sake, Peters,” I protested. “Don’t be an ass. I’m the one who called and asked for it, remember?”
“Captain Powell gave me specific orders that the report goes to Huggins. You’re on vacation. Powell doesn’t want you screwing around in somebody else’s case.”
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” I said.
Peters ignored my outburst. He had joined forces with the captain and the chaplain to corner me into a “vacation.” He, more than the rest, understood my loss. “How’re you doing, Beau?” he asked solicitously, changing topics. “You’re looking better, like you’re getting some rest. ” I smiled to myself, considering my total sleep from the night before. I decided against depriving Peters of his illusions. “Sleeping like a baby,” I said, grinning.
Huggins showed up about then. He saw us through the plateglass windows and knocked to be let in. I introduced him to Peters. Within minutes the table was strewn with the grisly contents of the envelope. Maybe Peters couldn’t give them to me, but nobody told Huggins not to. The pictures were there-the senseless slaughter,, the bloodied house. Denise Wilson had fought Lathrop. She hadn’t died easily. She had battled him through every room before it was over. The pictures sickened me, as did Lathrop’s smirking mug shot. There was no picture of Donald Wilson in the file. Without Maxwell Cole’s contribution, we would have been up a creek. “We’re screening all the people on the ferries. We’ll be talking to employees and guests here today,” Huggins told us. “Someone will have seen him. You don’t just appear and disappear like that unless you’re a goddamned Houdini.”
“He’s not at his house?” I asked. Huggins shook his head. “Is there any other way to get here besides a ferry?” I continued. “There are float planes and charter boats.
We’re checking all of them, but it doesn’t look to me as though he has that kind of money. He came over on the ferries, I’m sure of it, and we’ve got those babies covered.”
Peters smiled. “You’ve heard that old joke going around Seattle, haven’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“What does a San Juan County police officer use for a squad car? A Washington State Ferry with blinking blue lights.”
Huggins glared at him. “Very funny,” he said, “but we do a hell of a good job around here.”
Every once in a while Peters pulls a stunt that convinces me he’s not nearly so old as his years. Then there are times when he’s as wise as the old man of the sea.
This wasn’t one of those times.
Chapter 10
I CALLED Ralph Ames, my attorney in Phoenix. Along with the car, I inherited Ames from Anne Corley. In six months’ time, he had become an invaluable friend over and above being my attorney. I called him at home. “What’re you doing?” I asked.
“Cleaning the pool,” he replied.
I have little patience with people who own pools or boats. They’re both holes you pour money into. Not only that, it’s a point of honor to do all the work yourself, from swabbing decks to cleaning filters. “Did you ever consider hiring someone to do it?” “No, Beau. I don’t jog. Cleaning the
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