Bleeding Blue Page 12

  “Angel!”

  “Billie!” She jumped up from the chair and gave me a bear hug in the middle of the room. The top of her brunette head butted against my chin.

  “I was so worried about you,” I said.

  “Me too, about you,” she said.

  She looked great, although I noticed she had a bruise on her forehead from the car accident. She wore a too-short dress with black, white and yellow colors in it, black pantyhose, and three-inch yellow heels. She reminded me of a bumblebee flitting from flower to flower—in October. Like I’ve said, Angel isn’t a slave to fashion.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Much better now that you’re here, and I can see you’re all right.”

  “I got some bruises.” She pushed her blouse sleeve up her arm and displayed a monstrous black and blue mark, which traveled from her bicep up to her shoulder. I got a nasty one on my hip and my legs. That’s why I’m wearing dark panty hose.”

  “I’m so sorry. Thanks for saving my life.”

  We hugged again and she broke it off.

  “I bought something for you,” I said. I handed her a pack of her favorite cigarettes. “I’ve noticed you seem to be yearning for them more than ever since I was shot. I know I talked you into quitting, but now I feel guilty.”

  She looked at the cigarettes and back to me. Then back at the cigarettes again. She opened the pack and tamped one out, nestled it between her fingers and sighed. “Nice to have you back.” She didn’t try to light it.

  “It’s not like I need to smoke,” she said. “For some reason there’s this gap in my life and it seems to fit between these fingers.” She sighed again and put the cigarette back into the package. “No, this doesn’t fill the gap any longer.”

  The tow truck driver reached from his chair and slipped one of his pudgy fingers into the gap between her fingers and she smiled.

  “You remember Earl. He’s been with me all morning. He’s such a dear. He said he was worried about me and brought me the most beautiful Stargazer lilies.”

  Earl, in a blue and white checkered button-up shirt and khaki slacks, got up from his chair and tugged at his shirt to make sure it covered his belly.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Bly.” He extended a beefy paw to shake my hand and his gentle grip surprised me.

  “Thank you for getting Angel out of that mess,” I said. “You were great, the way you pulled her VW up the hill.”

  “It was nothing. I rigged up the remote-control thing myself a few years ago. My rig didn’t come with remote control, so I made one using a garage door opener and some spare electronic parts.”

  “It sure came in handy yesterday,” I said.

  “Earl showed us how it worked earlier,” Jason said. “He has a remote for the back side too. We were going to hook it up to the surveillance car across the street, but they were gone so we connected it to Dan’s car and raised and lowered it from the front porch.”

  “Until Dan took the remote from us,” Dag said.

  “You probably bent my frame,” Dan said.

  “You make an interesting point, Dag,” I said.

  “What? Dan’s a party pooper?”

  “No. What happened to the car across the street with the two cops in it? It wasn’t there when I got home, and I don’t remember seeing it when I left about one o’clock. I know they were there earlier this morning.”

  Dan scratched his head and glanced toward the window. “What’s the concern, Sis? They probably got called off. Or maybe they only work half a shift on Sunday.”

  “You’ll never guess who almost busted me a little while ago,” I said. “Officer McGraw.”

  “Did he see you?” Dag asked.

  “I don’t know. I hid in the ladies’ room at Coffee Maestro. I don’t know if he saw me go in. I was meeting Eileen McIntire.” I watched carefully as I spoke her name but the two-timing Earl didn’t react. In a few minutes, we all sat at the table and Jason fired up his laptop. I loaded the DVD into a slot and played the various scenes for the group.

  “Hey, that’s City Hall,” Earl said. “I’ve been in that office before.”

  I didn’t comment on why he might have been in Eileen’s office, and we continued watching the video with me dissecting The Jet’s routine. I froze the frame the few times he could be seen on camera.

  We discussed theories, which ranged from he was hired by someone in the office to kill me versus he’s blackmailing someone, to he was robbing the Mayor and the commissioner’s offices. At the end of our discussion we were no closer to a solution than when we started.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” Dan said. “Let’s revisit this later. What else have you got going, Billie?”

  “I’m going to meet Stella Fleming tomorrow morning at the Medical Examiner’s office,” I said. “When are we supposed to be there, Angel?”

  “She meets Sergeant Jackson at ten o’clock. I’ve arranged for her to meet with us at a nearby coffee shop at nine.”

  “I’m going with you,” Jason said.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” I said. “Steve wants you at the house.”

  “Yeah, but he also wants me with you. I’d rather lose my job than my sister. There have been three attempts on your life. Someone seems to always know where you are. I think you need protection and I’m volunteering.”

  “I agree,” Dan said.

  “Me too,” Dag said. “Someone needs to watch out for her.”

  I sulked. “Sergeant Jackson is investigating the case and he’ll be there when we meet at the medical examiner’s office. He’ll tell Steve.”

  “Won’t matter if he sees you,” Jason said. “I’ll tell him I’m your bodyguard. How are you going to explain yourself?”

  “I’ll play on his sympathy.” I winked at him. “I’m on a case. I’ll say I’m trying to keep my mind off poor Darrin. Oh crap. I need a hanky.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Dan said, handing me a Kleenex. “I’m going home for the night to be with Maria and the kids.”

  “You’re getting a bit rebellious too,” I said.

  “Steve knows.” Dan said. “I mentioned it to him when he was here earlier.”

  “You’re lucky,” Dag said. “It’s bad enough we have to stay here, but my bed is too short by about a foot.”

  “Uh, I was wondering if I might stay here tonight,” Angel said. “I brought a change of clothes. Earl has to be somewhere soon, and he doesn’t really have time to run me home.”

  “Of course,” I said. “You can have Dag’s room. Dag, since Dan isn’t here tonight, you can join Jason. The beds in that room might be a little bigger.”

  “Great,” Earl said. “I do have to get going.”

  I turned at him, defiantly. “That’s too bad. You could have had dinner with us. What do you have planned tonight?”

  “I have a prior engagement with a friend I couldn’t get out of.” He smiled sheepishly.

  “Is this friend a woman or a man?” I asked point blank.

  “Well, it’s sort of a woman. Somebody I work with. No big deal. I would just feel bad canceling on short notice.”

  Angel didn’t even seem curious. She smiled and hugged him and followed him to the door. Maybe I misread the situation. On the phone she sounded as if she really liked him. I wondered if he had already told her he was going out on a date with Eileen.

  All right, I didn’t know for sure he was Eileen’s Earl, but what were the odds he wasn’t. Astronomical if you ask me.

  Chapter 15

  Angel, Jason and I were about to leave for our meeting with Mrs. Fleming Monday morning when the phone rang. I left them standing in the doorway and picked up the telephone at the reception desk.

  “Billie? It’s Chris,” a frazzled voice said. “Chris Johnson. I need to talk to you.”

  “Shit, Chris. Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve been on the lam since that shooter t
ried to cap me.”

  “Are you crazy? He was shooting at me.”

  “I know you think that’s what happened, but I’m not so sure. Hey, I’m sorry about your brother. If he hadn’t got between me and the shooter, well you know . . . I’m sorry.”

  It’s the last thing I needed. A neurotic witness who thinks everything is about him.

  “Chris, I haven’t got time for this. Tell me where you are and I’ll send my brother for you.”

  “Oh, no. I can’t trust anybody except, maybe, you. We’re kind of in the same boat with someone trying to kill us and all. If you’ll come and talk to me and help me, I’ll drop this lawsuit thing. I need help, Billie.”

  He was a nut job all right. I didn’t have time for this with my world unraveling at warp speed and things spinning out of control.

  “Okay Chris, where and when?”

  “In about 30 minutes. Stand outside Two Tarts Bakery on Northwest 23rd and Kearney. If you come alone, I’ll send word on where the meet is.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting with a client in 30 minutes and the medical examiner afterwards. Come to my place at one o’clock. If I’m not here, wait. My brother, Dan, will keep you safe.”

  “No cops,” Chris said. “Meet me at the bakery at one. If you come alone, I’ll take you to the guy who shot you. His name is Monty. He goes by The Jet. If you bring the cops, I’m skipping town.”

  Well nuts or not, I couldn’t turn down a chance to find The Jet. I agreed to his terms and decided to keep the details to myself lest my brothers or Angel might want to tag along.

  Jason drove around the block and picked Angel and me up in the back alley in case Steve’s surveillance team was lurking nearby. Angel sat in front and I elected the back seat to be able to stretch out a bit. As they talked about their gun collections, I puzzled through some scenarios. How did Chris find The Jet? Did he ask around or did his friend from the hospital tip him off? It never occurred to me The Jet might have found Chris.

  Up until a few years ago, the state crime lab was located on Northeast Third and Knott Street. The medical examiner’s office used to be located across the street from where I had been hospitalized.

  Emanuel Legacy Hospital is a central triage facility in North Portland for violent crimes against gang members and transients. It is close to the downtown and the Central Precinct and so the location was perfect for a ME’s office.

  But in 2005, the state crime lab was whisked away from Multnomah County into Clackamas County. The new facility houses medical examiners for the state and the two counties. We took Interstate-84 to the 205 and got off twelve miles later on Sunnybrook Road.

  I thought it ironic as we passed Costco, literally a stone’s throw from the medical examiner’s office, because the discount store sells coffins now. My morbid thought struck me hard when I remembered Darrin and how he also rested at the medical examiner’s office.

  Jason escorted me from the car, grabbing my elbow and looking furtively for bad guys, into the Clackamas Town Center shopping center where we found Mrs. Fleming in a Starbucks inside.

  She sat alone sipping a plain black coffee. She was short, maybe five-feet-two in heels, with red hair clipped short in ringlets hugging the side of her face. She was in her late-thirties, with a nice petite figure and a generous bust line. Her eyes were not red or puffy like mine. I supposed she had long since done her crying. She watched as we approached and managed a half-hearted smile.

  I introduced her to Jason and Angel. Jason, although in plain clothes, drifted off to stacks of books a few feet away so he wouldn’t intimidate my client with his intense demeanor.

  Stella summarized her life story for us. Her husband worked for a few years for the Pocatello City Council on various land-use, budget and other volunteer committees. Eventually he was hired on by the city as an auditor. He had been accused of theft of city funds, and although most of the money was never found, he was convicted and served time in prison. When he got out, most of his friends shunned him.

  Unable to get a job, Art Fleming started a small insurance company a few years ago. He found a loophole in the state’s lax laws and was allowed to apply for and get an insurance license. Still, he struggled because of his past record.

  During the last few months her husband grew distant. He also became restless and mentioned many times he would like to move onto something more lucrative. He talked of relocating to Seattle or San Francisco and starting over. He had pitched several get-rich quick schemes to her.

  He planned to network about some of these opportunities at an insurance industry convention in Portland in August and seemed excited. About four days before he left, he sat at the breakfast table reading the paper and slammed his coffee cup down hard enough to rock the table, spilling half his coffee.

  For crying out loud, he had said. I haven’t seen him for eight years. I thought he was dead and there he is, only 700 miles away. When Stella had asked who he was talking about, he folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. Nobody you’d know, he said. Someone I knew before I met you. Maybe I’ll look him up if I get a chance next week.

  Oh, was he in Portland?

  Oh, yeah, he said. He’s definitely in Portland.

  Stella Fleming stared blankly at me after sharing this sad history.

  “After that morning Art was a new man,” she said. “He seemed happy again. He chatted me up when he got home from work, and we made love three times before he left for the convention. I don’t think we’d made love three times in the year before that.”

  “Did he let on what he was so happy about?” Angel asked.

  “He only said this old friend was going to make his dream of leaving Pocatello come true. This friend, he said, owed him and we might be moving to Portland instead of Seattle.”

  “And he wouldn’t tell you who the friend was?” I asked.

  “He said it was an old golfing buddy, but that’s all. And he wouldn’t let me see the newspaper article. He said he didn’t want to jinx anything. Art is very superstitious. “But I think he lied to me when he said I didn’t know this friend of his.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It’s just a feeling,” she said. “The way he talked about him. I think the friendship was more recent than he let on. And he wouldn’t let me look at the paper.”

  “Didn’t you ever get curious and find another copy of the article?” I asked.

  “No. Art was always off on some get-rich-quick scheme. I learned not to put much faith in his little notions.”

  “Do you have any idea who his friend might be?” I said. “It could be important. If this unclaimed body you’ve been called here to identify is Art, this friend might lead us to his killer. If the man in the morgue is not your husband, this friend might help us find him.”

  Stella Fleming licked her lips. “It’s the strangest thing. I’d forgotten about his mentioning they played golf together. It wasn’t until I was landing at the airport and we flew over this beautiful golf course on our landing approach. It reminded me of Art’s fondness for the game.”

  She stopped talking. I waited for a moment before asking: “So who do you think this friend was?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It could have been any number of people. Art was very involved in committees and social functions. He had to network so much in the insurance business.”

  Her eyes avoided mine as she stirred her coffee. I was sure she knew who this friend was and for some reason she was withholding his name.

  “Mrs. Fleming. If you know who this person is, you need to tell me,” I said.

  “I only know they must have known each other while we were married. Art never told me his name.”

  “You must have some impression. Maybe a vague feeling or a guess?”

  She nodded vacantly. “I do have an impression. Not of the friend, but of Art. I’ve had the feeling for some time now he was dead. I didn’t want to believe it, but there it is. I’ve been a wreck ever since he went missing. It wil
l be good to be able to finally put this whole tragedy to rest.”

  She had successfully evaded my question, and I wasn’t able to follow up because Jason had rejoined us with a shopping bag in his hand. We left Starbucks, followed by Stella in a black Impala rental car and pulled up to the medical examiner’s office a few minutes later.

  Inside the square building, consisting of brown brick and red-trimmed windows, a receptionist pointed us down a hallway with a copper-finished concrete floor and contemporary art prints. We pushed through a metal door, next to two large double doors leading into the surgery and stepped into a waiting room where we were joined by Homicide Detective Bruce Jackson.

  The Detective was in his early thirties with a square face and chiseled chin. He had blond spiked-hair, which made him appear like a local TV weatherman or rock star and wore a tight-fitting charcoal Henley shirt over muscular arms.

  “Hello, Miss Bly,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you and your brother here today.”

  “Mrs. Fleming is a client of mine. I felt I had to be here for her in her time of sorrow. I know exactly how she feels.” I dabbed my eye with my hanky and he changed the subject.

  “Mrs. Fleming?” he said. “I want to warn you that this person has been in the water for at least a month. He’s bloated and damn near unrecognizable. But from what you told me over the phone, I’m hoping you can identify him. Would you like someone to accompany you for moral support?” He meant me.

  “Oh yes,” she said in a high-pitched whisper of a voice. “Will you come with me, Billie?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Nothing short of armed restraint would have kept me out. I too, wanted some kind of closure to this case, and I thought seeing Art Fleming might give it to me. Of course, I knew it wouldn’t. I’d want to know what happened to him and who made it happen.

  We left Angel and Jason behind when we walked through the hospital style double doors. Jackson led us to a sterile room with sturdy chrome framed chairs and a body on a hospital gurney. It was cold in the room and on the bed was a body covered with a white shroud. A woman in scrubs with a blue mask nodded at Jackson and went toward the gurney.