Chapter 13
Hugo
“It wasn’t me.”
“You said that before,” I remind him, trying to keep the interview moving forward.
Chance Tanek insisted his brother be present while I question him. I don’t have an issue with Clem, who thus far has been listening and not contributing, but his brother keeps turning to him with the repeated claims of his innocence when I need to keep him focused on my questions.
“You were mentioning you stopped by Strange Brew first on that day,” I prompt him, turning him back to the day of the fire.
“Every day, ’cept Sundays ’cause she’s closed. I go there in the morning, before the place gets busy, and she usually has a paper baggie for me with some food.”
Of course she does.
It doesn’t surprise me in the least, Bess is known for her kindness and generosity.
“So she gave you food that morning?”
He nods. “Yeah, because I remember heading over to the garage. When it’s cold I take the food to eat it in the small storage room at the back. Nobody goes in there.”
For the first time Clem pipes up.
“I just use it for old junk and file storage, but it’s usually locked.” Then he turns to his brother. “How’d you get in?”
Chance lowers his eyes and focuses on his trembling hands restlessly fidgeting with the edge of the sheet.
“I kept the key, but I don’t know where it is now. It must’ve fallen when I was running. Dropped my food too.”
“Running?” I attempt to pick up the thread again. “Why were you running?”
“From the guy with the gun.”
I know Chance probably can’t help the way his mind skips all over the timeline I’m trying to pry from his alcohol-poisoned brain, but I just want to shake him. To think I left a hot-blooded woman wrapped around me for this.
“Whoa, back up a little. Where was the guy with the gun?”
“At the back of the garage,” he explains. “I was just about to unlock the storage room when he came jogging out the back door. A second later, I had a gun pointed at me. I dropped everything and took off.”
“Did he shoot at you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It all happened so fast.”
“Was it anyone you know? Have seen before?”
“Nah. Had his hoodie covering his head and a scarf or something covering his mouth and stuff.”
“But you saw he was wearing a hoodie?”
“Black one,” he says, nodding.
It’s possible he’s making this masked, gun-toting guy up to divert the focus away from him, but I don’t get the sense he’s lying. The guy really isn’t in any mental shape to be fabricating stories.
“Anything printed on the hoodie? A logo or an image. Did you see anything else? Pants? Shoes?”
“No, but before he spotted me, he was heading for the SUV parked in the alley.”
I almost roll my eyes; this is like pulling teeth.
“What SUV?”
“Looked brand new. BMW XM.” Then he turns to his brother. “Remember Dad’s Porsche 911 Targa? It was that same color; that petrol blue metallic.”
Even as he describes the vehicle, I put the information in my phone, intending to send it straight to Rick Althof.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a customer’s vehicle?” I ask, playing devil’s advocate before I get too excited.
I know Althof has looked at the traffic cameras at both the traffic lights at Main and Elm and the one just south of the garage for that morning, but hadn’t found any activity out of the ordinary at either location.
That time of the day there wouldn’t have been much traffic yet anyway, and so far, Rick was able to eliminate the few vehicles that did show up on the feed.
Having a description for the vehicle is huge, provided the BMW was involved.
“Fuck no,” Clem answers. “The only person I know in town with a Beemer is Gail Merrick, our mayor’s wife, she drives that white mother-of-pearl sedan and the only time I’ve had that piece of crap in my shop was when she lost part of her muffler in the church parking lot.
She takes it into the dealership in Spokane to get it serviced. ”
By the time I leave the hospital twenty minutes later, I’m pretty sure I have squeezed all the information I can from Chance Tanek.
I believe his claim of innocence. Even sober, the man can barely keep a straight thought, so I don’t buy that he’d be able to plan and execute a perfect arson drunk out of his brain.
The other thing is, he couldn’t give a detailed description of the guy with the gun but was able to tell us the make and model of the vehicle because the color reminded him of his father’s car.
That’s the kind of thing that seems genuine to me.
Of course, finally, there’s the not so small issue I don’t believe in coincidence; my gut tells me these fires are connected, but I’ll be damned if I know how.
The clock on my dashboard shows it’s already six. It’ll be after seven by the time we eat if I have to cook, so tonight is take-out night.
I quickly check in with Carson to see what he feels like for dinner.
“Pizza.”
The instant response is not a surprise.
“Call them, I’ll swing by there to pick it up. And Son, order me a medium of that spinach, roasted pepper, and chicken one they have.”
“You don’t want the loaded pie?”
That’s our standing order; they load that pizza with every meat, four or five different cheeses, and a pile of jalapeno peppers. We usually share an extra-large between us.
It’s not that I don’t want the pie, but this afternoon, while sitting on the small sofa with Bess straddling my lap, her hands roaming all over my bare torso, I noticed I have officially entered the dad-bod stage.
Clothes hide a lot of sins but my shirt was on the floor.
The basic structure is still there—somewhere underneath—but the years of neglect and convenience have definitely left some padding.
“Trying to change it up,” I tell my kid. “But you order whatever you like.”
As soon as I hang up with him, I dial Althof.
“Did you get my texts?”
“Sure did. Brenda found a picture of the SUV in that color and put out a post on social media to see if anyone recognizes it, and patrol has been notified to keep an eye out. I just got back from Spokane, and KC and I are trying to pull together video feed from traffic or security cameras, expanding the search radius.”
“Call Battaglia Security,” I suggest. “Most of the private or business security cameras were installed by him. He may be able to tell you which doors to knock on.”
“Good idea.”
“Make any progress with the FBI in Spokane?”
“Yep. Talked to SAC Jason Mancuso who said he was familiar with Ken Choi, and was aware of his recent parole release. He seemed very interested to hear what happened to Bess, offered to look into Ken’s whereabouts, and dig around a little to see if there are rumblings on the street about any possible beef. ”
“That’s helpful.”
It’s tough getting any kind of timely response from the Seattle PD.
They tend to be busy with crime on their own turf, and checking into something for the sheriff’s department of a small county clear across the state just isn’t high on the list of priorities.
With the FBI’s involvement, information we need, aside from what the feds have themselves, I’m sure will be more forthcoming.
We’re a small, understaffed department and are not really equipped to deal with a lot of major crimes. We rarely ever had to, but in recent years, those numbers have gone up, and our capacity to deal with them is stretched.
“I should run,” I state. “Gotta get some dinner home to my boy. But call me if you need me.”
“All right, later. Oh wait… Guess who I bumped into at the FBI office?” He barely even pauses before adding the answer, “Tessa Androtti. Remember? The State Patrol’s CID agent in charge of that case here last year?”
Blond, ballsy, and built like a brick shithouse, yeah, I remember her. Smart, albeit a bit abrasive, but she was hard to miss.
“What about her?”
“She was there interviewing for a job. Sounds like she left the CID.”
My ears perk up.
We’ve added a few new deputies in the past year, but someone with her background and experience would be a real asset to the department. Much like Althof himself was.
I just don’t know if we’d have enough in the budget.
“Is that so?”
“Sure is. She’d make a hell of an asset,” Rick echoes my thoughts.
She sure as hell would.
Bess
I was just finishing up the dinner Doug and Arno insisted I share with them in the dining room, when Savvy showed up.
Being the incredible hosts they are, Doug immediately pulled up a fourth chair, and Arno came back from the kitchen with dessert for four instead of three.
Conversation at the table is casual, but I can tell from the looks Savvy aims my way, she isn’t very happy with me.
I’m pretty sure the guys notice as well, so as soon as we finish the beautiful Charlotte Russe cake Arno made, I thank them and excuse myself.
Heading upstairs to my room, as expected, Savvy is close on my heels.
She doesn’t waste any time and launches her opening salvo the moment she shuts the door behind her.
“You told Hugo, but you failed to tell me, your best friend”—she pokes at her own chest before continuing—“your brother was released.”
It sounds more an accusation than a question, but I answer anyway, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“I did, only because he overheard part of a telephone call.”
She dismissively waves her hand, pacing around the room.
“Yeah, I know. He mentioned that. But what I don’t understand is why on earth you would keep that from me?”
“It’s complicated,” I start, but already that doesn’t satisfy Savvy, who can get like a dog with a bone.
“Then uncomplicate it for me,” she snaps.
I remind myself her reaction is one out of love and concern, and try not to react to her tone.
Assuming Hugo hasn’t had a chance to talk to her after my heart-to-heart with him earlier, I fill her in on the information I shared regarding my brother.
“So, either he got sprung and immediately managed to really piss someone off, or this is something that precedes his conviction, and being in jail may have actually kept him safe,” Savvy summarizes.
“I’m not sure what is going on, other than he mentioned he’s in big trouble.”
“And apparently doesn’t think twice about dragging his little sister right smack-dab in the middle of it,” she fumes.
“You think he could be connected to the fire too?”
She scoffs. “Not a doubt in my mind. There are no coincidences,” she states confidently.
Hugo said something similar.
Dammit, I guess I was hoping maybe she’d offer up alternative suggestions, so I could at least pretend my brother hadn’t sold me out.
I lie back on the bed and cover my eyes with my forearm against the glare of the ceiling light. The mattress moves when Savvy flops down beside me. Her hand finds mine and she squeezes my fingers lightly. I turn my head to find her looking back at me.
“I’m sorry I was pissed, but I worry about you. How am I supposed to have your back, when I don’t even know there’s a threat?”
“I know, I just…”
I let the sentence drift off; I don’t really have an answer, only excuses.
“By the way, how are you feeling?” I ask her, eager to change the subject to something other than my pathetic excuse for a life.
“Hell, girl, was that supposed to be a segue?” she comments, chuckling as she pushes herself up to sitting. “I’ve heard smoother attempts from my father, and that’s saying something. The man is as slick as a ball of barbed wire.”
“I am fine. However, talking about slick men,” she adds with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. “You and Hugo?”
Now it’s my turn to snort out a laugh.
“And that was supposed to be smooth?” I accuse her, sitting up as well as I dangle my legs off the side of the mattress. “He is…persistent.”
Never mind that I’m an absolute limp noodle when it comes to willpower around that man, but I’ll keep that to myself. There was nothing limp about the loss of control that somehow propelled me onto his lap.
Nothing limp at all.
“I’d ask you what that shameful blush is about, but I don’t think I wanna know. I have to work with the man, you know?” she jokes, lightly bumping her shoulder against mine.
I’m saved from attempting to make excuses for my cheek’s reactive capillaries when Savvy’s phone rings.
“Let me quickly take this.”
I use the interruption to dart into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and use the facilities. When I return, Savvy is off the phone.
“That was Hugo, he wants me to call Tessa Androtti. She was the CID agent on the murder case last year.”
I vaguely remember her. The shock of finding out someone I’d known for many years was in fact a serial killer blurred everything else to do with that scary time. I still get the chills, thinking how close Carson had come to losing his life to that man. Hugo had been beside himself.
But I do recall something about that woman had been a bit intimidating.
“Why?” a hint of green curiosity prompts me to ask.
“Apparently, she’s in the market for a new job. So, I should probably get on the horn before someone else snatches her up.”
“Are you going to offer her a job?”
I don’t know why I want Savvy to deny it, it’s blatantly obvious that’s exactly what she’s planning to do.
“As soon as I can get a hold of her,” she confirms, holding up her phone. “I will be in touch later, and don’t go anywhere without notifying Hugo or me.”
“Yes, Mother,” I mock.
“And if you get bored,” she adds, as she hugs me at the door. “Start putting together some mood boards for me.”
“Mood boards? For the nursery?”
She’s already a couple of steps down the stairs when she stops to look back at me.
“Not the nursery, Tate says she’s got that covered.”
She grins, wiggling the fingers of her left hand where an unfamiliar sparkle hits my eye.
Then she adds, “My June wedding.”
“Wait, what?” I yell after her as she jogs down the stairs.
She doesn’t stop, but I can hear her joyful laugh all the way out the door.
Wow.
A wedding, and only two months away. I didn’t even get a chance to congratulate her.
I head back inside the room and grab my phone from the coffee table, intending to send her a quick text when I find a message waiting from Hugo.
Carson wants to know why I’m in such a good mood.
I think I’ll keep it to myself. ;) Sleep tight.
Good grief, the man doesn’t even have to be in the same room to fire me up.
Sleep tight, my foot.