15. Parental Link
FIFTEEN
Parental Link
Harry
L ate the next afternoon, returning from Aromacobana with a bag full of herbal teas and a pouch of fancy decaf, his mind on the conversation he’d just had over coffee with Cade, he hit his office to see Rus on his way out of it.
His gaze went down to the bag in Harry’s hand, then came up again to Harry’s face, and he left it at that, even though Harry had been getting stick from everyone in the department for two days about that fucking tin of cookies.
Needless to say, if she was going for it, Lillian got his men’s and women’s approval through sugar, butter, oatmeal and cinnamon.
“Left you a note, was going to my desk to email,” Rus explained why he was in Harry’s office, even if Harry had an open-door policy.
The office wasn’t his anyway, it was owned by the county.
“What’s up?” Harry asked.
“Brief on Ballard…and the Dietrichs.”
He read Rus’s face, noting this detective dog had found a juicy bone, and Harry moved to the chair behind his desk.
Rus sat opposite him and waited for Harry to stow the bag before he launched in.
“Ballard’s mother gave me an earful. And his friends gave more. Apparently, this guy was a sad sack. If life didn’t bring him low on the regular, he made stupid decisions to get brought low. Kept losing jobs. His wife cheated on him. Then she left him and cleaned him out when she did. He’d regularly make shitty investments on dubious projects that didn’t pan out. The thing was, he didn’t let it get him down. He was well-liked. He was, according to more than one friend, ‘that guy.’ The one who’d help you move. The one who’d watch your dog while you were on vacation. The one who’d take you for a beer if your girlfriend dumped you.”
“So suicide didn’t jive with them,” Harry deduced.
“Not at all,” Rus replied. “It rarely does. People miss the signs loved ones are sending, or those loved ones do everything they can to mask the signs. But honest to God, Harry, that doesn’t sound like what this is. This guy had lived through a lot and kept on rolling. He didn’t hide any of it either. He was a talker. He shared. He bitched. When he had sorrows to drown, he did that publicly.”
“Does anyone know if he was going through anything around his death?”
Rus shook his head. “He wasn’t living the big life after his wife cleaned him out. One bedroom apartment. Job working for Stormy at the tire store. He wasn’t dating anyone. But he’d just been to a friend’s fortieth birthday party the day before, and several of the attendees remember he was what he usually was. The life of the party.”
“Was he banged up when he went to this party?”
Rus shook his head. “Nope.”
“Anyone have any idea about that?”
“All anyone could guess was that he was excited about some new scheme he said was going to make him rich, and it might have gone bad. They didn’t know what it was or who was involved, but he swore he’d be buying lakefront property and a boat. No one thought anything about it at the time, because this was Muggsy’s gig. He threw good money after bad constantly. Some even said this was why his wife strayed. He was so sure he was going to get rich quick, he got poor quicker and dragged her down with him.”
Harry left the truth unspoken. That the woman could have left him without kicking him when he was down by cheating on him. But Rus knew that better than him, seeing as Rus’s ex thought Rus needed a lesson about how little attention he was paying her, and she used fucking another man in their marital bed to teach it.
“The only thing that grabbed my attention from what they were saying,” Rus went on, “whatever this new scheme was, it was different. He wasn’t investing his own money. Whatever it was, he bragged he didn’t have to lift a finger or hand over a dime, and he was going to be rolling in it.”
He and Rus stared at each other then, because if something sounded too good to be true in that way, it was usually illegal.
“The statements Dern apparently took that said he was depressed?” Harry inquired.
“Every single person I talked to, outside Ballard’s mother, said they never spoke to a cop, Dern or anyone else. And Dern didn’t come to her, she went to Dern.”
Fuck.
“You talk to the ex?” Harry asked.
“Got a call in to her asking for some time. Waiting for a call back.”
Harry nodded. “What did the mother have to say about her visit to Dern?”
“That her son didn’t kill himself,” Rus answered. “Safe to say, she’s still pissed, but she’s relieved we’re looking into it. She told me she has nothing against suicide. She made that very clear. It isn’t like she’s got any erroneous ideas that’s some smear on their family or the job she did as a mother. She’s simply adamant Ballard didn’t take his own life. And only slightly less adamant that when Dern wasn’t being ‘infernally lazy,’ her words, he was playing favorites. Cozying up and doing favors for people who would donate to his re-election campaign or let him borrow their condo at a ski resort. She said he didn’t have time for someone he didn’t think mattered, like Muggsy.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Even so.
“That doesn’t explain why he took that case himself and closed it in a couple of days,” Harry pointed out. “He had two deputies who investigated crimes, and he could have punted it to either of us.”
“No, it doesn’t explain it,” Rus agreed.
“Talk to the medical examiner?” Harry asked.
“She’s having a busy couple of days. We’ve set a time for tomorrow afternoon to talk. She’s pulling her files to familiarize herself with this case, considering it was seven years ago.”
“I’ll want to know why she didn’t test for GSR.”
“That’s on my list of questions for her.”
Sensing that was as far as they could go on Ballard, Harry said, “Now the Dietrichs.”
Rus leveled his gaze on Harry’s. “They’re gone.”
Harry’s neck started itching. “Gone?”
“No one at their house. Looks kept up, but the feel is it’s deserted and has been awhile. I had a walk around. It also appears that someone took the time to shut it down. Blinds closed. Electric meter barely registering usage. Pads on the outdoor furniture stowed. Mrs. Dietrich doesn’t work. Mr. Dietrich hasn’t been into his office in months. Apparently, he’s working remotely. He told his staff he’s in Seattle because his mother is ill, and he needs to be closer to her. Problem with that, and what they don’t know but I do, is his mother died eleven years ago.”
“Fuck,” Harry bit off.
“They got land, so their neighbors aren’t close, but talked to several of the people on their road. No one has seen either Dietrich come or go in a good long while.”
“I announced the audit last year, Rus. How long have they been gone?”
“His office reports he hasn’t been coming in regularly for a good ten months, even though he does check in personally, but he does it randomly, and he doesn’t stay long. A few hours, then he’s gone.”
“So they heard about the audit, knew their file might be flagged, possibly knew two dead bodies were in the mix, they shut shit down and took off, with Mr. Dietrich showing sporadically to keep his finger on the pulse.”
“It’s a theory.”
“What’s your theory?” Harry asked.
“Same as yours. So that’s why I’ll now be requesting resources to see if I can track these assholes.”
“We have to wait for Idaho, Rus. Focus on Ballard.”
“I’ll focus on Ballard, at the same time get everything ready to submit, and if I have to, I’ll do it on my own time, so when we hear from Idaho I can just hit enter and shit will be in motion.”
Harry made a decision. “Not your own time, just do it.”
Rus nodded.
“Just got done talking to Cade about this case,” Harry shared. “He didn’t have much to offer except for the fact the Dietrichs were big donors to Dern’s election campaigns, and by Cade’s estimation, this put Dern in their pocket. Considering Sonny and Avery were indicated, he started poking around and he didn’t quit when they disappeared. While he was doing it, he heard rumblings that Dietrich was having some money problems. Sonny and Avery didn’t get caught or come back, the case faded away, Cade stopped looking into it.”
“So, possible insurance fraud,” Rus deduced.
“Possible,” Harry replied.
“I’ll start sniffing around that too,” Rus said.
“Good,” Harry muttered. And then he told his friend, “What Lillian and I have started is serious.”
Regardless that it was early in their relationship to make this declaration, Rus’s lips tipped up.
“I’m trying to take it slow for her, but she’s not making that easy,” Harry continued sharing.
“I know how that feels. Cin attacked me in the middle of Brittanie’s murder investigation. She knew the woman and loved her, I didn’t. She was feeling big things. She needed that connection, maybe even needed to feel alive or to suck as much out of life as she could get.” Another lip tip. “I was worried for her, but still happy to oblige, and in the end, it worked out pretty damned good for both of us.”
Something to think about if Lillian continued to push toward getting his dick, which was something, it didn’t have to be said, was hard as fuck to deny her.
“Cin knew her in school,” Rus told him. “She was a couple years ahead, but she said Lillian was one of the ‘smart kids’ when she could have been one of the ‘popular kids’ because of how pretty she is. She entered writing competitions and worked on the school paper and the yearbook. They didn’t run in the same crowd, but Cin liked her then, and she still does, even if they still don’t run in the same circles.”
None of this was surprising.
After sharing that, Rus rose from his chair, probably chomping at the bit to get some wheels in motion after two meaty cases finally landed on his desk. “Look forward to meeting her.”
“Look forward to introducing you to her.”
Rus inclined his head and said, “I got paperwork to fill out.”
With that, he left, and Harry returned to his own work.
He was at it for half an hour before his phone on his desk lit up with a text from Lillian.
At store. Do you like farro?
He smiled because of her question and because, in about an hour, he was leaving to go home, change, get his dogs, then return to town to go to her house to make dinner with her.
It was her idea to invite the dogs.
Yes , he answered.
She came back with, Salmon?
Yes, but you don’t have to get fancy .
I’m on a mission . Do you like macerated cabbage?
“Fuck it,” he muttered, smiling through his words and calling her.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hey back. Yes, I like cabbage. But salmon is expensive.”
“Don’t mess with my mojo,” she bossed. “I saw a recipe I want to try. Do you like ginger?”
What she meant was, she looked up recipes for food he’d want to eat.
Christ, she’d been just down the block from him.
For years.
“Yes, honey, but—” Harry tried.
“A little heat? The recipe has red pepper flakes.”
Harry started chuckling. “Yes, Lilly, though?—”
“Persian cucumber?”
Harry stopped chuckling because he was laughing.
“I’m thinking yes on the cucumber and carrot,” she mumbled into his laughter.
“Yes,” he pushed out through it, just as his phone vibed in his hand with another call. “Hang on, a call is coming in.”
“Okeydokey.”
Okeydokey?
Christ.
Just down the block.
Fuck him.
He took his phone from his ear, looked at who was calling, and the blood suddenly flowed sluggish through his veins.
He pushed through it to go back to her and forced a light note into his voice. “Gotta take this. You going home soon?”
“Right after I check out.”
“See you there, sweetheart.”
“’Kay, Harry. Bye.”
“Later, Lilly.”
He disconnected from Lillian and quickly took the call coming in before it went to voicemail.
“Moran,” he said.
“Harry?” a woman asked.
“Yeah, Lynda. You get word?”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Sergeant Lynda Westwood of the Coeur D’Alene Police Department said. “They’re yours. Parental DNA links to the sample you sent. We have Simon and Avery Rainier’s bones in our morgue.”
God damn…
Fuck .