Chapter 12
Captain Durant followed O’Donnell out. Kitzinger stood up and pulled Peter out of the room, out of Ellie’s earshot. “She should talk to somebody,” she said. “We have a social worker on the way.”
“Good idea. She’s a mess.” Peter leaned to one side so he could check on the girl. She sat slumped in her chair, head down. “After that, Durant said she could stay with me until we figure this whole thing out. I’ll watch out for her.”
She raised her eyebrows. “The captain agreed to that? What about Ellie’s family?”
“As far as I know, the only family is her father, but he’s been out of contact for years. I’m told he’s overseas somewhere.”
Kitzinger nodded. “We’ll find him. Until we do, the regs say she’s supposed to go into temporary custody.”
“That’s not happening. What if they come after her again? This last guy was good. What if the next guy is better?”
She looked at him impassively. “You’re not the only person who can protect her. We’re the police. That’s our job.”
“And you’ve done a hell of a job so far, haven’t you?”
“We’ll talk about it after the social worker shows up.” She tipped her head to one side, looking at him like a radiologist staring at a CAT scan. “You’ve been through a lot, too. Are you okay?”
She must have seen something in his face. “I’m fine,” Peter said. Although he wasn’t.
She nodded, but not in agreement. Her eyes told him she’d seen every possible human reaction to every possible shitty situation. “Okay. Keep in touch. Especially if anything new comes up.” Kitzinger had given him her business card the first time she’d questioned him.
She went back outside. Peter returned to the office and sat alone with Ellie while the coroner and the forensics team did their work.
He texted June the name Scott Enderby, living somewhere in the Magnolia neighborhood.
Forty-five minutes later, O’Donnell came in with their boots and socks and a hotel towel so they could dry their feet.
When their feet were warming again, Peter leaned slightly toward the girl so that their shoulders touched.
Times like this, a little human contact went a long way. She leaned back against him hard.
Finally Kitzinger returned and went to Ellie. “Do you still want to see your mother’s body?”
“Yes.” Ellie’s voice was small. She grabbed Peter’s arm. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“I’ll be right beside you, all the way.”
Kitzinger led them from the office and down the covered walkway toward the rooms, telling them to keep their hands in their pockets and to watch where they stepped.
Numbered plastic evidence markers stood on the pavement where brass shell casings lay shining.
The rain had started again. A line of pop-up tents stood over the ruined man in the parking lane, the dead pizza driver, and the battered pizza car.
The whole scene lurid under the blue and red flashers of the police cars and the bright portable floodlights of the forensics team.
They reached the room where Katelyn Thorsen had been killed.
The door stood open with the lockset hanging out of it, surrounded by splintered holes.
The window glass had partially fallen from the frame where the killer had fired through it.
Four evidence techs stood at a distance, out of the rain, waiting.
It was an extraordinary courtesy, allowing this.
Kitzinger stopped and turned to block their path. Her face softer again, although the vibrating intensity was the same. “Ellie, I really wish you wouldn’t do this. It’s going to be hard. Are you sure you want to remember her like this?”
Ellie looked up at Peter wordlessly, tightening her grip on his arm. For a skinny girl, she had some strength in her.
“It’s up to you,” he said. It would be traumatic up front, for sure.
But he knew from his own experience that, over time, facing it would be better than running from it.
Soon enough, other memories would rise and take over.
Older memories, better memories. Her mother at her best. That was how it had happened for Peter, with his friends who’d died in combat.
He’d learned to work at it, which helped.
She nodded to herself, then turned to Kitzinger. “I need to see my mom.”
The detective tightened her lips, about to say something else, but didn’t. Instead she gave way and let the girl through, Peter in tow.
Thankfully, Katelyn Thorsen no longer lay in a crumpled heap.
She was still on the floor, but she’d been rolled onto her back and covered with a bedsheet.
The top of it was splotched with red where it covered her face and chest. The carpet was soaked with congealing blood.
Orange evidence tape dotted the walls, noting where rounds had penetrated.
KT’s laptop and phone were on the floor beside more evidence markers.
Each device had been hit by multiple rounds.
Before Peter could say anything, Ellie released his arm, stepped forward, and bent to pull back the sheet.
Nobody had cleaned or otherwise prepared the body.
Her mother lay with blood on her Minnesota sweatshirt and two bloody holes in her face.
Her head seemed strangely flat. The back of it was gone.
Ellie’s mouth worked silently. A prayer, Peter hoped. Although they had never worked for him.
“Goodbye, Mom,” she finally said. Then, with great care, she raised the sheet back to where she’d found it and returned to Peter’s side. “Let’s go.”
Peter turned to Kitzinger. “I need Ellie’s things, her toiletries.”
The detective pointed toward the connecting door. “In the next room.”
He walked past the splintered wood and saw the girl’s things in the corner beside his duffel and coat. Peter said to Kitzinger, “Thanks for your accommodation here. I really appreciate it.”
She nodded an acknowledgment. “Captain Durant’s outside. He’s taken a personal interest in this one. He wants to see you.”
With great deliberation, Ellie put on her mother’s jacket.
Peter pulled on his own raincoat, then picked up their bags, and they went out into the drizzle.
Durant stood in the parking lot, outside the tent sheltering the broken corpse of the dead shooter.
Water dripped from the brim of his hat. His black coat flickered with the stuttering brightness of the photographer’s flash.
He came to meet them, took Ellie’s arm, and steered her away from the carnage.
“Detective Kitzinger, please take Ms. Thorsen to the office to wait. The social worker is on her way.”
Ellie, looking tiny in her mother’s orange raincoat, shook her head and stepped close to Peter. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”
Peter said, “I’ll be right here, Ellie. Also, Detective Kitzinger is going to find your dad.”
Her whole body seemed to clench. “My dad’s an asshole. He doesn’t even want to talk to me. I haven’t seen him in, like, five years. He lives in China or something. He doesn’t even answer emails.”
Kitzinger put her hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Let’s just go meet the social worker. Work all this out.”
Ellie ducked to slip her grip, then stepped close to Peter and grabbed his arm again. “No. I’m staying with him.”
The legal system was brutal with regard to minors, Peter knew.
Without the father or other blood relatives, the best option was KT’s close friends, and June hadn’t thought she had many of those in town.
The parents of Ellie’s friends would be the next step, but after four violent deaths, would any of them want to take in the girl and put their own family at risk, even with police protection?
Barring sainthood, probably not. And Peter didn’t blame them.
Which meant the girl would almost certainly end up in temporary foster care until somebody agreed to be her guardian.
The guardian would have to pass a rigorous background check and numerous site visits.
That process could take months. And none of it would help her cope with the fact that two people had tried to kill her, and one of them had killed her mother.
Peter looked at Durant. “We talked about this. She’s coming with me until we know what the hell is going on.”
“That’s not how it works,” Durant said. “Until we learn what her mother intended for her daughter and find a suitable guardian, Eleanor Thorsen is a ward of the state. You just killed a man, so you’re not exactly a prime candidate for guardianship.
But before you object, she’ll have protection until we wrap this whole thing up. ”
“She was supposed to have protection tonight,” Peter said. “Look how that turned out. In fact, as far as I can tell, the cops were the only people who knew we were at this damn motel. Somebody told Enderby how to find us. What if there’s somebody else out there?”
The captain’s face was impassive. “I don’t like it, either, but that’s how it’s going to be. The social worker will find her a bed and stay with her. I’ll detail multiple officers to stand guard, twenty-four seven.”
Ellie’s face was pale, as though she was about to be sick. Her grip on Peter’s arm was strong enough to bend steel bars.
“We had a deal,” Peter said. “You were going to run interference with the bosses. So I could keep Eleanor safe.”
“I said we’d talk about it,” Durant snapped. “This is a homicide. Minors without relatives go with Child Protective Services until a long-term solution is found. She’s a ward of the state. The rules don’t change just because some civilian wants them to.”
Peter frowned. KT would have used her journalistic muscle to leverage the higher-ups.
But KT was dead. He had no leverage against Durant and the cops.
He knew from his eight years in the Corps that trying to force institutions to change usually just made things worse.
Orders were orders, even the stupid ones.
But he was no longer a Marine. He didn’t need to follow orders anymore.
He tipped his chin toward the wet parking lot. “I need to talk with Ellie. Give me a minute?”
“Don’t be long,” Durant said. “And before you forget, you’d better give Detective Kitzinger the keys to Enderby’s pickup.”
Peter fished out the keys and handed them over. He remembered that he still had the cheap phone in his cargo pocket. He’d intended to hand that over, too.
But he didn’t.
Instead, with his duffel still on his shoulder and Ellie’s little bag under his arm, he tugged her hand and led her out into the disordered maze of official vehicles, red and blue lights flashing, engines idling, exhaust plumes rising.
They passed the Toyota and Peter noted the plate number automatically. As they came to a big white forensics van, Ellie asked, “Where are we going?”
“Away from here,” Peter said.
“What about the police?” Her voice was small and quiet.
Peter reminded himself that she’d been through a lot. “Would you rather go with the social worker? I would understand if you did. It’s your choice. I can take you back.”
“No. Mom told me to stick with you. That’s what I want.”
“Then it’s decided,” Peter said. “Although maybe we should walk a little faster.”
He led her past the forensics van and lengthened his stride. At the narrow sidewalk, they turned and walked south into the relative darkness and calm of Aurora Avenue.
While they were waiting in the motel office, Lewis had texted Peter an address.
Right around the corner, parked under a rain-haloed streetlight, a midnight-blue Chevy Tahoe gleamed darkly in the rain.
The doors were unlocked and the keys were above the visor. There was a fresh roll of aluminum foil on the driver’s seat. Leather interior, all the bells and whistles. How Lewis had made this happen, Peter had no idea, but he was grateful as hell.
He threw their bags into the back seat, fired up the engine, made sure Ellie had her seat belt fastened, and got the hell out of there.
A mile away, he stopped, tore off a long sheet of tinfoil, and wrapped up all three phones into a single brick. The aluminum would cut off any attempt to track the signal.
Because he didn’t know who else might have the number to the phone from the Toyota.
And Durant had the number to Peter’s phone, and Ellie’s.
Peter wasn’t sure exactly which law he’d just broken by walking away with a minor who was a ward of the state, but he was pretty sure it was a big one.