Текст книги "Winter Kill "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Adam opened his mouth to say… What? You can stay? Probably not a good idea even if Rob showed any indication of wanting to linger. Which he did not. And Adam didn’t particularly want that either. It was just that sometimes…after sex…he felt lonely.

And tonight in particular. These woods, the darkness beyond these four walls, the unnatural quiet that made him dread the moment when he would be on his own with nothing but thoughts and memories for company.

“So you’re not out then?” He watched Rob shrug into his red tartan shirt.

Rob looked up, startled. “Huh? Well, I’m sure as hell not in, as you may have noticed.”

“Okay.” It didn’t matter to him, after all. Curiosity was part of his job description.

Rob pulled on his jeans with efficient speed, fastened his belt. “I don’t like people knowing my business. That’s all. I like to keep my private life private.”

“Sure. Same here.”

Rob winked. “If I see something I like, I don’t mind going for it.”

Adam smiled. He could understand that, and it had been a very agreeable encounter. “I’m glad about that.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Rob said. Then he grinned. “Well, I hope not, but a lot of it was mine.” Before Adam could respond to this unexpected gallantry, Rob had the door open and was stepping into the pitch-black beyond. He called cheerfully, “Nighty-night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The door swung gently shut.

Chapter Three

Promptly at five o’clock the next morning Rob rapped on Adam’s cabin door. Adam, looking uptight and well-groomed—so well-groomed that Rob, had he not personally seen him naked as a blue jay, would have guessed he’d never undressed the night before—threw open the door and scowled his disapproval.

“Cutting it close, Deputy.”

Rob smiled cheerfully. “Good morning to you too, Darling.”

Darling’s face grew grimmer still. He’d probably had a lifetime of lame jokes like that one. Still. However, as Rob glanced past Adam he realized Agent Gould was sitting in his cabin, drinking instant coffee and eyeing them in surprise.

“Uh, sorry,” Rob said. “It’s not going to take more than forty-five minutes to get to the airport. And at this hour on a Tuesday morning you’re not going to be dealing with any long lines.”

“Good morning, Deputy,” Gould called. She put her coffee cup down and picked up her computer case.

“Yes, it is, ma’am. Any morning it isn’t raining is a good day.”

Adam grabbed his trench coat, gave Rob an austere look, and followed his colleague out the door.

Well, hell. No offense intended. He guessed that even if he’d been early, Adam would have been much the same. A very tightly wound guy, Special Agent Darling. And nights like the evening before were probably a rarity. They were a rarity off season for Rob too. That was lack of opportunity, not lack of inclination. With Adam…well, he probably didn’t like anything that messed up his five hundred dollar haircut.

Rob sighed as he fell into formation.

The drive, as promised, took no more than forty-five minutes. Rob was left to his own thoughts, punctuated by the crackle of the radio, while the agents conferred quietly in the backseat. He was disappointed that all lines of communication had been cut off between himself and Adam—not that there was anything he wanted to say. If you’re ever in the area? Not very likely. If they wanted to treat him like a chauffeur, so be it.

When they reached the airport parking lot, Agent Gould said thank you and goodbye, offering that very pretty smile, and then briskly crossing the street to the terminal, without waiting for her partner. Smart and tactful. He liked that in a woman.

“You have a nice flight home,” Rob said to Adam.

Having reached the airport in plenty of time, Adam had relaxed. He looked tired, there were shadows beneath his green eyes, but he smiled at Rob. He had an attractive, quirky smile—despite noticeably sharp incisors—and Rob was sorry again that the night before had been a one-time thing. There was a guy in Klamath he saw now and again. No one special. And Adam did seem…special. Or at least different from anyone else Rob knew.

“Yes, thanks,” Adam said. “Thanks for your help. And last night.” There was a hint of color in his face, which Rob found sort of endearing.

“Thank you,” he said, which unfortunately came out sounding more lewd than he’d intended.

Adam only laughed. “Good luck,” he said, and turned away.

Rob considered those final words as Adam strode across the road and vanished through the glass doors. Maybe Adam was wishing him good luck with his cold case, or maybe he was wishing him good luck being the only gay man within thirty-six miles.

Either way, he could probably use all the luck he could get.

* * * * *

“Say what you want,” Frankie called from her office when he finally got back to the station around three o’clock that afternoon. “There are advantages to living in a small town.”

“Nearby is too small to qualify as a town,” Rob retorted. That was just being grouchy, and there was no reason for it. No reason for feeling out of sorts, but he did. Had felt that way ever since dropping off Darling and Gould at the airport. His last call—helping Jack Elkins dig his pickup out of the mud yet again—hadn’t improved his mood any. Not that he was bored. Not that he regretted choosing the peace and quiet of rural policing to the excitement and glamour of chasing down junkies and hookers in Portland. There was no denying he was feeling restless.

Maybe he’d visit his pal in Klamath Falls this weekend.

Frankie’s good mood was undiminished. “Sometimes living in a small town works in your favor. We sure wouldn’t get these kinds of results in the big city.”

She was waving a manila folder, and Rob walked over to lean on the frame of her office door. He folded his arms. “Meaning what?”

Her smile was wide and uncharacteristically jovial. “Dental records. We matched ’em to our logging road John Doe.”

“Already? You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Nice,” Rob approved. “So then he was local?”

“Yep. He sure was. Dove Koletar.” She was staring at him like that ought to mean something.

Rob glanced over his shoulder. The station was empty though. Zeke had called in sick that morning, which was why Rob had drawn taxi duty. And Aggie was on family leave, attending her father’s funeral in Las Vegas. He turned back to Frankie. “Who?”

“Dove Koletar. His parents used to own the cabins down by the lake. Marion sold to Sid Lodi after Roger passed.”

Rob shook his head. Long before his time.

“Dove was…you know,” Frankie said.

Rob guessed, “Not right in the head?”

“Gay.”

Now Rob understood what that meaningful look meant. One of yours. “Same thing in some people’s minds,” he said easily.

Frankie laughed her deep, smoker’s laugh. “Back then for sure. Which is why nobody was surprised when he left town.”

“You mean when he disappeared?”

“No. No, there was no mystery about it. Dove left a letter. I remember that very well. He left a letter for his parents saying he was leaving this hick town forever. I remember that particularly because the ‘hick town’ comment pissed off all us hicks.”

“He was a runaway then?”

“Nope. He would have been in his early twenties. I was about twenty-two, and we were in school together, so he was of legal age. Dove was unhappy, and he didn’t fit in. Nobody was surprised when he left. The surprise was that he waited as long as he did.”

“He didn’t get very far.”

“No, he didn’t.” Frankie looked grim.

“Any further evidence as to how Koletar died?”

Frankie shook her head. “His remains are being transported to Klamath Falls where Doc can conduct a real examination. He’s going to bring in a forensic anthropologist too.”

Rob grunted. Better late than never. He said, “So we’ve got a cold case.”

“It appears so.” Frankie tossed the folder to her desk, and Rob reached over to pick it up. “What happened with the break-in at the museum?”

“Attempted break-in.” Rob opened the file. It was nothing but the preliminary autopsy report and a copy of dental records. His gaze sharpened as he studied the dates on the dental records. “Wait a minute. These are from thirty years ago.”

“Yep.”

“Doc had it wrong then? This guy disappeared thirty years ago?”

“Nothing wrong with your math skills. Now how about the museum break-in?”

“Somebody who didn’t know what he was doing tried to pick the back door lock. When that didn’t work, they tried to kick the door in. That’s when Mrs. Joseph woke up and scared them off.”

“She should have called us last night when it happened. I’m not sure what she thought we could do seven hours later.”

“She said she knew he wouldn’t come back, and she didn’t want to wake anybody up when we wouldn’t be able to see anything till daylight anyway.”

“There’s such a thing as being too considerate,” Frankie said.

“Yeah.” Rob was glad Mrs. Joseph hadn’t called them out in the middle of the night. For a lot of reasons. And the truth was, they wouldn’t have been able to do much till daylight. The kid or kids who’d tried to break in would have been long gone by the time he or Zeke made it over to the museum.

Anyway, the museum was technically on federal land, so any problems were as much the jurisdiction of the park rangers as theirs. Not that there was a surplus of park rangers these days. Not with all those good old government cutbacks.

Frankie frowned, thinking.

Rob said, “They need an alarm on that place.”

“An alarm system would cost more than anything in that museum is worth,” Frankie said, and that was probably true. “You dusted for prints?”

“I tried. Aside from the fact that it was pouring rain for most of last night, a lot of people have touched that lock. I couldn’t get anything usable. I made a cast of the boot prints outside the broken window. Size nine-and-a-half hiking boots, nothing distinct or unusual there.”

Frankie was still frowning.

“What?” Rob asked.

She said slowly, “You know, Robbie, one day you’re going to be Sheriff of Nearby.”

“What? Me? No way.” He felt a genuine stab of alarm at the idea.

“Who then? Zeke? Aggie?” Frankie shook her head.

“It’s not a hereditary title, you know. The city council could hire someone from outside.” He tossed Koletar’s file back on the littered desk.

“They could and they probably will if you don’t step up.”

“Step up?” Rob protested. “How am I not stepping up?”

Frankie’s frown deepened. “Everything is not a joke.”

“I don’t think everything is a joke.” He began to get irritated. “I don’t think there’s anything funny about an attempted break-in. I don’t know if the plan was burglary or vandalism, but I’m not laughing. I tried to get fingerprints. I made a cast of the boot prints.”

Frankie waved a dismissing hand. “I’m not talking about that.”

“Well, what then?”

She shook her head, as though it wasn’t worth answering. “Marion Koletar is living in Klamath Falls now. She needs to be notified.”

He said curtly, “All right.” There was nothing he hated more than a notification run. Having to break that kind of news to a loved one? There was a bright side though. He could probably arrange to meet up with his friend while he was there. Maybe have dinner together. Or better yet, skip dinner altogether.

“I want you to take lead on this investigation.”

“Roger that.” Like there was any question? What the hell had got into her?

“And don’t sulk.”

Now that really was uncalled for. Rob opened his mouth, caught the glint in her beady little eyes, and said instead, “Well hell, Frankie. You’ve already said you knew the victim. I guess maybe I should start by interviewing you.”

Frankie threw her head back and laughed that deep, alarming laugh. “Maybe you should. There’s not a lot I can tell you. Dove wasn’t a friend. He didn’t have many friends. Kind of a loner, like I said. No one was surprised when he took off.”

“What about enemies? You said everybody knew he was gay. Thirty years ago that might not have gone over well with some people.”

Frankie looked thoughtful. “I don’t remember him being bullied in school. Not more than anyone else. Mostly people just left him alone. He was odd. Apart from being gay, I mean.”

Yeah, well that was a convenient way of looking at it. Rob said, “So no friends and no enemies? He was just a ghost?”

She shrugged. “You might say that.”

“You said you went to school together. Was there a school in Nearby back then?”

“Ha! A little red one-room schoolhouse? Is that what you’re thinking? No. Back then the kids up here rode the bus to Klamath Falls same as they do now. We went to Haney Elementary, and then Haney Middle School, and then Haney High School.”

That was a relief. There might be some kind of a lead there. Or at least a hint as to the character of the victim. Who was Dove Koletar? He needed something more than dental records and vague memories. “Okay. I’ll contact the mother and make arrangements to interview her.”

“Good deal,” Frankie said.

* * * * *

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Marion Koletar said. “I knew Dove was dead. I’ve known for years my boy was dead.”

She was a small, washed-out looking woman with faded hair and faded eyes. Dry eyes. She wasn’t shedding any tears. Her voice was tired, muted; Rob found himself leaning forward to hear better every time she spoke.

It hadn’t taken him long to track her down, but getting her to answer the damn door? That took some doing. He’d tried knocking twice, and then he’d tried leaving a phone message. Finally he’d parked in front of the apartment building where she lived and waited for her to show.

And she looked so different from what he’d imagined that he’d nearly missed her when she had finally strolled up, pushing her shopping cart. He’d been expecting someone older and more affluent. After all, Frankie and Dove had been classmates, and she’d sold the thirty-four lakeside cabins for a small fortune. She didn’t look much more than Frankie’s age, and she didn’t appear to be particularly affluent judging by the contents of her grocery bags. A dozen boxes of Lean Cuisine spaghetti and a two-gallon jug of fruit punch.

“How’s that, ma’am?” he asked. “What made you think Dove was dead?”

She gave a vague shrug. “He never called. He never wrote.”

When he’d identified himself, she had seemed to weigh whether to let him into her place or not. Finally she’d opened the door, and he’d stepped into hoarder heaven. Newspapers were stacked everywhere. They lined the walls and formed precarious towers all the way to the ceiling. Numerous shorter stacks created a paper maze across the length of the living room.

This was taking keeping up with current events to a whole new level.

“You were close to your son?”

“No. But I still think once he grew up he’d have contacted me. If he’d lived.”

She wore a flowered house dress, the kind of thing that nobody wore anymore. Nobody her age, at least, because, again, she wasn’t that old. He glanced at the clock—only the top half showed above the towers of newspapers—he had to meet his friend in twenty minutes.

“Do you have any idea of who might have wanted to hurt Dove?”

“No.”

“Do you remember the exact date he left home?”

“November.”

November was an exact date?

She irritated him. Everything about her irritated him. Her vague manner, and the stacks and stacks of newspapers, and the fact that she’d taken it for granted her kid was dead—that she’d never made any attempt to do something. Anything. It all irritated him. And he was irritated that he was irritated. If he couldn’t summon up a little compassion, where at least was his professional detachment?

He just wanted to get out of there.

“Do you still have the letter Dove left for you and your husband?”

Marion looked around the magazine-lined room as though she hoped to spot the letter lying on a stack of newspapers. “He did leave a letter,” she agreed. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

“Do you have any photos of your son?”

Another of those dubious looks. “Somewhere…”

Rob sighed. Marion Koletar wasn’t deliberately obstructive, but she might as well be.

He was doing a half-assed job and he knew it. Special Agent Darling would have that supercilious look on his face were he observing this interview. But Special Agent Darling was not here, and Rob was going to miss meeting his friend if he didn’t wind this up pretty quick. His friend would not take kindly to being stood up for “police business” again. It wasn’t like Rob was making any headway with Marion. Maybe if he pushed her and kept pushing her.

Tell me about your son. What was Dove like? Those were the questions he should be asking. And had it not been a thirty-year-old cold case, he would be asking. However, this was a victim whose own mother hadn’t bothered to keep a photo of him. Someone who had fallen off the grid and no one had ever questioned it, let alone made an attempt to find him. He was sorry. Genuinely sorry about Dove Koletar. Life would not have been easy for that young man. And neither would death.

There was only so much you could do, and this was an uphill battle all the way.

“Could you put together a list of your son’s friends?”

“Oh. I…” She trailed off helplessly.

Rob gritted his teeth and forged on. “Actually, could you put together a list of anyone you can remember who might have been close to your son?”

“Close to him?” She looked alarmed.

“Right. Friends. Or whatever. Or not friends. Anyone he didn’t like. Maybe he had a run-in with someone? I know it was a long time ago, but anyone you can think of. Friend or foe. If you could put that list together for me and try to dig up a couple of photos—and maybe find the letter he left you—”

“Why?” she interrupted. She looked bewildered.

“Why? Because we’re investigating his death.”

“But…it’s too late.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s a cold case, yes.”

“He’s dead,” Marion said. “It’s too late to do any good. What’s the point of digging all that up?”

He honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Because your dead son deserves justice. How about that one? Because it’s my job. Not noble, though the truth. Because it’s not good for any of us when someone gets away with murder. That was also the truth.

He rose. “If you could just put those things together for us, ma’am?”

She continued to blink up at him in noncomprehension. He knew she would not put that list together, would not find the photos, would not look for the letter. In a few days she probably wouldn’t even remember his visit.

“Sorry for your loss,” Rob said.

Just as Rob figured, Marion Koletar did not provide him with any of the information or materials he requested. He tried a couple of follow-up calls, but Marion did not answer the phone or return his messages.

He didn’t give up. Not immediately. He got the forensics back on Koletar. Aside from a couple of almost microscopic nicks on the rib cage that might or might not have been inflicted by a knife, there was no indication of how he had died.

There was even a tiny chance it had been a natural death, and some Good Samaritan who couldn’t afford any public scrutiny had found the body and buried it.

Yeah, right.

He got copies of all Koletar’s school records. There was nothing useful there. The victim had been an average student—which was a feat in itself given he typically missed about twenty days a semester. No wonder his teachers had nothing to say about him. They probably wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup.

He asked around, talked to people about Dove. No one but Frankie seemed to really remember him. And she didn’t seem to remember much except that he hadn’t fit in and hadn’t been happy.

“What about his father?” Rob asked. Unfortunately, when something happened to a kid, the parents were the first and obvious suspects.

“I doubt it,” Frankie said. “Maybe they slapped him around now and again. He wasn’t abused. Not for that day and age. More like neglected, I’d say.”

“What about friends? He must have had friends.”

“I don’t know that he did,” Frankie said.

Rob was drawing blanks in every direction. He could have kept pushing. But then the holidays came, and the first snow of the season, and then the tourists were back. Everybody was busy. Even Frankie lost interest in the subject of Dove Koletar.

Nobody actually ever said the words “case closed,” but when Rob tucked the skinny manila folder in the lowest drawer of the filing cabinet, no one questioned it. Or pulled it out again.

November, December, January.

And then Cynthia Joseph was murdered.