I moved back into the other room. Stepped on something soft. When I looked closely I saw it was the quilted jacket Amy had been wearing the day Sheppard had thrown her out of the truck. My light illuminated other objects that had been strewn around: T-shirts, costume jewelry, makeup, jeans, underwear, other teenage-girl attire.
And on the wall above them, a blood spatter.
I leaned against the Land Rover, bundled in the shearling coat, watching Lark’s team examining what she’d termed a “possible crime scene.” For a remote county that was probably operating on an insufficient salary budget, the deputies seemed well coordinated and knowledgeable. I’d seen less thorough initial investigations in the city. Not that that was any surprise: the SFPD has been through up-and-down cycles as long as I’ve lived there.
Lark finally approached me-a slender woman in her mid-thirties with blonde curls, worn long now, and freckles on her upturned nose. We’d spoken only briefly when she arrived and entered the cabin, not at all since her backup showed minutes later.
Now she said, “McCone, this scene looks bad. The place was tossed, there’s blood in the main room, the girl’s gone, and you say she’s Hayley Perez’s sister. How come you came here?”
“Someone told me-”
A man called out to Lark, and she held up a finger. “My forensics guy wants me. When I’m done with him, I’m going off duty. Let’s meet at Zelda’s, knock back a couple, and you can tell me what I need to know.”
The cavernous interior of Zelda’s was strangely quiet for a Thursday night. A couple of late diners lingered over coffee in the room to the left, and only a few drinkers gathered at the bar. Bob Zelda was absent-he’d told me he’d turned over the weekday-evening shifts to his son Jamie; Bob worked the weekends because he liked to listen to the country-music bands he employed.
I took one of the tables by the lakeside windows in the bar area and waited for Kristen Lark to arrive. After ten minutes I went to the bar and got a glass of white wine. Sipping it, I realized why I usually ordered beer at Zelda’s. Five minutes later Lark came through the door.
She pointed questioningly to my half-full glass. I shook my head, and she went to the bar; a minute later she was seated across from me with her own drink-a double bourbon.
“So, McCone, I hear you married Ripinsky.”
“I did.”
“I’m married, too.” She held out her left hand; a wide gold wedding ring circled her third finger.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Fellow officer-Denny Rabbitt.”
“You look good,” I said. “Marriage agrees with you.”
“Marriage to another deputy, yes. Anybody else couldn’t’ve put up with the crazy schedule. Hy up here with you?”
“No. I’m taking some time off, but he’s busy with a corporate reorganization.”
She nodded, clearly having asked only for politeness’ sake, placed a tape recorder on the table, and asked, “So what were you doing at the lodge tonight?”
I outlined everything that had happened since I spotted Amy Perez outside the Food Mart, while Lark taped the conversation. “I didn’t mean to get involved in a police matter,” I finished. “It just occurred to me that Amy might be squatting at Willow Grove, and I thought I might be able to persuade her to go to her aunt and uncle’s.”
Lark shrugged. “Seems we’re having a regular crime wave this week. You want to help me on an official basis? You did before, remember.”
I solved your case for you and nearly lost my life in the process, you ingrate.
Lark waited for my answer.
I didn’t want to help out. I didn’t even want to be here talking with an officer of the law. But maybe I could find out some inside information about Hayley’s murder that I could pass on to Ramon and Sara.
“Okay, but I told you everything I know; it’s got to be a two-way street.”
“Deal.”
Lark turned off the tape, got up and went to the bar for another drink. When her back was turned I switched on the sensitive voice-activated recorder in my purse. The deputy hadn’t asked if I minded being taped, and I wasn’t going to ask her, either. She was fair, and a good law officer, but I was aware that our arrangement could backfire if I didn’t have documentation.
“Okay,” she said as she sat down again. “We didn’t have the info on the sister having taken out the life-insurance policy. Hadn’t really looked at Amy yet because we were concentrating on the Boz Sheppard angle. So far we haven’t located him.”
“You have any background on Hayley?”
Lark smiled. “Now that is where it really gets interesting.”
Friday
On my drive back to the ranch, I didn’t dwell on the facts that Lark had confided to me. She’d insisted on buying another round before we’d left Zelda’s at twelve-thirty, and even though I’d left most of my wine in the glass and was under the legal limit, I needed to pay close attention to my driving. High-desert people are generally hard-living folks, but it seemed to me that Lark, a law-enforcement officer and supposedly happy woman, had been pushing the envelope with her three double shots of bourbon.
The country around Tufa Lake is largely devoid of traffic at that time of night, and no wildlife sprang into my headlights, so I arrived home unscathed. There was a message on the machine from Hy: “Just wanted to let you know my ETA tomorrow-four p.m. See you then.” Pause. “Does your absence indicate you’ve been ‘sucked in’ by the Perez murder?”
Damn! He knew me all too well.
But sucked in I was-and with official sanction. I curled up in the armchair in the living room and listened to the tape I’d made of Kristen Lark’s confidences.
Haley and Rich Three Wings ran off nine years ago, ended up in Reno. He dealt blackjack at Harrah’s, she worked someplace as a waitress, but pretty quick she started turning tricks on the side…
Around three years after they got to Reno, this high roller came to the casino. Hayley was waitressing there by then, and next thing she ran off with the guy, leaving Rich with only his old car and the clothes on his back…
No, we haven’t found out who the high roller was. Rich claims he doesn’t know. We’ve got an inquiry in to the casino, though…
That’s another thing we don’t know-where she was during the period between when she left Reno and three years ago when she turned up in Vegas. Living off the high roller, no doubt, but it didn’t last…
In Vegas, she worked cocktails in a casino-the Lucky Sevens. Kind of downscale and dingy, LVPD says. So she went out on the streets again, got busted a few times, but always brought in a high-powered attorney who got the charges dropped…
How could she afford the lawyer? Damned if we know…
Name’s Brower. Frank Brower. With a big firm that’s rumored to be connected-Brower, Price and Coleman. Of course, everybody in Vegas is rumored to be connected…
No, we haven’t been able to get hold of him. He’s on a cruise, or some damn thing…
Yeah, we checked out the address on Hayley’s driver’s license. A mail drop. We’ve got no idea where she was living in Vegas…
Apparently nobody here knew she was back in town, except for that insurance agent you told me about. And Boz Sheppard. And maybe Amy. We’ve questioned everybody, including Rich Three Wings and her high-school boyfriend, Tom Mathers…
Here’s something: you might take another crack at Three Wings. I mean, he might open up more to you…