Downpour

TWO

It’s amazing how much information resides in databases and on Web sites if you know where to look and how to pry. I do a lot of my investigative work from my computer or in records offices while someone else pokes their specialized electronic beast for me. Even a lot of my Grey work has clues and trails through the world of electrons flying through the void of cyberspace. Steven Leung, strangely, hadn’t left much trace in the cyber world. He was survived by two adult daughters and had been predeceased by a son and a wife. He owned a house out in Port Angeles—or what was listed as Port Angeles, since the postal district covered most of the northern end of the Olympic National Park and unincorporated towns nearby. The property records showed the house was still in his name and someone had, apparently, been paying the taxes. It was too late in the day to catch up to the Clallam County payroll office to find out whether his retirement was still being paid out, but I’d have been willing to bet it was. Assuming the ghost I’d seen was not some spectral joker jerking my chain, it looked as if something quietly dreadful had happened to Steven Leung.

I paused in my electronic prying to call Dave Feldman to bring him up to speed on Nan’s case. Since the case was a little complicated, the conversation took a while and I’d just finished faxing a lot of documents to Feldman when someone knocked on my office door. It was late in the afternoon, the glow of rain-diluted neon and the dregs of sunset creeping in through my tiny window, and I thought I should be a bit more careful than I had used to be and not just open the door willy-nilly.

I called out, “Just a second,” as I watched the last of the pages crawl through the scanner and fall into the pile below. I gathered up the papers and refiled them before opening my door. I didn’t like to risk confidential files being in sight of other clients, and although I didn’t have any more appointments on my schedule for the day, clients and my neighbors in the building did sometimes drop in without one.

Cops are particularly fond of making unannounced visits, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised to see Seattle PD Detective Rey Solis in the hall. I had a lot of respect for him, and we’d worked together a few times, but we weren’t friends and the messy ending of our last encounter hadn’t helped that.

At five foot ten plus boot heels, I’m taller than the taciturn Colombian, but he never seemed to care. I glanced down at him and didn’t smile. “Hello, Solis. What can I do for you?”

“I’m seeking information. May I come in, Ms. Blaine?”

“Is this going to be the sort of information that leads to subpoenas?”

“I’m tying up loose ends of the Kammerling case, largely for my own curiosity.”

“But not entirely.”

“No.”

That left me with the option of being rude or taking a risk on the other direction of his curiosity. I didn’t feel that I owed him anything, but I didn’t see any upside to annoying him, so I stood back and waved him in. “You might as well sit down and ask what you came to.”

He gave me a small nod and entered while I closed the door. I noticed that he stood next to the nicer of my two client chairs and let his gaze wander over the scarred oak faces of my filing cabinets and shelves and across the computer-burdened surface of my desk. The moisture on his coat didn’t run and puddle onto my floor, so I guessed the rain had started only a few minutes earlier. He patted the chair absently and took off his coat before sitting down with a satisfied grunt and a nod.

“What?” I asked, taking my own seat again.

“Your office is very . . . Raymond Chandler.”

I found myself grinning; I’d read all those books, too. “I am from Los Angeles.”

“The file cabinets are antiques?”

“No, just heavily used. I got them cheap and refinished them.”

He gave me a curious glance.

I shook my head. “I don’t think you really want to talk about my office decor.”

He inclined his head—my point. “I have been wondering what you’re currently working on.”

“I can’t discuss my clients’ business.”

“Broadly speaking. Have you had any more of your . . . odd cases?”

I gave half a smile and shook my head, although the timing did give me pause to wonder what he was after. Whenever my Grey investigations have crossed his normal ones, he gets . . . annoyed. But I didn’t have anything running yet that could have pinged his radar, and I didn’t think there was much left from the previous case, either, no matter how awful and freakish it had been. And so far as I knew, Solis had no sense of the Grey and wouldn’t have any idea that I’d seen creepy and disturbing things at Lake Crescent. “You know, Solis, this is getting to be a habit with you. But, no. Just paperwork business. Some pretrial work, a missing person search, financials, the boring, bill-paying stuff.”

“When did you return to work?”

“Five or six months ago, but not full-time until recently.”

“Why the delay?”

“Getting shot is not like in the movies.” I noticed I was running one hand through my shortened brown hair—I’d had it cut to my shoulders again in the hospital so it didn’t turn into one giant, greasy mat—and forced my hand back down to the desk.

He nodded as if he knew.

“Have you ever . . . ?” I asked.

“Sí,” he replied, and raised two fingers. “Twice.”

“Then you know . . . how it hurts, how everything just seems to be so much harder than it should be. . . .”

“And you regret what happened.”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t think I could have changed it.”

“What about William Novak?”

That startled me, but I only frowned and blinked at him. “What? What about him?”

“Your missing person is not William Novak, then?”

“No. Is he missing?” Of course I knew he was, and I knew what had happened to him. But the uncanny fate of my ex-boyfriend wasn’t something I could tell Solis. Will wasn’t exactly dead, but he wasn’t with the living, either, and I would never be able to explain it to Solis or damn near anyone else. I hadn’t killed him; that was for certain.

Solis cocked his head to the side and regarded me like a crow considering where to jab its beak into an unsuspecting mouse. “I would have expected Michael Novak to bring the case to you. But since you may have been one of the last people to see William, perhaps not. . . .”

I sat forward and studied him. “Will is missing and you think I have a connection.... Why?”

“It is a strange coincidence. Several, in fact.”

“William Novak was my ex-boyfriend. I hadn’t had contact with him in almost a year before my trip to London.”

“But he seems to have followed you home from London and sought you out several times.”

“He did contact me, but he was acting a little weird and I asked him to stop. I didn’t see him after that.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. We met twice and I think he called me once. But that was all.”

“His doctors and his brother think he was obsessed with you.”

“Will?” I made myself laugh and tried not to think about the past few times I’d seen him. “Will wasn’t the obsessing type. He was pretty easygoing. If something wasn’t working out for him, he stopped doing it. That’s why we ended our relationship—he didn’t like my job, and I wasn’t going to change it. There wasn’t any rancor; it just didn’t work out. Neither of us had any problem with that. The last time I did see him, he was sick. As I said, he acted a little strange, and I thought he wasn’t well enough to be out of bed. I told him to go home. So far as I know, he did.”

“When was that?”

I shrugged and gnawed my lower lip, thinking. The days after I’d returned from London had passed in a frenetic daze of scrabbling to figure out what was happening and then to put a stop to it. It was hard to sort out how much time had elapsed between one terrible thing and the next. “I’m not quite sure.... Maybe forty-eight hours before I was shot?” I’d written most of it down after the fact, trying to understand it all better, but I wouldn’t show that document to Solis; he wouldn’t like it and I didn’t want to relive it.

Solis tapped a knuckle absently against his lower lip. Then he stood up and unfolded his coat, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. “William Novak’s DNA was found at the Queen Anne gymnasium.”

I made a puzzled frown and lied. “Are you saying he followed me up there? I never saw him.”

Solis said nothing. He probably wasn’t taken in, but he didn’t have any proof I’d had anything to do with Will’s disappearance. All he could do was try to rattle me. There was no telltale orange flare of frustration around his head at my lack of reaction; Solis was just flying kites and waiting to see if I spooked at any of them. He’d need to have something a lot scarier if he wanted me to flip, and I doubted he’d be able to come up with anything worse than what I’d already seen and done.

I stood up as Solis put on his coat. Then I walked with him to the door. “I hope you can find him,” I said, opening the door for him to leave.

He stepped out into the hall and turned back to look at me. “Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“And what if we find him dead?”

Knowing what I did, the words startled me a little, but I didn’t try to hide my reaction. I caught my breath and bit my lip, feeling moisture prickle in my eyes. “That—that would be tragic. But at least Michael would know what happened to his brother.”

His expression tightened, a somber pall of disappointment darkening his aura. “Michael Novak did not file the missing person report.” Solis gave me a thin smile and turned away, clattering down the wooden stairs as I remained, stunned, in my doorway.