Betrayal of Trust (26 page)

“Your arm,” she ordered. “Give me your arm.”

I slammed on the brakes, left the Mercedes sitting idling in the middle of the street, and ran to help. I could see that the spasm from the first Taser shock was starting to fade. By the time I reached them, Mel had one of Ron's hands in the cuffs and was struggling to grab the other while he tried desperately to buck her off. I reached into the melee, grabbed his free wrist with one paw, and handed it over to her. Then I grabbed Mel's Taser.

“Be still,” I ordered, “or I'll Taser you again.”

“Get off me, you crazy bitch!” he exclaimed. “You're hurting me. What's this all about? I wasn't really going to hit you with the car. Can't you guys take a joke?”

That's when I saw the scratches on his bare arms, scratches that were a couple of days old. That's when I knew for sure we had him.

“It's no joke,” I said. “What did you throw up into the hedge back there?”

“Nothing,” he said. “You made that up.”

I could hear the sound of sirens. Someone had used their cell phone to report a disturbance. A squad car with a Capitol Police insignia was first on the scene. I was more than happy to have a local cop presence. I sure as hell didn't want to have to throw the guy into the backseat of my Mercedes.

A uniformed campus cop with a name badge that said
OFFICER MARGARET WOOD
leaped out of her squad car. “What's going on?” she demanded.

Mel stood up, straightened her rumpled suit, dusted her hands, and produced her ID wallet.

“Book Mr. Miller here on assault with a deadly weapon and resisting for starters,” she said.

Seeing Mel standing there barefoot, wearing torn panty hose and with two bleeding knees, you'd have thought that she'd have a hard time commanding respect. She didn't.

“Help me haul him to his feet,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” Officer Wood said, and the two of them did just that.

“When you book him, be sure they get photos of those scratches on his arms,” I said. “They could be important, because there are likely to be other charges to follow those.”

Officer Wood looked at me, standing there with not a scratch on me. Then she looked at Mel—a one-raised-eyebrow look that was evidently an understandable question even though she said nothing aloud.

“My partner,” Mel explained.

Officer Wood took charge of Ron Miller and loaded him into the backseat of her squad car. I followed them to the car in time to hear Ron muttering something about police brutality. His snide old-man comment to me still rankled. It sounded like something an immature seventh grader would say. It also sounded a lot like some of the text messages that had been sent to Josh Deeson.

“Too bad, tough guy,” I said. “You were taken down by a girl, fair and square.”

“What's this all about, anyway?” he wanted to know.

“It started out being about some text messages,” I said. “But now it's turned into something else—like arson and murder. Just to let you know, you may have set fire to all the computers in Janie's House, but it's too little, too late. We'd already copied everything on the hard drives just to be on the safe side.”

He gave me a snarly stare and then turned away. I slammed the door shut and then walked back to the laurel hedges. They were flat on top, densely leafed and at least eight feet tall. Mel trailed after me as I attempted to peer up through the leaves.

“What are you looking for?” Mel asked.

“He threw something up there,” I said. “Didn't you see it? He tossed something up into the hedge right here, just before he crossed the street.”

Mel shook her head. “I stepped on a piece of gravel and looked down at my feet. When I looked back up, I had gained a lot of ground on him and I didn't know why.”

I went back over to Officer Wood, who was on her radio and in the process of explaining to her sergeant that she was transporting someone to the Olympia city lockup. I waited until she finished.

“I need a ladder,” I said. “Do you know where I could find one?”

“Someone from Physical Plant,” she said. “How tall?”

“Tall enough to see the top of that laurel hedge.”

She nodded and got back on her radio. An Econoline van with state license plates, a uniformed driver, and two kinds of ladders arrived within a matter of minutes, just after Officer Wood drove away in her squad car. By then, the interested crowd of onlookers had dissipated. Interestingly enough, among the people who had gathered around, I had seen no one I recognized from the governor's mansion. Given the proximity to all the excitement, that was a little surprising.

“Where do you want the ladder?” the guy from the van asked. I pointed, and he unfolded it where I thought it needed to be.

“Do you want me to do it?” Mel asked.

Ron's comment continued to play inside my head: “You and who else, old man?”

“No, I will,” I said, speaking to Mel far more harshly than she deserved. “You don't know what we're looking for.”

I wasn't sure I did, either. I knew it was small and round and had flown through the air like a Frisbee. I went up and down the ladder three different times. Going up was bad enough. It hurt like hell, but it was doable. Coming down was a killer. Mel watched me go up and down the ladder the first time. As I wiped away tears, she shook her head and said nothing. Then, walking away and leaving me to it, she activated her iPhone and began making arrangements to have Ron's vehicle towed to the crime lab.

Finally my search paid off. It lay there on the carefully trimmed flat surface of the laurel hedge. At first glance it looked like a tiny coil of wire with a protuberance on one side. I grabbed it, slipped it into an evidence bag, and then climbed back down with my prize.

I handed the evidence bag over to Mel. “We need to document this,” I said when I was finally able to speak again.

“What is it?” Mel asked, frowning as she peered at the bracelet through the glassine bag. “Why would Miller bother throwing away a useless coil of wire like this?”

That's when I realized Mel hadn't been with Ardith and Kenny Broward on the drive back to Packwood.

“It's not wire,” I told her. “Unless I'm sadly mistaken, we've just found Rachel Camber's elephant-hair bracelet.”

Chapter 26

W
hile we waited for the tow truck to come collect Ron Miller's Camaro, I got on the phone with Ross Connors and asked for a time line on our requests for search warrants.

“Judge Reston tells me the one for Ron Miller's vehicle is not a problem since he tried to use it in the assault on Mel. Getting a warrant to search his home, which is actually his parents' home, however, is going to be a bit more challenging. You do know about Ron Miller's parents, don't you?” he asked.

“Let's just say I've seen the gates to their compound, and I know that a couple of years back they dropped a cool seventy-five thousand bucks to keep their fair-haired boy from facing arson charges.”

“Yes,” Ross said, “they certainly did. Ronald Miller, Senior, is a trial lawyer who specializes in beating up pharmaceutical companies for fun and profit. Mrs. Miller has recently decamped for what she hopes are greener pastures. I have a feeling Mr. Miller is going to take a dim view of having his son booked into a jail of any kind. By the time that happens, Daddy Miller will have one of his legal-beagle pals standing by to bail him out. If we're hoping to search Ron's room for additional evidence of any wrongdoing, we're going to need to have a very solid basis of probable cause, more than just a few scratches on his arms.”

“We've got something more,” I said. “While Ron was trying to outrun Mel, I saw him throw something up into the governor's laurel hedge. I just dragged it down from there. I'm pretty sure it's Rachel Camber's elephant-hair bracelet.”

“Rachel Camber,” Ross said. “Of course, the dead girl from Packwood.”

“Yes, I believe Ron was trying to smuggle the bracelet out of the governor's mansion just as we got there. Giselle Longmire, the governor's older daughter, is Ron Junior's girlfriend. There's a good chance that whatever Ron is mixed up with, Gizzy is, too.”

“Oh, my,” Ross said, shaking his head sadly. “What the hell's going on here? These are kids who should be growing up to be pillars of the community. I'm sure that's what their parents intended, but it sounds like they've turned out to be a bunch of delinquents.”

“Thugs is more like it,” I said. “And the worst kind of thugs—spoiled-brat thugs who are accustomed to having power and money and who expect to get their way no matter what.”

“What's your plan?” Ross asked.

“First we're going to try talking to Giselle to see if we can get her to tell us what she knows, but I think it's a good bet that Governor Longmire won't let us anywhere near her.”

Ross was quiet for a long time. For a moment I thought maybe he had hung up. “I'm not so sure about that,” he said. “You and I know something about this kind of thing, Beau. We've both been betrayed by loved ones who made all the wrong choices. The fallout that came later almost destroyed us.

“When it comes to politics, Marsha Longmire and I are miles apart, but she's been a good governor, and I hate to see her torn apart by what's about to happen. Before you try to question Giselle, let me talk to Marsha and see what I can do. She may just surprise you. What exactly are we talking about here?”

I ticked off my suspicions one by one. “I believe Gizzy and Ron both played a part in the cyber bullying that went on with Josh Deeson before his suicide, including staging that film clip that we found on Josh's phone. The presence of Rachel Camber's bracelet, one her parents told me she wore every day, gives us a possible link between Ron Miller and her murder. Last but not least is the fatal arson fire at Janie's House this morning. I think one or both of them burned down the building in hopes of frying whatever incriminating evidence was on the computers.”

“Which Todd already has,” Ross said.

“Yes, but Ron couldn't have known that. If Gizzy and Ron really were together all night—as they told her parents they were—then Gizzy was directly involved in the arson. If they weren't together, and she's providing an alibi for him, she's still rendering criminal assistance.”

“Okay,” Ross said. “Give me a couple of minutes. I'll get back to you.”

I closed my phone and turned to Mel. I had heard her phone ring while Ross and I were talking.

“Thanks for letting me know,” she said as she ended her call.

“For letting you know what?”

“That was Captain Hoyt,” Mel said. “Sam Dysart didn't make it. He suffered another stroke in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, so he's out of the picture as far as any information or criminal charges are concerned. But WSP investigators managed to track down the serial number on the watch. Sam Dysart bought that replacement watch just last week, the one Josh was wearing when he died. The one Gerry Willis gave Josh was engraved with Josh's initials. The one found on Josh's body had no engraving. Dysart also paid for the watch to be gift wrapped. With any kind of luck, we will find some of the gift wrapping in the trash at Dysart's house.”

“But why did he do it?” I asked. “Was the watch a thoughtful gift, a bribe, or what?”

“Since they're both dead, we'll probably never know,” Mel said. “But as of right now, you and I are off the Dysart case. The Olympia PD Sex Crimes unit is on it. They'll search Dysart's house. They'll also interview the other kids in the chess club, past and present. Joan believes there's a good chance Sam Dysart used his position of authority to victimize more than just one kid.”

“Me, too,” I said grimly. “If that's the case, the school district is going to be liable big-time. But none of this is going to help Gerry Willis. His grandson is dead, and he isn't coming back. One way or another, Sam Dysart's relationship with Josh Deeson contributed to the despair that resulted in his suicide.”

Mel nodded. “I agree, and that's exactly what I told Joan—that even if we don't end up having to prove all of this in a court of law, we need to have enough forensic evidence to be able to give Josh's family rock-solid answers about what really happened to him—with both the cyber bullying and the sexual exploitation. The truth may be uncomfortable, but it seems to me that knowing is better than not knowing.”

My phone rang. It was Ross Connors calling back.

“All right,” he said, “here's the deal. I've spoken to Governor Longmire and laid out the situation. I didn't make any specific promises about the benefits of Giselle turning state's evidence, but Marsha's a smart woman and she gets it. She understands that if Gizzy talks to you before you talk to Ron, her cooperation will be well received. I think she also believes that, given the opportunity, Ron would jump at taking a plea agreement in order to testify against Gizzy. She wants to talk to you first.”

Those elusive pronouns again. “Gizzy wants to talk to us?”

“No, Governor Longmire and Mr. Willis want to talk to you. She says there's a patio out back by the kitchen at the governor's mansion. You're to meet them there.”

“When?”

“Now. As soon as possible.”

Mel and I went straight there. The patio outside the kitchen wasn't a patio so much as a covered arbor where whatever cook was on duty could step outside for a quick smoke and still be out of the rain. We found the governor and her husband sitting across from each other on the benches of a rough redwood picnic table. There was a large crystal ashtray on the table between them. Marsha was smoking; Gerry was not.

Marsha had been outraged earlier that morning when she had caught me in the act of lifting Josh's dirty clothes out of the hamper. Then she had been angered to the point of fury. Now she looked haggard and beaten down—defeated rather than angry. Marsha gestured for Mel and me to join them at the table, then she picked up her pack of cigarettes and held them in our direction.

I gave up smoking a long time before I gave up drinking. Cigarettes don't have much of a hold on me anymore. Mel stopped smoking a relatively short time ago, a matter of months rather than years. When the proffered pack came close to her, I saw Mel stiffen with temptation before she shook her head and murmured, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

In her torn panty hose and dirt-smudged suit, Mel didn't look like someone ready to have a private audience with a sitting governor, but I don't believe Marsha paid the slightest bit of attention to anyone's looks. Her focus was elsewhere.

“Which one of you found the watch?” she asked.

I raised my hand. “I did,” I said.

Marsha shook her head ruefully. “It was smart of Ross to have you check through the trash. I guess we need to be more careful about what we toss in the garbage.”

Since her comment didn't appear to be a question, I decided that no response was required.

“Show me what you found in the hedge,” Marsha said.

That was an official command, and I complied immediately. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the evidence bag that contained Rachel Camber's bracelet. I handed it over to Marsha. She studied it briefly, then handed it back to me with an almost imperceptible shrug.

“I saw it earlier,” she admitted. “It was there in Gizzy's underwear drawer along with the watch. At the time I had no idea what it was and didn't understand the significance. If I had, I might have tried to get rid of it, too, the same way I tried to get rid of the watch.”

“You?” I stammered. “You're the one who tossed out the watch?”

Marsha looked me in the eye and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I willfully attempted to conceal evidence in an active homicide investigation. When I realized Josh had been coming and going without my knowledge, I wondered if my girls had been pulling the same stunt. One bad apple and all that. Zoe told Gerry just a little while ago that she and Gizzy have been letting themselves and their friends in and out that way for years, long before Josh ever came to live with us.

“On a hunch, I decided to stage an impromptu search-and-destroy mission of my own in both girls' rooms. I found that thing hidden in Gizzy's room,” she said, nodding toward the bracelet, “along with a watch that seemed to be a duplicate of Josh's. By then we had already found Josh's body. I couldn't understand why there would be two watches instead of one, but it seemed to me that finding it in Gizzy's room meant that she was involved in what was going on, one way or the other.”

Marsha paused and shrugged again. “What was I supposed to do? I'm a mother. I wanted to protect my child, so I tossed it. This morning, after Gizzy didn't come home last night, I mentioned to Monica that she might want to do the same thing—take a look in Gizzy's room at her father's house. This is what she found.”

Marsha reached into her pocket, pulled out a thumb drive, and placed it in Mel's outstretched hand. “Monica dropped it off with Gerry while I was at the airport picking up my sister-in-law.”

“The same clip?” I asked.

Marsha swallowed before she answered. “I wish,” she said. “That one was faked. It's the same girl, but I believe this one is real. Gerry and I watched it together this afternoon. As soon as we saw what was on it, we knew we'd have to turn it in to the authorities. I was hoping to conceal Gizzy's involvement for a couple of days longer—long enough to get through Josh's funeral tomorrow afternoon. I wanted to give the out-of-town relatives a chance to go back home before we have our coming-to-God session with Gizzy about it. Obviously it's going to have to happen a whole lot sooner than that.”

Marsha paused long enough to grind out the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray and to draw a deep breath. Her hand lay limply next to the ashtray, as though she didn't have the physical strength to move it. Gerry Willis reached out, took her hand in both of his, and sat there looking at her, nodding encouragingly. They were in this mess together, and they would deal with it together.

“I'll be tendering my resignation as governor at a press conference immediately following Josh's funeral,” Marsha continued. When no one made any comment to that announcement, she smiled wanly and continued.

“That's always the best time to come out with bad news—Friday afternoon, preferably after most of the news shows have put their evening newscasts to bed. I'll be saying that I'm resigning in the aftermath of a family tragedy to focus on my family. That will be true regardless of how deeply involved Gizzy was in everything that's happened. If you decide to lodge formal charges against me for tampering with evidence, that will be up to you and, of course, to the attorney general.”

With that, Marsha plucked a cell phone out of her pocket and dialed a number.

“Hi, Liz,” she said to her chief of staff. “I believe Giselle is upstairs in her room. Would you please tap on her bedroom door and ask her to join Gerry and me out on the kitchen patio? Thanks.”

Mel waited until Governor Longmire closed her phone. “Is your daughter aware that Ron has been taken into custody?”

Marsha shrugged. “I'm not sure. If any of the other kids realize it, they might have sent her a message by now, but we haven't mentioned it to her or to anyone else.”

“All right,” Mel said.

We spent most of the next two minutes sitting there in uneasy silence. The birds that lived in the greenery around the governor's mansion were talking up a storm while the four of us had nothing to say. Eventually the kitchen door opened and Giselle Longmire stepped out onto the patio.

I had voted for Marsha Gray Longmire twice, both times she ran for governor, and both times she won. I had done it more for old times' sake—because she and I were both Ballard Beavers—than out of any particular party loyalty. I have to say, however, that I was never prouder of her conduct in the governor's office than in her decision to leave it. And the First Husband's behavior was amazing in its own right. To see him disregarding his own loss in favor of helping Marsha deal with hers is something I'll never forget and something I hope to emulate should I ever be called upon to do so. It offered mute testimony to the healing power of love between two people and how it can sustain us when everything else we hold dear is ripped away.