Deadly Aim (36 page)

“Angel, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Remember I said I was representing Michelle Kelsey?”

“Right, the woman who killed her husband.”

“That’s hearsay,” Brandon was quick to say. “Well, she found something today that made me wonder if her husband’s death might have something to do with the drug activity that’s been on the rise down here.”

“What’s that?” Angel muted the television set so she could hear better.

“She was cleaning out the garage—Jim’s workshop, actually—and came across a stash of cocaine. She says she’d suspected he was a user but didn’t have any proof.”

“Interesting.” Angel leaned forward and picked up her tea. “How do you know it isn’t hers?”

He sighed. “I just do. But I’m afraid if I turn this evidence over to the police, they’ll think the same thing.”

“You haven’t called the authorities?” Angel set the mug down so hard the hot liquid splashed on her hand and the table. “Brandon, what are you thinking?” She padded to the kitchen to retrieve a towel.

“She’s scared, and I don’t blame her. The authorities haven’t exactly been kind toward her.”

“Call them, Brandon. Better yet, call Detective Riley. He’s investigating that case. You can trust him to do the right thing.”

“I don’t know...”

“Brandon, what’s the matter with you?” She mopped up the spilled tea and went to the closet to get her handbag. After rummaging through it for a moment, she came up with the business card Callen had given her. He’d written his cell phone number on the back. She read the number off to Brandon and insisted he make the call. “It’ll
be best if you call. I’m going to give you thirty minutes, then I’ll call Callen myself. This is important evidence, Brandon, you know that. Besides, it might be just what you need to get Mrs. Kelsey off.”

“I’ll think about it.”

After saying good-bye, Angel turned off the television and got ready for bed. As she brushed her teeth, Brandon’s phone call nagged at her. Callen was working on the Kelsey murder, and now it looked like there might be drug involvement. J.J., a known dealer, had been shot, and hours later the pharmacy had been stripped of narcotics. Alex Carlson was dead, with drugs found in his system. Then there was Billy’s death, in which someone other than herself had fired the two fatal shots. Finally, she thought about Dixon’s murder. So far there didn’t seem to be any indication of drug involvement, unless you added Alex’s death to the equation.

She grabbed a pen and paper out of the kitchen drawer and drew a circle. In it she wrote “drugs.” She drew lines from the circle like spokes, then at the end of each she made a circle. In each circle she wrote the names of the victims.

Broadman had killed Dixon, she felt certain of that, and he may have killed Alex. Could he be the head of the drug ring she’d heard about? She’d heard the narcotics officers talking about some guy whom they thought oversaw the drug operations along the coast. So far no one had been able to get a handle on him. But they did know he did most of his dealings on the phone and went by the name of Duke. Suppose Duke was actually Ray Broadman, and Ray was behind all of the murders?

She couldn’t wait to talk to Callen about her ideas. She glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes had passed since she had talked to Brandon, so she picked up the receiver and punched in Callen’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“Did Brandon call you?”

“Yeah. I’m meeting him and Mrs. Kelsey right now.” He hesitated. “Thanks. You did the right thing.”

“Callen, I’ve been thinking. Is there a possibility that all of these murders, including Billy’s, are drug related?”

“I’ve considered that. Now I’ll be looking at it even more closely.”

“Do you think Broadman is behind it all—like could he be the kingpin or something?”

“I doubt it. The guy’s too hot tempered to head a successful operation like that.”

“I just wondered—I mean, he’s got a nice house and car, and it takes a fair amount of money to retain Michael Lafferty as an attorney.”

He sighed. “Angel, I do notice these things. I already have people trying to pinpoint Broadman’s location to find out where he was and what he was doing at the time of the deaths.”

She should have known Callen would already have it covered. He wanted her to butt out, and she should.

He cleared his throat. “I just pulled up at the Kelsey place so I have to go.”

“Let me know how things turn out, okay?”

“I’ll tell you what I can. And thanks, Angel. This might be the break we’ve been looking for.”

Angel thought seriously about getting dressed and going to the Kelsey place but finally decided that her being there would serve no purpose except to make Callen angry with her again. Besides, she was exhausted.

When she finally got into bed, she did something she hadn’t done in a long time. She prayed.

Morning came too quickly, but instead of dawdling in bed, Angel got up and stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee. At 8:00 she called Janet’s office for another appointment. Just before falling asleep the night before, she’d realized that she needed to come to terms with the conflicting and destructive patterns that had developed between her and her parents—especially her father. Angel hoped Janet could help her work through the problems.

“I’m sorry, Angel, Janet is all booked up. Hang on a second though, she’ll want to talk to you.” The secretary put Angel through, and Janet told her to come in at 11:30.

“You don’t have to skip lunch for me,” Angel said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab a bite after your appointment.”

After hanging up with Janet, Angel called her parents.

“Angel, what a surprise,” her mother chirped.

“How’s Dad this morning?” Angel pulled down a mug and poured a cup of coffee—inhaling the freshly brewed Italian blend. Callen had thought of everything.

“He’s an ornery old coot, complaining about everything—which means he’s getting better.”

“I’m glad it’s you taking care of him and not me. I’d never be able to tolerate him for that long.” Of course, as a kid she’d wanted to be with him constantly.

“We do what we have to do, you know that. If I wasn’t here to care for him, you’d do it, and without complaining, I’ll bet. Family is family.”

Angel let the subject drop and took a sip of coffee. Nothing like a fresh cup of joe in the morning.

“Come by and have lunch with us, Angel. Your father would love you to visit.”

“He’s bored, right?”

“Yes. I thought maybe you could get him interested in a Scrabble game or something.”

“I have an appointment with Janet at 11:30. I’ll come over later.”
After I’m armed with ways to deal with him—and with you
.

Angel hung up, skimmed the paper, and went for a run. By the time she’d come back and taken a shower it was 10:00. She didn’t have to leave for another hour.

She wandered around the apartment, feeling at odds. She still couldn’t get used to not working. Angel poured herself another cup of coffee and settled down on the sofa to read the paper. For once she wasn’t on the front page. But Alex Carlson’s obituary was, and next to his story was an article about the increase in gang activity and the use of drugs among teenagers. The article mentioned a group from a local church who had developed a teen club called the Dragon’s Den to give kids something to do on weekends other than having parties where there was drinking and drugs. Angel knew of the place and had worked with some of the other officers to deal with disturbances. The Friday and Saturday dances were
well attended and the security tight. “Still,” the reporter wrote, “the drugs, primarily ecstasy, were easily accessible to anyone who wanted them.” Authorities and the club’s managers had no idea who was supplying the drugs or how they were being smuggled in.

Angel’s boss, Joe Brady, was quoted as saying, “We want kids to have fun, and we had hoped a club like this would offer an alternative. Now it looks like we may be forced to close the place down.”

The writer claimed the drug operation was all part of a Portland-based mob organization that had set up shop along the Oregon coast and other small communities, recruiting local kids to peddle their wares. The reporter went on to ask, “Had Alex Carlson been one of them?”

So far law enforcement agencies hadn’t been able to connect the dots. The writer went on to criticize the police but neglected to mention that they were severely shorthanded because of budget cuts.

Angel tossed the paper aside, wondering what Callen would think of it. Though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think about the handsome OSP detective, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She missed him, and the fact that she did irritated her. She thought about calling him to ask what, if anything, he’d determined about the Kelsey murder. She also wanted to know if he’d gone to the cannery with the lab techs to search the rest of the building. She had planned to go back, but too many things had gotten in the way.

At 11:15 she slipped into her black windbreaker, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. Janet was waiting for her when she got to the office. “How’s it going, Angel?”

“Good. Like a huge load has been lifted off. I still have to deal with Billy’s death, but at least I’m off the hook where Dixon is concerned, and I know I only fired that first shot. The hard part is waiting for the authorities to find out who the second shooter was.”

Janet nodded. “I bet it’s hard to stand by and let someone else investigate.”

“More than I can handle at times.” She told her about the encounter with Broadman the day before. “I shouldn’t have interfered, but it’s almost impossible not to.”

“That’s understandable with you being a police officer. You can’t just stop being who you are.”

Angel nodded. “So true.”

Janet smiled. “What would you like to work on today?”

Angel frowned and explained what her father had done the night before and how his intrusion had made her feel angry and inadequate. “I used to adore my father, but now I feel uncomfortable around him. I mean, I love him and everything, but most of the time I feel like he’s disappointed in me.”

“It’s not unusual for daughters to adore their fathers as children. Sometimes it’s just a matter of growing up and realizing that Daddy isn’t the hero you once imagined him to be. Was your father ever abusive?”

Angel rubbed her forehead. “I never thought so. He was stern and expected a lot—especially from the boys. But there is something I can’t quite get a handle on.”

“Go on,” Janet urged when Angel hesitated.

“This feeling I have about guns. I’m not exactly afraid of them, it’s more of a dislike. I think it’s worse now, after shooting Billy.”

Janet raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite an admission—especially for a police officer.”

“Most of the officers I work with have several guns in their personal collection. All I have is my duty weapon—well, before it got taken away from me.” She sighed. “I know it sounds crazy. Like why would anyone who hates guns want to be in law enforcement? I forced myself not to think about it, and when I’d go out on the practice range, I found I could handle guns well. Maybe that’s because there was no threat to myself or anyone else. I was okay until Dani...” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.

“Dani?”

Angel told her about the day care center incident and how seeing Dani die had changed everything.

“How awful,” Janet murmured. “Of course it would change everything. No wonder you hate guns.”

“But that’s just it. I don’t think that’s the source of the gun thing. When I was in the drugstore during the robbery, my chest got tight and I could hardly breathe. I remember thinking how much I hated guns. The incident with Dani came to mind, but so did something else, something deeper. I’m sure it has something to do with my father, because whenever I had to go out to the shooting range, I’d hear his voice in my head telling me to stop being such a baby. I’d like to know what’s behind all of that.”

“You think maybe something that happened in your childhood brought this on?”

Angel nodded. “Can you help me sort it out?”

“I can help you relax. The answers may come or they may not. That’s up to you. Let yourself go.”

After a moment of silence Angel said, “I need to confront him about something today, and I thought maybe if I could figure out... This is stupid, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. Going back and remembering childhood events can help us understand why we act and feel the way we do around our parents. Tell your mind you need to know what happened to turn you against guns.”

“And against my father.”

Angel dropped onto the couch and fluffed the pillows. Lying down, she closed her eyes. Janet’s gentle music filtered into the room. Angel focused on the colors behind her closed eyelids, wondering how they came to be. Like rainbows. Her mother used to say rainbows were God’s gift and that they allowed us to see beauty after a storm. She’d always been fascinated by rainbows. Before long, she felt the anxiety drain from her body, and she said a prayer to God to help her remember.

Janet’s voice was gentle and rhythmic, and Angel drifted, letting herself float back into her childhood.

She’d never been her mother’s little girl. Always hanging out with the boys and her father. While other girls wore pretty dresses, hers hung unused in the closet. Dolls she’d gotten for Christmas and birthdays laid in their boxes while the catcher’s
mitt she’d inherited from Luke had worn thin in spots and looked as though it had seen a few dozen years of hard labor.

How she used to love playing ball with the boys. Her brothers had been good to her, involving her in their games, except when they played with friends who tended to get too rough.

Anna didn’t like her propensity for boyish stuff much. She was always trying to get Angel to do things with her. Poor Anna. She’d finally gotten the baby girl she’d always wanted, and Angel had turned out to be a rough-and-tumble tomboy.

Though Anna had encouraged her to learn to cook and clean, sew and knit, she never forced Angel to do these things. Not that Angel didn’t have her share of chores—but if she preferred mowing the lawn to vacuuming, that was okay. Angel learned early on that her mother was easy to please. All she had to do was compliment her on her cooking, hug her a few times a day, and say her prayers, and Anna was happy. Or so Angel had thought.