So I did. Inside, under a layer of white tissue, I found a carefully folded, bright blue parka. It was lightweight but puffy and constructed of some slick material that, I was sure, made it waterproof.
“Try it on,” Mel urged, unzipping it and holding it out for me to put on over my pajamas. Feeling more than slightly silly, I complied. Naturally it fit perfectly.
Mel stood back and observed me for a moment before nodding her approval. I wasn’t exactly convinced.
“I feel like the little brother in A Christmas Story,” I objected, “not the kid with the BB gun but the one who gets trapped in his snowsuit.”
“It may not be your typical look,” Mel agreed with a slight frown. “I got it for when you’re out walking Sarah in bad weather, but if you’re heading off to Alaska in the next day or two, you’re going to need this a whole lot sooner than Christmas Day.”
“But wait,” I objected, “if I’m heading for Alaska, who’s going to look after Sarah during the day?”
“I will,” she said, “and I’m guessing she’ll be coming to work with me.”
“Can you do that?” I asked.
Mel looked at me and grinned. “I’m the chief,” she said. “If I can get my driveway plowed, I can sure as hell take my dog to work.”
After she left, Sarah and I went through our usual morning rituals with me making sure things were handled in a way that wouldn’t clog the plumbing. Once I downed sufficient amounts of coffee, I picked up my phone and dialed Todd Hatcher. He’s another holdover from Special Homicide.
Todd hails from southern Arizona originally. He dresses like a cowboy and looks for all the world like your basic good ol’ boy, but he’s a forensic accountant and one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. People sometimes go by appearances and dismiss him as a country hick without realizing that his homespun appearance—western shirt, jeans, and boots—disguises the brilliant, nerdlike mind lurking under his customary Stetson.
Once SHIT folded, Todd began doing his consulting gigs from a ranch outside Olympia, where he lives with wife, Julie, and daughter, Sabrina. As a private investigator, I’ve used his services before on occasion, and I felt as though Todd was my best bet for picking up any kind of financial or public-record trail for Christopher Danielson.
“Hey, Beau,” Todd said when he answered the phone. “How’s it going? Are you and Mel ready for the holidays?”
I glanced around the room. Mel had made a few more subtle adjustments to my Christmas decor. The place was looking suitably festive.
“Pretty much,” I said. “How about you?”
“We’re getting Sabrina a pony for Christmas,” Todd told me, “a mare. We’ll be picking her up later today.”
I had enough trouble looking after a dog. I didn’t want to consider the complications of having a pony, especially in the doo-doo department. “Good for you,” I said.
“So what can I help you with?” Todd asked. “You don’t usually haul off and call me out of the goodness of your heart.”
“You’re right,” I said, “because I do need some assistance. I’m working a missing-persons case. A kid named Christopher Danielson went missing in 2006. His older brother, Jared, is looking for him. Annie Hinkle, the grandmother in Ohio who raised the two boys after their mother was murdered, is on her deathbed. She and Chris had a falling-out when he was a kid, and he took off for Homer, Alaska, to live with his paternal grandparents. Annie is hoping for some kind of reconciliation with Chris before she kicks off, but when Jared went looking for him, he found out that Chris had disappeared from Homer in 2006.”
“You mentioned that their mother was murdered,” Todd put in. “Was this one of your cases?”
I believe I already mentioned that Todd’s a smart guy, but it took a moment for me to formulate a response. “Their mother was my partner at Seattle PD,” I said at last. “She was murdered by her ex, who put a bullet in his own head a couple minutes later.”
The silence that followed seemed to last forever. Todd spoke first, simply picking up the specifics of this case without delving into any of the painful issues from the past.
“How old was Christopher when he disappeared?” Todd asked.
“Seventeen,” I answered, calling up the information from what Jared had given me the previous day. “He disappeared sometime during his senior year at Homer High School. After leaving Ohio he spent several years living with his paternal grandparents, Gary and Linda Danielson. By the time Chris went missing, the grandfather had passed away.”