Wally might have believed that keeping his thoughts and suspicions about his ex-brother-in-law to himself all these years had been a wise move, but I had a feeling that once I left the house, Penny was going to give him hell about it.
“You told me earlier that you don’t really have any contact with Roger and Shelley, but you’re aware he’s ill now.”
Wally and Penny both nodded in unison.
“Nitza told us Helen had been in touch,” Penny explained.
“Helen?” I asked.
“Helen Sinclair,” Penny answered. “She’s been Roger’s secretary for as long as I can remember. She dropped by Nitza’s place a week or so ago to deliver the news. She was hoping Nitza would agree to come visit, but that’s not going to happen. Nitza told me she has no intention of doing so, and I don’t blame her. Yes, Wally and I helped her once the baby came along, but Roger had far more wherewithal than we did, and he never lifted a finger. As far as I’m concerned, regardless of what’s going on with Roger right now, Nitza doesn’t owe that man a damned thing!”
From all I’d heard about Roger Adams to this point, I wholeheartedly agreed. In terms of my investigation into Chris’s disappearance, I was now willing to move Roger’s name up the ladder of my suspect chart from person of interest to prime suspect. As far as I could tell, he was the only person with a strong motive for having Chris Danielson out of the picture.
If it hadn’t been so late in the day, I would have been tempted to head for Homer the moment I left the Olmsteads’ cozy home. I wanted to be in the same room with Roger Adams, speaking with him face-to-face while trying to determine what the man was all about. Up to this point, the general consensus seemed to be that Roger was a self-important bully who liked to throw his weight and money around and wasn’t above cheating on a dying wife. Those were interesting asides, but I’m a homicide investigator. For me there was only one question: Was the man also a cold-blooded killer?
Once I had a firm yes or no on that score, I’d be able to figure out what to do next.
Chapter 16
When I exited the Olmsteads’ house, it wasn’t quite five, but it was already dark—not just twilight dark but very. As I approached the Travelall, illumination from a streetlight allowed me to see that Twink was sacked out in the driver’s seat. Her only concession to the weather was the well-used jacket tucked under her chin and covering her front.
When I opened the passenger door, she started awake. “Sleeping on the job?” I asked.
“Just resting my eyes,” Twink told me. She turned the key in the ignition but didn’t put the vehicle in gear until after she’d lit her next cigarette. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Pretty much,” I answered.
“Are we done for the day?”
“I think so.”
“Back to the hotel, then?” Twink wanted to know.
“That’s fine,” I said.
We rode along in silence for a minute or two before she mentioned, “That’s what I always wanted to be when I grew up, you know—a cop.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
“Oh, I did,” she replied, “but it didn’t last. I got hired by Anchorage PD and made it through the academy without a lick of trouble. But then, my first week on the job, I was out on patrol with my field training officer. It was after midnight. We got called to a public disturbance in the parking lot of a place called Boomer’s. It was located on Fourth, just up the street from the Anchor Bar and Grill. When we arrived on the scene, guys from two separate motorcycle gangs were whaling away on one another, and we waded into the melee, trying to break it up. When someone took a swing at me, I turned around and decked him. Unfortunately, I knocked him colder’n a wedge. Took out his two front teeth, and he ended up in the hospital with a concussion.”
“I guess his mother never taught him that he shouldn’t pick on girls,” I suggested.
Twink laughed aloud at that. “I guess not,” she agreed.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Anchorage PD claimed I’d used excessive force and dropped me like a hot potato. I waited tables for the next twenty years or so. In the meantime my dad had started this shuttle service, moving people back and forth from the airport to homes or hotels. He used nice cars when he could, but when it came to taking folks out into the boonies where all the other drivers refused to go, he used this—trusty old Maude here. Before Daddy passed, I drove for him sometimes when he was overbooked. Once he was gone, I ran the shuttle service full-time. Ended up selling out the operation for a damned fortune a few years ago, but people still know that if they’re going out into the back of the beyond or if they need to get around in rough weather, I’m the one to call. I enjoy it, too. Chauffeuring people around keeps me off the streets, and I meet some interesting folks from time to time, you included.”