Fifty-five minutes later a text announcement pinged my phone. I was still opening the text when the phone rang.
“Is it him?” Tracy asked.
In order to see the photo more clearly, I needed to enlarge it, so I opened the text again on my iPad. As soon as I did, I recognized the face, because I had seen the guy in the photo only the day before—the husband of Shelley Adams’s cousin. She had referred to the guy as Dunk when she told me he did odd jobs for her, like keeping the wood boxes full and the vehicles running. From the photo I knew at once that his other task assignment was helping to cheat Roger Adams out of his hard-earned assets.
“No,” I said after a moment. “This guy is most definitely not the real Roger Adams.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I’ve seen him, but don’t really know him,” I answered. “His first name is Duncan. I don’t have a last name.”
“So what should I do?” Tracy asked desperately. “Who should I call?”
“Please don’t do anything or call anyone right now,” I begged. “It’s going to take law enforcement time to pull all these threads together and build a case. Based on the closing documents I’ve seen on Shelley’s real-estate dealings, these people have more than enough cash on hand to flee the country. If they have any inkling that someone is onto them, I’m afraid they’ll take off.”
“I don’t want them to get away with this,” Tracy said, “so I should just keep quiet?”
“For the time being,” I told her. “As soon as Lieutenant Price gives me the go-ahead, I’ll be in touch. At that point you’ll have my wholehearted permission to tell anyone you like. In fact, you can sing it to the high heavens as far as I’m concerned.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Chapter 27
There comes a time in every case when I realize I’ve finally made a breakthrough, and that phone call with Tracy Hamilton was it. Suddenly I knew exactly how Eliza Doolittle felt when she finally said that “rain in Spain” line correctly. That’s when Professor Higgins jubilantly announces, “By George, she’s got it!” Because right that minute, I knew we did.
Maybe what Marvin Price and I had didn’t add up to enough on Shelley Adams to for sure link her to the disappearance and/or death of Christopher Danielson—or to the supposed suicide of her first husband either—but we had enough to put her away for a long time on fraud charges, and that was good enough for me.
But now if this was about to turn into a court case, I had to have all my ducks in a row. I went back through Todd’s e-mails and scrubbed away anything that hadn’t come from regular, open-to-the-public sources. I copied everything else into e-mails addressed to Marvin Price, which I stored in my waiting-to-be-sent file. I wanted to be able to talk about what was coming and let him know some of Todd Hatcher’s background before I actually sent him the info.
About that time Mel called. She had just woken up, but she sounded weary beyond words—the kind of tired that comes from an overdose of despair rather than hard work. “How are you?” I asked.
“I’ve been better,” she said.
My heart ached for her. I wanted to be there with her and tell her that it would be all right, even though it wasn’t right and never would be, not with an orphaned four-month-old baby involved.
“Care to talk about it?” I asked.
Mel took a deep breath. “A shots-fired call came in about midnight from an apartment complex near campus.”
Bellingham, Washington, is a college town and home to Western Washington University.
Mel continued. “Since Christmas break started Friday afternoon, responding officers initially hoped it was just some of the kids left in town over the holidays letting off steam. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. When my officers approached the apartment, the guy said he’d already shot his wife and would kill anyone who tried to enter.”
“Doesn’t sound like he was looking for a happy ending,” I put in.
Mel didn’t say anything aloud, but I guessed she was nodding in agreement.
“The watch commander called me as soon as he summoned the Emergency Response Team. By the time I got to the scene, officers had cleared the neighboring apartments. They had managed to establish communication with the guy, and our hostage negotiator was already talking to him. In the beginning Dave Willis, my negotiator, knew that the female victim was still alive because he could hear her moaning and pleading for help in the background. Dave could also hear a baby crying.