“I’m sorry,” Marvin told him. “This is now an active homicide investigation, and I’m unable to give you any additional information at this time.”
Meanwhile Red Bolger’s neighbors were beginning to gather outside the house, gawking and wondering what was the cause of the sudden police presence milling about in this otherwise quiet section of Ocean Drive.
At five fifteen I was still stomping around in the snow and trying to keep warm when my phone rang.
“Where are you?” Twink demanded. “I’m here for our date, remember? I tried calling the hotel, but you’re not in your room.”
“I’m at a crime scene,” I told her. “Where are you?”
“At AJ’s,” she replied, “where do you think? I called to see if you’d made a reservation, which of course you hadn’t. By the time I called, the choices weren’t great—either five thirty or eight thirty. I chose the former. Does this mean you’re standing me up?”
“Not exactly, but the guy who gave me a ride here is a bit preoccupied at the moment. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get there.”
“I have no intention of missing a good dinner because you can’t hitch a ride, so how about if I come fetch you?”
“Sounds good,” I said, giving her the address. “See you when you get here.”
Chapter 29
Once we arrived, it seemed to me that for a Sunday night AJ’s was surprisingly busy. I was grateful for the din of conversation around us, because as Twinkle Winkleman chowed down on my nickel, she was also full of questions.
“So what was going on back there on Ocean Drive?” she asked. “That guy’s garage didn’t look like any crime scene I’ve ever seen—no blood, no guts, no bullet holes. Is this somehow connected to your missing person?”
Fortunately, the bloodstains had been totally out of sight by the time Twink arrived, but at this point in our somewhat odd partnership, I decided to come clean and fill her in on the rest of the details about the murder of Chris Danielson and our belief that the Subaru in the garage on Ocean Drive had been used to transport his body.
“I’m guessing you used luminol to locate the bloodstains,” she observed.
“Close,” I told her. “Blue Star. It works better on older stains, and these are more than a dozen years old.”
“Are arrests imminent?”
“Unfortunately, no. We’ve got a long way to go between here and there.”
I hadn’t told her everything, but it was enough to turn off the question spigot and get her to pay attention to her surf and turf—a rib-eye steak topped with king crab—rather than continue putting me through an interrogation meat grinder. Dinner was over, the server had cleared our plates, and Twink was studying the dessert options when my phone rang.
I had added Danitza Miller’s name to my contacts list, so I knew who was calling before I even answered.
“What’s up, Nitz?” I asked.
“It’s Jimmy,” she said breathlessly. “He ran away, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Slow down, slow down,” I advised. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Someone at the hospital was out sick today, so I worked an extra shift. When I came home, Jimmy wasn’t there.”
“How do you know he ran away?”
“He left a note. It said he’s on his way to Homer.”
“Homer,” I echoed. “Why is he coming here?”
“To meet his grandfather,” Danitza managed through a half sob. “Whenever he asked me about my parents, I always told him they were both dead, but he must have been eavesdropping the other night when you were here. That’s how he learned my father’s still alive.”
“What exactly did the note say?”
“‘How come you lied to me? Now that I know I have a grandfather, I’m going to go meet him.’”
My heart sank. “You mean he’s headed for your father’s house?”
“Evidently.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Where do you think? I’m on my way to Homer, and I’m coming as fast as I can. I only just now thought to call you, but I’m still at least forty-five minutes out.”
The last thing I wanted to happen was for Christopher James Danielson to show up at his grandfather’s house, which was now or soon would be the epicenter of a homicide investigation. There was still a good chance that Roger Adams had been involved in Chris’s homicide, although I was beginning to doubt that. On the other hand, I was convinced Shelley Adams was involved in that plot all the way up to her pretty little neck.