The Killing Game(10)

Next a clip was shown of Denton talking to a different reporter outside a strip mall office beneath a sign that read “Denton Investigations.” “I’m not discussing Ray’s intentions with the media,” Lucas Denton said, clearly annoyed at being caught outside his place of business. “All I know is that I didn’t like how things came down, so I quit.”

“But do you think Bolchoy’s guilty?”

“We’re all guilty of something. I’m guilty of wanting the Carreras to go down for their crimes.”

The reporter kept the microphone close to Denton’s mouth, though he tried to turn away. “Did Bolchoy falsify evidence?”

“Now you’re not listenin’ close, are ya? I’m not discussing Ray’s intentions with the media.”

“People say he’s hard to know, but that you, his homicide partner of several years, were as close to him as anyone.”

“We weren’t dating, if that’s what you want to know,” Denton said dryly, unlocking his office and stepping inside.

That reporter looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, and Andi found herself smiling. The onscreen view returned to the earnest-looking man outside the courthouse, who concluded, “Ex-homicide detective Lucas Denton, who turned in his badge over his anger at the way his partner was treated, has turned to private investigation. Meanwhile, Ray Bolchoy awaits a hearing on whether there’s enough evidence to charge him with a crime.”

Once more the blond newscaster took over. “And that hearing’s today. Stay tuned to this channel and we’ll keep you posted.”

Talk of the Carreras sent Andi’s thoughts to the ten cabins on Lake Schultz’s north shore, not far from the lodge construction, that ninety-year-old Mr. Allencore had sold to the Wrens. The Carreras had made a play for the self-same cottages and had both been coldly furious when stubborn Mr. Allencore had gleefully refused them flat out. He’d died several weeks after the final papers were signed, and sometimes Andi wondered, in a small, secret, paranoid spot of herself, if the Carreras had contributed to the old man’s death. The brothers weren’t above intense pressure, and she suspected they’d been none too happy when the cottages were outside their grasp. A few well-placed threats and the old man’s heart could have given out, although by all accounts it had simply been his time.

The Carrera brothers . . . There were stories and stories about them. Though neither had done anything strictly illegal yet—that they’d been caught at anyway—one of the twins had definitely contributed to a fatal car accident he had walked away from but that had resulted in a young woman’s death. That was Blake Carrera, she believed, and his cavalier attitude had infuriated the public to the point that he’d been compelled to issue an apology, though he’d sworn it wasn’t his fault. No alcohol or drugs were discovered in his system. It was just an unfortunate driving error when his wheels had locked on a slippery road and he’d spun around and slammed into her car. No criminal charges were filed and, as ever, the Carreras had slipped away from the long arm of the law.

Someone changed the channel and, as if her thoughts had wished it, a brunette woman newscaster popped on the screen with another picture of Ray Bolchoy’s grizzled, glowering face. The newscaster was talking about the upcoming hearing as well. “Detective Bolchoy’s scheduled court time is nine a.m. today. The expectation is that he will not go to trial, that the evidence against him isn’t strong enough. We’ll see.”

“Thank you, Pauline,” a smooth male newscaster said in a tone that suggested he didn’t think much of his coanchor. Though he opened his mouth to say something further, someone once again switched the channel to a different station, this one airing a morning program on which the hosts were learning how to incorporate kale into every dish.

Ray Bolchoy. The seasoned Portland Police Department homicide detective had gone after the Carreras hammer and tongs, seeking to pin something on them. He was connected to the woman Blake Carrera had inadvertently killed somehow, Andi thought. Andi slowed her treadmill. She dabbed at her moist face with the towel around her neck. Normally she could go much farther, but these were not normal times. And where was Trini? Andi had saved the empty treadmill on her right by throwing her jacket over one of the arms, but now she swept it off, though no one seemed interested in working out on the machine. She decided she would wait around for a few more minutes, then hit the showers and get ready for the conference meeting with Carter and Emma.

Should you tell Trini about the baby?

She wasn’t sure. Trini had been no fan of Greg’s. A free spirit, she’d objected from the get-go to Greg’s stiff, linear thinking. Though she’d been there for Andi when he’d died, had been shocked and sorry he was gone, she hadn’t been able to completely disguise the fact that she was also relieved Andi was unshackled.

Someone switched the television station yet again; there appeared to be a war going on between two out-of-view club employees on what should be shown. There again was Bolchoy, looking grim and slightly belligerent. The fiftysomething detective was walking beside his lawyer toward the courthouse. A bevy of reporters followed after them. Andi could appreciate the fact that the detective had tried to do something to make the Carreras pay for their crimes, even if he’d failed. The fact that the brothers had been able to steamroll their agenda time and again made many people question whether they had someone helping them on the planning commission. Andi would bet on it. But that person was still in the shadows, and Bolchoy was on his own.