The Killing Game(86)

Lovely couple, September thought as she climbed from her Jeep and headed for the department’s front doors. “Did they have a teenaged son?”

“How the hell should I know?” he groused. “They lied to me about the horses. Probably lied about kids, too. All of ’em.”

“Were these horsey people any of the four names I gave you?”

He sighed heavily, as if she’d really put him out. “All of ’em coulda had horses. Probably did. Nobody was honest. That’s the trouble with renters. Maybe it was the Brannigans who snuck in an old piece of dog meat for a while. Had little kids that liked to ride. Thing was so wide you couldn’t get a saddle cinched around it.” He wheezed out a short laugh.

“And the Brannigans aren’t the RV people?”

“Nope, those were . . . the Kirkendalls . . . or the Pattens. I told you.”

“Yes, thanks. But the horsey people could be the Brannigans, or any of the other three families?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya.” He was annoyed.

She pushed through the glass double doors and saw that Guy wasn’t at the reception desk. Hallelujah. It was Saturday, and a young woman named Claudia was at his post, so September wouldn’t be subjected to all Guy’s rigmarole. “Do you remember anything about the Wrights?” she asked Mamet. “The other name on the list?”

“Nope.” He was shutting down.

“Why did you evict the RVers?”

“Didn’t much like ’em.”

That didn’t sound like legal grounds for eviction, but maybe he just hadn’t renewed their lease. Before she could formulate another question, he put in, “Now I’ve told you all I’m gonna tell you. You have more questions you keep ’em to yourself. And I don’t care if you’re the police, the Pope, or God, I’m through talkin’. You got that, missy?”

“Loud and clear,” September responded.

Her answer was a click in her ear.

Claudia buzzed September right through with a quick nod of recognition. Thank God for small favors.

September set her messenger bag down at her desk and pulled her notebook out of it. She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then sat down and wrote down her conversations with Tommy, Grace, and Elias Mamet, as close to her recollection as she could come. Then she looked up the phone numbers and addresses for the four names she’d zeroed in on. The Pattens’ current phone number and address were in Hood River, about an hour and a half from Laurelton in good traffic. The Wrights had moved to Tacoma, south of Seattle, and the Brannigans now lived in Portland, on the east side of the river. They were the closest, except for the Kirkendalls, who were still in the Laurelton area but apparently had no phone. Or none that September could discover. But she had their address, so it was just a matter of catching them at home.

No time like the present, she decided. She was stuffing her notebook back in her bag and was about to leave the near empty squad room when her cell phone buzzed. Seeing it was Wes Pelligree, George’s partner and one of September’s favorite people, she answered with a smile. “You caught me. I’m working. For free, so don’t tell anyone.”

“I just got a call to come in, but I’m with my mother, who’s taken a turn for the worse.”

“Oh, Wes, I’m sorry.” Wes’s mother had been in the hospital for several weeks with an internal infection that wouldn’t clear up.

“George is on another case, but dispatch called me. The Sheriff’s Department found a body in the Quarry quarry. Her ID was with her. She’s Tracy Farmgren, twenty-five, and it looks like she was dumped there. She lived in Laurelton, so we’re going to be working with Winslow.”

Quarry, Oregon, was serviced by the Winslow County Sheriff ’s Department. “You want me to call them?”

“Yes. Thanks. The deputy’s name is Barb Gillette.” He gave September the number.

“I hope your mother’s going to be all right.”

“Me too.”

September phoned the Sheriff’s Department and was put through to Detective Gillette. When she explained who she was, Gillette said, “The body’s at the morgue and it looks like it was thrown over the lip of the quarry. We’re working the ridge above, hoping someone saw the doer. It’s kind of a lover’s lane, but so far we’ve drawn blanks. We’re also short-staffed, so we thought maybe you guys could check with her place of work? It’s in Laurelton.

“Be glad to.”

“She was a receptionist at Sirocco Realty on Third and Londale.”

September had been writing down the name in her notebook but now froze in mid pen stroke.

Gillette went on, “Tracy worked there about two years. I spoke with one of the principal brokers, Kitsy Hasseldorn, who’s at the office today. That’s Kitsy with an s, not Kitty. She’s the one who’ll be expecting you.” There was a pause. “You got that?” she asked a bit impatiently, when September didn’t immediately say anything.

“I recently met Kitsy Hasseldorn.”

“You did?”

“Not related to this.” At least it didn’t seem to be . . . “What’s the cause of death?”

“Strangulation. Killer wore gloves. Okay, then, call me back after the interview.”