Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(45)

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.”

I couldn’t help but be struck by the comparison between her story and Jared Danielson’s. Both had started out to become cops. Once those dreams came to nothing, they had both settled on completely different paths.

“Sounds like you haven’t done too badly for yourself,” I said.

“Nope,” she agreed. “I get to come and go as I please, and I don’t have to answer to anybody, which is just the way I like it.”

That’s probably the way your one-time FTO likes it, too, I thought.

By then we were pulling up in front of the hotel. As we turned in toward the lobby, I could see that the snow had been cleared from the parking lot’s entrance. I’d seen a weather report saying that no additional precipitation was expected for the next two days. In other words, exiting the hotel garage the next morning wouldn’t be a problem.

At the entrance I got out of the vehicle, told Twinkle Winkleman thank you for all the help, and headed inside thinking I’d never again see the Travelall or its driver. Naturally it turns out I was wrong on both counts.

Inside the lobby I found that a weekend conference of some kind was getting under way. I dodged through the crowd and made it to the bank of elevators. After that heavy-duty late lunch, I wouldn’t be needing much of a dinner that evening.

Up in my room, I was happy to shed the boots I’m not accustomed to wearing. I was also glad to ditch my smoke-drenched clothing and take a shower. Had my room had windows that worked, I might have opened one and hung my clothes on a curtain rod to air out.

I used the pod machine in the room to make myself a passable cup of coffee and raided the honor bar for a bag of peanuts. Then I turned on my iPad and read through the extensive biographical material Todd Hatcher had managed to amass on Roger Adams. He was clearly a big deal in Homer. As far as I could tell, until recently he’d been the top-rated attorney in town. Before being sent to the state legislature, he’d served on the city council and done at least one term as mayor. He was also past president of the Homer Rotary Club, to say nothing of being on the local school board.