In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(30)

“She was a piece of work,” Miller said without hesitation. “How someone like that ever got a kid, or why she even bothered, is beyond me.” He shook his head. Then he pushed aside half the stack of pancakes, as if he’d lost his appetite, which did seem unusual given his size. “Bobby was no saint either, like I said.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t know if it was the mother and the boyfriend or Bobby or somebody else. I just hope, for the little girl’s sake, that she’s alive somewhere. Alive and safe and that neither of them has any further contact with her. That’s the kid’s only hope for a normal life, in my opinion.”

The neighbor, Evelyn Robertson, had said much the same thing, without actually saying it.

Kins stepped back to the booth, but he didn’t make a move to sit down. He looked at Tracy. “We may have a witness who saw Stephanie Cole.”

“Where?”

“In the North Park neighborhood.”

“That’s close to Bartell’s.”

“I know. You just may be right about us looking in the wrong place.”





CHAPTER 15

Kins drove to a single-story brick home across the street from what looked to be an elementary school in the North Park neighborhood. Tracy suggested they drive around and get a feel for the area. She deduced North Park to be middle class, with modest, one-story homes and neat, well-kept yards. On this wintry Saturday, Tracy noted many dog walkers, mostly what appeared to be retirees bundled in down jackets against the cold, some with scarves and gloves or knit hats. The neighborhood had a friendly feel; at least the walkers were smiling. Some talked to one another on the sidewalk. A good thing if Cole had indeed been spotted here.

Kins parked in the street and they climbed steps to a brick rambler with large plate-glass windows on both sides. The door pulled open before they had the chance to knock; the tall, gray-haired man who answered had been waiting for them. A Jack Russell terrier sprang up and down beside him, tail whipsawing back and forth.

“Mr. Bibby?” Kins said.

“You must be the detectives.” The man looked down at the dog. “Okay, okay, Jackpot. Settle down now and let them get inside.” He looked back to Kins and Tracy. “He gets excited when we have visitors.” A woman came into the room, expressed greetings, then bent and scooped the dog into her arms.

“Come on in,” the man said. “Let me get the door shut before he runs off.” After doing so, he said, “I didn’t expect you this fast.”

The woman put the dog on the ground as Kins made introductions. He explained they had been nearby when the call came in. Brian Bibby introduced his wife, Lorraine. Tracy estimated both to be midseventies.

“Can I offer anyone something to drink—coffee or tea? A glass of water?” Lorraine asked. Tracy and Kins declined. Bibby asked for coffee.

The home, like the yard, was simple but well kept and cared for. The main room had wood paneling, hardwood floors with a large area rug, and a leather couch pushed against a window that offered a view across the street to the school. A futuristic leather reading chair was angled to see out the window, as well as to view a flat-screen television mounted to the wall. Behind the chair, neatly arranged books, what looked to be mostly nonfiction—biographies—filled a tall bookcase along with family photographs. The Bibbys apparently had two grown children, a son and a daughter. Beside the bookcase, a redbrick fireplace spewed warm air from an enclosed insert.

Bibby took their coats and invited Tracy and Kins to sit on the couch. He adjusted a back pad in the leather chair before sitting, explaining that he’d hurt his back working as a machinist at the Boeing plant in Everett.

“I gutted it out until retirement,” he said. “But it was still too early. I’m not one to sit around.”

“How do you spend your time?” Kins asked.

“We keep a Boston Whaler at the Edmonds Marina. When the salmon are running, Lorraine and I are out just about every morning, regardless of how my back feels. I smoke the salmon in a smoker out back, freeze-dry it, and give it to all the neighbors. I have a whole freezer full in the garage. Can I interest either of you?”

Again, Tracy and Kins declined.

Lorraine returned with Bibby’s cup of coffee. He thanked her, sipped it, and set the cup on a coaster on the table near the floor lamp. Lorraine pulled up a folding chair and sat beside her husband.

“Mr. Bibby—” Kins began.

“Bibby is fine,” he said. “Everyone has always called me Bibby.”

He sounded like he took pride in it.

“You think you might have seen Stephanie Cole?” Kins said.

“You got a photograph of her?” Bibby asked.

Kins pulled up the photograph they’d used for the news release and handed his phone to Lorraine, who handed it to her husband without looking at the picture. Bibby studied the photograph. Then he said, “Is she a runner?”

“Why do you ask?” Kins said.

“Because the young lady I saw was running in the park down the street.”

“That’s where you saw her?”

“That’s where Jackpot and I go walking. That’s our usual route. We walk down the street to the park entrance and walk until the trail dead-ends, then walk back.”