I would have preferred using the video option on my phone, but that’s just me. Rules are rules. It took some fumbling around before I managed to get the damned camera up and running. Finally Marvin was able to begin the narration. “The time is four fifteen p.m., Sunday, December sixteenth, 2018. The location is 4041 Ocean Drive Loop, Homer, Alaska. Present is Lieutenant Marvin Price of the Homer PD investigations unit. With me is a private investigator named J. P. Beaumont of Seattle, Washington. We’re about to make entry into a vehicle belonging to Nathaniel Bucknell housed in a garage at the residence of Grover Bolger in Homer, Alaska. Both men have given their verbal consent for us to search this vehicle on suspicion that it might have been involved in a possible homicide.”
Marvin paused for a moment and then nodded in my direction. “Okay,” he added. “Here goes.”
Saying that, he walked over to where the garage door’s electrical cord was connected to an outlet. The moment he pulled the plug, we were plunged into total darkness. Marvin managed to stumble his way back to the rear of the Subaru, where he located the latch and punched the button.
Alternate light-source implements need total darkness in order to function. Had the vehicle’s interior lights come on, we would have been screwed, but thankfully, due either to age or some missing connection, they didn’t. By the time the tailgate swung open, my eyes had adjusted enough that I could just make out a dim image of Marvin’s hand holding the spray bottle as it suddenly appeared in the camera’s viewfinder.
At that point I was holding my breath, and Marvin probably was holding his, too. It felt a little bit like standing on a bouncing diving board for the first time and knowing you’re about to plunge into the deep end. The moment Marvin hit the spray button, the carpet on the interior of that old Subaru lit up like a damned Christmas tree, and it sure as hell wasn’t caused by fish blood!
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed aloud without meaning to. “She really did do it!”
In that instant I knew it, and Marvin knew it, but nobody else did, and it would take a whole lot more evidence to prove the case beyond a reasonable doubt.
Marvin immediately stopped spraying. If these bloodstains belonged to Chris Danielson, they were more than twelve years old, and we didn’t want to do anything that would degrade them further in case there was a chance that a DNA profile could still be obtained from the sample.
“Due to the visible presence of a substantial amount of blood,” Marvin continued for the benefit of the recording, “this vehicle will immediately be towed to the Homer PD impound lot for further processing. Video filming is ceasing at four twenty p.m.”
I turned off the camera, Marvin plugged the garage door’s electrical cord back into the wall outlet, and then he and I exchanged high fives. Harriet Raines had given me the gift of a weekend to conclude my own investigation. With Marvin Price’s help, I’d done just that, but he and I both knew that we were a long way from being able to say case closed.
Not surprisingly, in the immediate aftermath I was shuttled off to the sidelines while Marvin summoned additional officers and proceeded to cross the necessary t’s and dot the i’s, a process I knew would most likely keep him occupied for the next several hours. After he’d called for a tow truck, Marvin’s next order of business was a call to Nate Bucknell in Palm Desert. I could tell from Marvin’s side of the conversation that Nate was dismayed to learn that in his absence his vehicle had just been declared a crime scene and was about to be impounded.
“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.