“So what’s the next step?”
“Ross has the whole Olympia squad working the problem as well—checking out the plane, where it’s based, flight plans, all that kind of thing. Since we can put the plane in the vicinity at the time of four homicides, three in the U.S. and one in Mexico, he’s also looking into whether or not we have sufficient probable cause to get a search warrant.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“That’s what I told him,” Mel agreed. “He said it depends on the judge, and Ross Connors knows a lot of judges.”
“So what’s the next step for us?” I asked.
“Breakfast,” Mel said. “Cold pizza doesn’t do it for me. Then what say the two of us head out to Kent and have a chat with Diane Massingale or Trudy Rayburn? An unexpected visit from us might force them into making some kind of error.”
“If we spook them, what if they just jump in the plane and take off?” I asked.
“If they try that, we’ll know where the plane is, won’t we,” Mel said with a smile. “And if they’re apprehended while attempting to flee, we’ll have probable cause for sure.”
Which is exactly why Mel Soames is my kind of girl.
We stopped off at the Yankee Diner in Renton on our way to Kent. Mel ordered breakfast; I ordered lunch. We had taken the Destry/Anita papers in with us. While we waited for our food, we tried to work on them again, but Mel pushed hers away after only a minute or so. Glancing at her face, I saw she looked troubled.
“I thought these women were my friends,” she said. “And I thought the whole purpose of SASAC was to help people—to accomplish something worthwhile.”
The comment made me revisit the betrayal I had felt when I learned Anne Corley wasn’t at all who or what I had thought her to be. Not knowing exactly which way Mel was leaning, and not wanting to make the situation worse, I tried to soft-pedal Anita Bowdin’s involvement.
“We don’t know for sure Anita Bowdin did this,” I said. “Maybe her pilots were acting on their own.”
Mel remained unconvinced. “We don’t know that she didn’t, either. If she wanted to find unconvicted and anonymous sexual offenders, the crime lab was the perfect place to go hunting,” Mel declared. “I know for a fact that Anita was bound and determined to place someone inside the DNA profiling lab. That was a major goal when I turned up on the scene. She may not have pulled the actual triggers, Beau, but I know Anita Bowdin is involved. I’m guessing the pilots are the puppets while Anita controls the strings.”
“But we still don’t know why.”
“One way or the other,” Mel said determinedly, “we’re going to find out.”
By the time we arrived at Trudy Rayburn and Diane Massingale’s neatly rehabbed 1920s bungalow on the edge of downtown Kent, Mel and I had come up with a suitable fiction and with the decision that, in this instance, Mel would do all the talking. We parked Mel’s BMW three blocks away and almost out of sight of Trudy Rayburn’s house. Mel opened the trunk and removed the his-and-hers Kevlar vests we keep there. Only after donning them did we walk back to the house. A blue Ford Freestyle minivan was parked in the driveway. We walked past it and stepped up onto the low porch. Then Mel rang the bell.
As soon as Trudy answered the door, Mel put our game plan into action. She greeted the woman with a handshake and a warm smile. “I don’t know if you remember me or not,” Mel said, “but I flew with you on a trip to Cancún last fall.”
“Oh, sure,” Trudy answered. “I remember now. What can I do for you?”
Once Mel handed over her business card, Trudy was a lot less welcoming. “What’s this about?” she asked.
“Your boss,” Mel answered. “Anita Bowdin.”
“What about her?”
Mel sighed—very convincingly, I thought. “We really can’t go into any great detail right now,” Mel said. “It’s an ongoing police matter and obviously we can’t comment, but we understand that you and your partner have worked for Ms. Bowdin for several years. We wondered if, in the course of your employment, you’ve ever noticed anything suspicious—anything out of line?”
“You mean like some kind of illegal activity, like transporting drugs or something?” Trudy asked.
“That would work,” Mel said with another smile.
Trudy had been standing in an open screen door. Now she moved back into the house and let the screen door close between us. “Look, Ms. Bowdin has been wonderful to us,” she declared, standing with her arms folded. “I can’t imagine her doing anything ‘out of line,’ as you call it. So, no. In answer to your question, I haven’t noticed anything at all.”
I for one was delighted to see Trudy Rayburn exhibiting such classic defensive behavior, and I was sure she wasn’t doing it out of concern for Anita Bowdin, either. This was a lot more personal.