I checked for voice and text messages during the short flight to Laguna Beach, and then handed my cell phone to Amanda.
‘Dear Mr Elstrom,’ she read aloud from the small screen. ‘Regarding your note, I possess no answers to the questions you raised. Sincerely, Theresa Wade.’
She handed me back my phone. ‘Congratulations. You got a response from the famously reclusive Theresa Wade, hot from her address on Tim’s campaign website.’
‘My note to her said simply that she and I had a mutual interest in a matter for which I was being framed. I didn’t mention that someone had disguised herself to look like her, nor did I write anything about Marilyn Paul. If Theresa Wade is totally clueless, as she claims, either she would have tossed my note away without responding, like she must do with the hundreds of others she receives from cranks, or she would have asked what our mutual interest was. She didn’t do either. She knows something.’
‘Dek, I’ve come to know these people—’
‘Not her,’ I interrupted.
‘No one knows her. But I do know Tim. He’s a good man. He does a lot of good.’
‘That never comes up. Unusual for a politician.’
‘He’s reluctant to brag. He stays totally focused on the future.’
‘And his sister facilitates that?’
‘She administers everything, to help him keep that focus.’
‘He’s still the fourth musketeer,’ I said.
‘Happenstance,’ she said.
But she said it tentatively.
‘Damn, Elstrom, I didn’t expect to see you so quickly,’ Lieutenant Beech said. He was all grins, coming into the tiny interview room. He turned to Amanda. ‘And you are?’
‘A very wealthy woman who employs lots of lawyers who report to lots of lawyers who report to her,’ she said, calmly enough.
I think I must have stared, as shocked as Beech at the arrogance of her opening salvo. She was looking out for me, telling the cop that hell would pay if he tried to arrest me. This, most certainly, was not the Amanda I’d married and would love forever. This one possessed interesting, though intimidating, new possibilities that I was very much likely to love forever.
The lieutenant sighed, accepting. He was used to confrontations with the rich.
He turned to me. ‘So, what’s this about the sheriff liking you for dumping that woman in the river?’
‘You found Bohler.’
‘It took me some time to find someone interested in you. Are things so messed up in Chicago, budget-wise, that a deputy who runs an impound garage heads up a murder investigation?’ he asked.
‘For some reason, an anonymous tipster called her to blame me. Must be that every other cop thought it was ridiculous.’ I smiled at Amanda. ‘And dear Miss Phelps’ lawyers will keep me out of jail.’
‘OK, I get it – you’re both crazy,’ he said. ‘For now, we’ll try to get along, if no one tries lying.’
‘You’re having trouble identifying the body found in Arlin’s house?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know how you found that out, but yes. Arlin was a tennis player, like so many around here. He sought treatment for an arthritic condition last winter. The doctor took X-rays.’
‘Which showed there was no break in his arm?’
Beech leaned across the table. ‘Who are you, Elstrom, and what do you know?’
‘I was hired by a heavily disguised woman to look in on Arlin here, and Dainsto Runney, an erstwhile preacher and hustler, up in Reeder, Oregon. She didn’t say why. It took no time on the Internet to learn Arlin had just died in a house explosion, which must have triggered her hiring me. Runney left his church in Oregon a day or two before Arlin’s house blew up.’
‘You think he came here?’
‘He broke his arm painting that church, years ago.’
‘Lots of people break their arms.’
‘But not David Arlin, according to his X-rays?’
He shrugged.
‘A white Crown Victoria with Oregon plates is impounded here at Ajax Towing. If I’m right, it’s Runney’s and the DNA inside will belong to your corpse.’
He leaned back, rubbed his eyes and said, ‘Runney drove here and Arlin killed him to take his place?’
‘Have you identified the cause of the explosion?’
‘Loose gas fitting, like with a wrench.’
‘Arlin’s car was blown up in the explosion?’
Beech nodded.
‘Then Arlin left town some other way. Did you ever follow up on that red-headed man?’ I asked.
‘Arlin’s neighbor is elderly. People stop all the time, asking for directions. Or he could have been delivering a pizza.’
‘Maybe he wasn’t asking for directions. Maybe he wanted to be noticed asking for the directions.’
‘You think it was Arlin in a red wig, dragging a herring across the road to confuse us dogs?’
‘Perhaps, or perhaps it was someone else – a real redhead,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘I have no idea,’ I lied.
He sighed. ‘Your client might know, but you’re sure she’s no longer available?’
‘That’s all I’m sure of,’ I said.