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I BARELY MADE the busy commuter ferry—mine was the last vehicle loaded. The boat got under way and an hour later I was headed to Bobby Branford’s sister’s house.
A city of roughly 40,000 people situated on the Kitsap Peninsula, Bremerton is surrounded by salt water and towering trees. Home to the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, the town’s heyday was during the Second World War when it boasted a population of over 100,000 shipbuilders, support personnel, and their families. Now a major hub for retired as well as active-duty Navy personnel and highly skilled tradesmen and women, whenever a ship pulled in for repairs or retrofitting, Bremerton’s population swelled for the duration of the assignment.
I pulled into the driveway of a well-kept, World War II-era cottage—a square, one-story house with a hipped roof, clapboard siding, and shallow eaves. The single-car garage took up a third of the lower level directly below a large picture window. An added carport shaded the driveway and currently sheltered an older model Chevy Malibu. The front yard was a riot of pink and purple blossoms adorning the mature rhododendrons ringing the perimeter.
I climbed the front stoop and rang the doorbell. A minute later, the door opened and a woman holding a sleeping baby on her hip appeared. She had cornflower blue eyes and hair the color of weak tea pulled back in a messy ponytail, and wore a bubblegum pink T-shirt under a loose pair of overalls. Her expression was a cross between curious and wary.
“Dora Trask?” I smiled and held up my business card. She nodded. “I’m Kate Jones. We spoke on the phone earlier?”
Dora squinted at the card. Recognition registered in her eyes and she opened the door.
“You’re here about my brother. C’mon in.” She stepped back to let me pass and closed the door behind us. “Go ahead an’ sit anywhere there’s space.”
The house smelled of mothballs, cats, and pepperoni, and the living room looked like a cat five hurricane had recently blown through. Magazines, newspapers, dirty dishes, and children’s toys splayed across the floor, with more scattered on top of a blue velour couch, matching recliner, and tweed loveseat. The lone coffee table practically groaned under the weight of unopened mail. Brightly colored sippy cups and empty beer cans really pulled the place together. After the meticulous yard, the hoarder’s paradise was a surprise.
I picked my way past the precarious stacks of celebrity magazines, old newspapers, and tabloids to the couch and shoved aside a plastic laundry basket filled with what I assumed were dirty clothes. Dora walked over to one of the recliners and with her free hand shoved a stack of papers to the floor before taking a seat. The baby didn’t stir.
“Whad’ya want to know about Bobby?”
My eyes watered and I cleared my throat. The inch-thick cat hair on every surface and epic stench of a dirty litterbox combined with the unseasonably high pollen count of an early spring, was threatening my oxygen habit.
“The firm I work for has been hired by the parents of a friend of Bobby’s to investigate their son’s death. Your brother was one of the last people he communicated with before he died, and I’m following up to see if Bobby might have information we could use.”
“What’s the friend’s name?”
“Jason Whitmore.”
“I don’t think I ever heard Bobby mention him. How’d he die?”
“It’s been ruled an overdose. They found fentanyl in his bloodstream.”
Dora’s wary expression returned. “I’m pretty sure my brother wasn’t close friends with this Jason character. Bobby ain’t into drugs.”
“By the looks of Jason’s online accounts, they knew each other pretty well.”
She shrugged. “Well, whatever. I ain’t seen Bobby in months. Not since he got popped for jacking Cookies Tavern. For all I know, he could be dead.”
Not exactly what she’d told me on the phone, but I let it pass. It did, however, explain Bobby’s online absence.
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
She gazed at the ceiling and cocked her head as she thought. “End of February.” She stared at me without blinking, as if challenging me to contradict her.
“I’m sorry.” I leaned forward, careful not to bump the stack of papers next to me. “This morning you said he owed you money.”
Dora gave a harsh laugh and then replied, “He does. His ass was usually in trouble, and I always bailed him out. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, for one thing. Always braggin’ on himself. That didn’t set too well with his boys.”
“His boys?”
“He hung out with a couple’a gangsta types. You know, hardcore wannabes.” She shrugged. “This ain’t LA, that’s for sure.”
The baby roused, gurgling and kicking her tiny legs as she stretched her arms above her head, miniature fists testing the air. Dora rocked her gently and dipped her head. The kid burst into a delighted smile and reached for her mother’s hair. Dora shook the strands out of reach and smiled. “Well, look who’s awake. Li’l happy baby.” She glanced down at the child with obvious affection and cooed, “Are you my happy Missy? Yes you are.”
A black and white cat wandered in and wound itself around my ankles. Purring filled the room. I reached down to scratch it behind the ears and noticed something small and white peeking out from under the couch. I quickly palmed the oblong pill and sat upright. “Do you know the friends’ names?”
“One guy called himself The Terminator.” She rolled her eyes. “And the other one went by Bruce Wayne.”
“Like Batman?”
Dora nodded. “Pretty stupid, huh?” She shrugged. “Anyway, they ain’t been around since Bobby bailed.”
“Why do people refer to him as the Barracuda?” I asked.
She waved the question away. “Oh, that was just Bobby trying to be a badass. No one called him that. He was pissed when the name didn’t take off.”
A maple hutch covered with framed photographs caught my attention.
“Looks like you and your brother were close.”
“Only when he needed something.”
Time to change tactics. “Is it just you and the baby?”
Dora stiffened and her eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Just me and Missy.”
“I didn’t mean to pry. I assumed with the last name of Trask...”
“You’re wondering when my husband gets home?” Dora scoffed and shook her head as she pushed herself to her feet. “Six o’clock last year, that’s when he gets home.”
Apparently the interview was over. I stood, stifling the urge to brush off my pants. Just then, there was a clank from inside the kitchen. Dora hesitated for a moment before continuing toward the door.
She waved at the kitchen. “My other cat.” There was another clank, quieter than the first.
“Can I take a peek?” I asked, feigning excitement and heading for the kitchen. “I used to have a tabby and really miss her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She doesn’t like strangers.” Dora’s expression floated somewhere between alarm and annoyance. When I didn’t stop, she came up behind me and grabbed my elbow, bringing me up short.
“I said, that’s not a good idea.” Her tone instantly morphed from fake-friendly to threatening. The baby looked as though she was going to burst into tears.
A shadow darkened the entrance to the kitchen as a man matching Bobby “the Barracuda” Branford’s description walked into the living room.
Eyes wide, Dora opened her mouth to say something, but Bobby gave her a quick shake of his head.
“It’s okay, Dora. Let her go.”
Reluctantly, Dora released my elbow and stepped back.
“Don’t be mad at my sister. She was just trying to protect me. Ain’t that right, Dora?”
“You know it, Bobby.” Dora didn’t look like she felt one bit guilty about lying. In fact, her nonchalant expression told me her dishonesty came naturally.
“What do you want?” Bobby asked, a surly look on his face.
“I’m looking into the death of an acquaintance of yours—a Jason Whitmore.”
Bobby frowned and his mouth curled downward. “Yeah, I heard about that. What a waste.” His body tense, he moved across the room to sit on the edge of the recliner that Dora had vacated earlier. “Drugs, right?”
“Overdose.” I studied his reaction. There was something off about the guy. His body language was too considered, too precise, like he was trying to be careful not to say too much.
“Ah, man, that blows. I didn’t even know Jase liked the hard stuff.”
“I’m not sure that he did.” I leaned forward and placed my hands on the back of the couch. “What kind of relationship did you and Jason have?”
He shrugged. “Pretty casual, you know? Lots of banter.” Bobby picked at the velour armrest. “No big deal.”
“Did you guys do anything other than interact online?”
Averting his eyes, Bobby shook his head. “No. He lived in Bellevue. Kinda far to go to party, you know?”
“When did you see him last?” I asked.
“I don’t remem—” Bobby stopped himself and he narrowed his eyes for a second. “Like I said, we never met. He lived in Bellevue. That’s a different world over there.”
“Right.” I pushed back off the couch. Dora took that as her cue. She and Missy the Happy Baby started for the door.
“Sorry to cut this short, but Missy gets cranky if I don’t feed her on time.” She gave me a fake apologetic smile.
“Of course.” I fake-smiled back at her and handed her my card. “If either of you hear of anything else that might be useful to our case, I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a call.”
Dora took the card and slid it into her front pocket. “Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with insincerity as she ushered me out the door.
Well, that was pleasant.
I glanced up at the picture window and waved at Dora, who was watching me leave. After navigating the steep driveway, I unlocked the SUV and got in. Remembering what I’d found on the floor in the house, I reached in my pocket for the white, oblong pill and studied it in my palm. The numbers 6767 were stamped on the side. The same numbers that were on the pills I found in Lisa’s purse. After handing over three of Lisa’s pills to Seattle PD, Sam had dropped off the remaining ones at an independent lab. They didn’t have the backlog that SPD did, and it was possible that we’d find out the chemical makeup sooner than the police lab. He could do the same with this one. I dropped the pill inside a small baggie I kept in the console and stuffed it back in my pocket, then started the engine and backed onto the street.
Looked like I had a long night of surveillance ahead of me.
On my way to meet Dora I’d passed a crowded park situated on a hill with a great view of her place. I drove to it and parked in the lot facing the house far enough away from the other cars so that I wouldn’t attract attention. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in a while, so I checked the nearby restaurants on my phone and decided on Thai food, since the place wasn’t too far from the park. Stakeouts were generally long, drawn-out affairs, and I was always game to compensate myself with a good meal.
I called the Thai place to ask if they delivered. When they found out I was calling from a park, the woman on the phone balked, but after a couple minutes of cajoling she relented and said her driver would be there in twenty minutes or less.
I reached behind the front seat and brought out a large, waterproof case. Inside was a laser microphone. Making sure there was no one nearby who could see what I was up to, I attached the receiver and the transmitter to mini tripods and aimed the laser beam at the big picture window. The mic worked by directing the beam at the glass to capture sound vibrations within the room. The beam then bounced back to the receiver, which converted the vibrations into an audio signal. It took a few tries to line things up, but soon the audio signal from inside the house came across in my headphones as clearly as if I was standing a few feet away.
Then I grabbed my camera out of the console and trained the long lens on the house while I waited for my food.
“I don’t think you should go with them,” Dora was saying, her voice strained.
“I’ll be fine,” Bobby replied. “They’re my boys. They got my back. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me.”
“What if you don’t come back? What do I do then? Me and Missy can’t make it on my salary alone.”
There was a brief pause. “Glad to know you’re so concerned about me, sis.” Bobby’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“You know I care, Bobby. But you shouldn’t have come out when that woman was here.”
“I had to—”
“No, you didn’t. I had it handled.” Dora’s voice rose an octave. “She was almost out the door when you decided to make your entrance.”
“Whatever,” he said, shutting her down. “What’s done is done. I’ll explain it to Chacon—he’ll understand. I didn’t give her anything she could use.”
Chacon. Now where did I know that name?
“You believe what you want to believe. That man is trouble.” Dora’s tone indicated their little spat was over. A long silence ensued, punctuated by the baby’s fussing. I settled back in my seat to wait.
Five minutes later, the driver from the restaurant showed up with my order of Pad Thai. I had my headphones off and was out the door to pay him before he could get a good look inside my car. He grinned at the big tip and was soon on his way.
The mouth-watering aroma of chicken Pad Thai emanating from the container could not be resisted and I dug in.
I’d just finished eating when a tricked-out Honda Civic with low profile tires and an aftermarket spoiler and hood scoop boiled into the driveway and two men got out. Both wore hooded sweatshirts and baggy jeans, and one sported a tattoo on the side of his neck. The Terminator and Bruce Wayne? I peered through the camera and took a number of pictures, zeroing in on the tat. His sweatshirt covered a good portion of the ink, but something about the design struck a familiar chord.
With my history, you pay attention to details like that.
The two men climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. Bobby opened the door and let them inside.
At first, there was some friendly banter, with the men’s voices dominating. Then came a pause in the conversation.
“We gotta bounce, brah.” The husky voice belonged to the guy I’d dubbed Bruce Wayne.
“Yeah. I know.” Bobby sounded resigned.
“I won’t let you take him.” Dora’s voice was higher than usual. The baby fussed in the background.
“Take it easy, Dora,” Bobby assured her. “It’ll be all right, once I explain things.”
“Yeah. Don’t you worry, Dora. Li’l bro here’s gonna be just fine,” the one I thought of as The Terminator said. “We gotta take him to the man and get this shit straightened out or it’s bye-bye Bobby.”
“Call me when the meeting’s over, okay, Bobby?” Dora said, worry thick in her voice.
“Sure. See you later. Bye, little Missy-girl.” The baby erupted in giggles.
A moment later the front door opened, and Bobby and the two gangsters walked outside, headed for the Civic.