Death of an Immortal (7 page)

“Is this the home of Jamie Lee Howe?” Terrill asked.

“Not anymore,” the man muttered. “The slut is dead.”

“Howard!” the woman pleaded. He turned and glared at her until she looked away.

“I’ll take care of this, Mom,” Sylvie said, and the woman moved away, drifting over to the sink and picking up a dish, taking a few swipes at it with the dishrag and then standing still, staring out the window.

Sylvie pushed her way to the door again, stopped next to Terrill and waved him down the steps. “We can talk out here,” she said. “Mom’s in no shape to talk about Jamie, and Howard doesn’t have anything to say.”

“Fuck you,” Howard said. “I’m watching a show…” He stumbled away.

“He actually does care, in his own way,” Sylvie said. “He did everything he could to keep Jamie in town, but she didn’t want to stay and she was old enough to make her own decisions.”

She didn’t say anything else, just stood staring at Terrill frankly.

“I…” Again, his voice faltered.

“You knew her, didn’t you?” Sylvie said. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re sad.”

“Yes,” Terrill said, then realized he hadn’t planned to admit it. “I mean, I met her a couple of times.”

“‘Met’ her?” From her tone, Terrill realized Sylvie knew what Jamie had been doing in Portland.

“For business. She came to me for a life insurance policy. I represent Prestigious Insurance.”

“Oh.” She was obviously disappointed. Then she realized what he’d said. “Insurance?”

“She wanted to make sure that you were provided for––a college fund, as it happens.”

“We’ve already got the five thousand from her savings account,” the girl said. “It came in handy; we were late with the mortgage. Howard lost his job a couple years ago and the unemployment checks have stopped coming. His Social Security isn’t enough.”

“Well, that’s just it,” Terrill said, more and more sure he was doing the right thing. “This payment is contingent on your going to college. It can’t be used for anything else.”

Sylvie didn’t look happy or unhappy. She just stared at the ground for a few moments. “That’s too bad, because I’m not leaving Mom until she is in good shape,” she said. “Which may be never.”

“I’m sorry. The terms are quite specific. The money can only be accessed as long as you are in college.”

She shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. Her goofy demeanor and classic good looks were irresistible. Jamie was right. She needed to get out of this small town.

“You can’t live their lives for them,” he said.

“That’s what Jamie always said. And yet, that’s exactly what she did for me, despite me telling her not to.”

Sylvie would have had every right to ask him what business of it was of his, but instead, she again got that curious look on her face. “You knew her for more than business, didn’t you?”

He didn’t say anything, but the answer must have been written on his face. Sylvie laughed, and it was as if she didn’t have a care in the world: a delighted laugh. “I knew it! You’re just her type, all doomed and gloomy.”

He tried to think of what to say.
“Yes, I was screwing your sister. For money.”
No, that wouldn’t do.

“Don’t worry,” Sylvie continued. “I know what Jamie was doing––but knowing her, she was trying to be more than just… just a…”

“She was more,” he said. “To me.”

“Yeah, that’s Jamie. Making every job the most important job in the world, whether it’s babysitting or flipping hamburgers or being a… being a whore.”

Terrill stared at her in bafflement.

“You’re wondering how I can say that,” Sylvie said. “You’re wondering why I’m not crying, why I can still laugh. Well, mister, someday I’ll cry. Maybe I’ll never stop crying, but not now.”

“She talked about you,” he said.

“Oh, let me guess. Her brainy sister? Her amazing sister? Well, Jamie always was a little starry-eyed. I’m not like that. Jamie just got unlucky, that’s all. She met the wrong guy at the wrong time. It happened, and now I have to take care of Mom. And Howard, even Howard. He isn’t a bad guy, just sort of pathetic.”

Terrill could see she wasn’t going to change her mind. It was time for a change of plans. “She made me executor of the policy,” he said. “It says that you have to stay in school, but doesn’t say where or for how long. I’m sure we can find a way.”

“You sure you can’t just give me the money?”

If I have to, I will,
Terrill thought. But having gotten a good look at her parents, he suspected that Sylvie would end up seeing very little of it.

“Why don’t we meet for lunch tomorrow?” he suggested.

“OK. We can meet at the Black Bear restaurant at 1:30. That’s my lunch break.”

“I thought you were going to the community college?”

For the first time, she looked troubled. It was as if the frown didn’t fit her face, as if she was pressing the lines into her perfect skin. The expression disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I had to drop out. We can talk about that tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he said. “We will. I can’t meet you until the evening, however. How about after your shift?”

“OK. Come by at five.”

He nodded.

She stuck her hand out. “Thank you, Mister…?”

“Terrill,” he said, amazed at the sound of his own name. He hadn’t used it in hundreds of years.

He shook her hand. It was warm and dry, and a charge seemed to go up his arm. She was looking at him with wide eyes.

“Until tomorrow evening,” he said, and walked away without another word, now certain he was doing the right thing.

Chapter 11

Carlan drove back to Bend, his mind churning. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything in Portland, not with Brosterhouse in the way. Despite Jamie’s restraining order, in his hometown he was still in pretty good standing with his colleagues, many of whom had their own problems with ex-wives and girlfriends.

He also had a trump card. The last time he’d been in trouble with his boss, Captain Anderson, he’d been relegated to deskwork. There, he’d come across a discrepancy in the inventory of guns. He’d known from the moment that he reported the missing rifles that his boss had sold them for cash, and his boss had known that he knew.

Carlan was careful not to overuse this useful piece of information. He was satisfied staying a patrolman, where the possibility of bribes for moving violations and other misdemeanors was available. Being a detective entailed more oversight, not to mention that the brass tended to be harsher about any hanky-panky involving felonies.

Still, he’d saved the information for a rainy day.

He pulled into the police station parking lot and checked the captain’s parking space. Empty. Damn. He’d forgotten that Anderson took Mondays off. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.

He pulled back out onto the highway and headed downtown, to Room 23 of the Badlands Motel. The Cadillac Escalade was there, despite it being midafternoon. He thought about knocking on the door, but decided his first plan was still the best plan. When he took this bastard down, he didn’t want there to be any questions.

When he pulled out again, the car seemed to make its way to the Hardaway house without any conscious thought on his part. He’d spent a lot of time parked out in front of that house, hoping to get a glimpse of Jamie, hoping she would talk to him, let him explain. The restraining order should have kept him away, but who was going to arrest him?

He’d been patiently waiting for hours every day. Then, one afternoon, Sylvie had come out of the house and marched directly over to his car.

“She isn’t here,” she said flatly.

“What?”

“Jamie isn’t here, so there’s no sense stalking her.”

“I’m not stalking anyone. I just want to talk to her. After that, I’ll leave her alone.”

Sylvie didn’t argue with him, just turned around and walked back into the house. It was only weeks later that the arrest in Portland of one Jamie Lee Howe on charges of prostitution had been picked up by his search engine. After weeks of seething resentment and anger, it turned out she hadn’t even been home. He didn’t mind her yelling at him; he didn’t even mind the restraining order. But leaving without telling him?

He’d headed for Portland the very same day.

She should have stayed in Bend, let him take care of her. It made no sense for her to go the Valley, and it especially boggled his mind that she had resorted to selling her body. Hell, it had taken him months to get a little, and even then he’d had to be insistent about it.

If she had stayed with him, she would never have had to worry about anything ever again. All because he’d slapped her, just that once. Hell, Dad had slapped his mom a hundred times, and they had been perfectly happy.

Carlan got out of the car and adjusted his belt, the gun, as usual, making him feel powerful and secure. He walked up to the door, trying to remember that first date with Jamie, the coy little kiss at the end. But instead, his mind wandered to Sylvie’s form––the way her slender body had sashayed a little when she was walking away from him. Was she trying to give him a message? That he’d chosen the wrong sister?

The old man answered the door.

“Hey, Howard,” Carlan said casually. “Just coming by to check and see how you’re doin’.”

Howard stared at him with blurry eyes, as if trying to remember who he was. Then he broke into a grin. “Officer Carlan, how good to see you!”

Jamie’s parents had always liked him. Because he was a cop, they had thought he would be a good catch for Jamie. Apparently, Howard either hadn’t known about the restraining order or had forgotten. When Jamie’s mother came out of the kitchen, he could see from her hard eyes that she had known and hadn’t forgotten.

But Howard had already invited him in, and Carlan quickly sat down on one of the couches. He smiled at Jamie’s mother––Jennifer? Jean? Best not to guess.

“Please don’t make any special effort on my part,” he said. “I just wanted to come by and express my sorrow at Jamie’s… passing. I wish I could have been there. I would have kept her safe.”

“Bend is a lot safer,” Howard agreed. “I can’t figure it out. Why she did it. Why go to Portland, with all those lowlifes?”

Jamie’s mom almost said something, then decided against it.

“One good thing came out of Jamie’s death,” Howard said. There was a strangled sound from the other couch, and he blanched. “I mean… no, honey… nothing good came out of it. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just talking about the insurance, you know…” His eyes pleaded with his wife, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“Insurance?” Carlan asked sharply.

“Turns out, Jamie bought an insurance policy for Sylvie’s education. A big amount, too, unless I’m mistaken.”

“That was quick,” Carlan said. Better and better. Unlike with Jamie, where he’d had to pay for everything, Sylvie could pay her own way. “I’ve never heard of a policy that only pays for school.”

“That’s what I said,” Howard exclaimed, looking to his wife for confirmation. “But the guy said that there was some flexibility there: like, if Sylvie was living at home, she could use it for expenses.”

“He actually came to your door?” Now Carlan had heard everything. Usually you had to track down the insurance companies and hold their feet to the fire to get anything out of them.

“I’m pretty sure he’s good for it, too. He was driving a big Cadillac Escalade.”

Carlan froze. The smile fell off his face.

“What?” Howard said, looking alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing… hey, listen. I forgot an appointment,” Carlan said, getting up. “Again, my condolences to both of you. Be sure to give Sylvie my best.”

As he made his way to the door, Jamie’s mother spoke for the first time. She had a whiskey-and-cigarette voice, too, deeper and more alarming than her husband’s. “Stay away from Sylvie.”

“Honey!” Howard exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

Jean––that was her name, Carlan suddenly remembered––got up and pushed Carlan toward the door and then through it. “What are you talking about?” he protested, echoing Howard. But he didn’t resist.

“Jeanie! That was really rude!” Howard said.

As the door began to close behind him, Carlan heard the woman say, “Howard. Sometimes you’re so blind.”

#

Carlan sat in the car for ten minutes, trying to wrap his brain around what he’d just learned.

Why would the killer be offering Sylvie money for school? Guilt? Remorse? Was it a trap to lure another girl to her death? What was his game? Who was this guy, and why was he targeting a single family like this?

For a moment, he wondered if he should wait for the guy to deliver the “insurance payment” before taking him down. The money would come in handy. But he quickly discarded the idea. It was ridiculous to believe that the guy was going to hand over money to a girl he’d never met.

No, this was a cold-blooded murderer, and he was trying to entice Sylvie into his trap.

Carlan decided he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to take this “Jonathan Evers” down. He’d track down Captain Anderson on his day off, call in his favor. He had been to his superior’s house once for a Halloween party; it was somewhere in the lower West Hills, on a steep road––Roanoke Avenue, that was the name of the street. He’d get an arrest warrant for the man in Room 23 of the Badlands Motel and search the room for evidence.

Even if he couldn’t make the charges stick, he could at least warn the guy away from Sylvie. The Hardaways didn’t know what a good friend they had in him.

He’d lost Jamie, but he wasn’t going to lose Sylvie.

Chapter 12

Terrill arrived at the Black Bear restaurant a few minutes late. The skies had cleared in the late afternoon and he’d had to wait for the sun to sink behind the Cascade Mountains before venturing out.

He’d thought all day about how much to give to Sylvie. Too much money and she might wonder: too little, and she might just spend it all on other things. He decided on an amount and wrote out a check with the Prestigious Insurance heading. If it turned out not to be enough, he could always send more later.