“Yes, it is a bit much to think that these are unrelated,” he said. “The fact that you and Ms. Hennessey are both involved in the same organization would seem to indicate some kind of connection. Are you finding any similar cases among those essays you mentioned?”
“I’ve only checked out four of them so far,” Mel said. “One of those was a grandfather, a pedophile who died, reportedly of natural causes, thirty years ago. That’s approximately twenty-five years before SASAC was a gleam in Anita Bowdin’s eye, so I doubt that one has anything to do with this. One was a bar pickup scene date rape where no assailant was ever named, apprehended, or charged. The other two are still locked up in prison. One of those raped and murdered Professor Clark’s eleven-year-old granddaughter. The other attacked Justine Maldonado’s younger sister.”
“And both of those are still alive?” Ralph asked.
“Alive and kicking,” Mel said. “I already checked.”
It struck me as interesting that in almost every case, with the possible exception of the date rape scenario, the women had all been galvanized into taking action-and joining SASAC-by an attack on someone other than themselves. Before I could make that observation, though, the phone rang.
By then it was late enough in the evening that I expected it to be Scott telling me that he and Cherisse were safely home or Jeremy calling to give me the latest update on Kelly. Or maybe even Thomas Dortman finally getting around to returning my call. It wasn’t.
“Mr. Beaumont?” a tearful female voice asked when I answered.
“Yes.”
“It’s me, DeAnn Cosgrove. I need to see you. Right now.”
“Why? What is it? What’s going on? If it’s an emergency, you should probably hang up and call 9-1-1.”
“No. I need to talk to you. Please.”
Taking the hint, Ralph was already gathering up his things in preparation for leaving. DeAnn sounded utterly frantic, making me think that I was being invited into some kind of domestic dispute.
“Is your husband there?” I asked. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“Donnie’s not here,” DeAnn answered. “That’s why I need to talk to you.”
Talking to hysterical women has never been my strong suit, and DeAnn definitely sounded hysterical.
“All right,” I said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring my partner along. We’ll be leaving downtown Seattle in a matter of minutes.”
DeAnn didn’t wait around long enough to reply one way or the other. She simply hung up. Before I could do the same, Mel was slipping her shoes back on her feet.
“Wait up,” she said to me. “My Glock’s down the hall. So’s my jacket.”
Ralph, Mel, and I rode down in the elevator together. Ralph exited at the lobby and Mel turned to me. “Who was that on the phone?” she asked. “Where are we going and why?”
“DeAnn Cosgrove is a woman whose father disappeared in the Mount Saint Helens eruption in 1980. She lives in Redmond, and that’s where we’re going. As to why? I have no idea. She said she needed to talk to me, and waiting until morning evidently isn’t an option. The other problem, of course, is that her parents were gunned down last night up in Leavenworth. The last thing her husband said to me on the phone was that he was going to rip the stepfather’s head off. Not surprisingly, Detective Lander, the guy working the Leavenworth homicides, is wondering if DeAnn’s husband may have had something to do with the shooting.”
“Do you think he did?” Mel asked.
“Donnie told Detective Lander he was out drinking with his pals last night,” I replied. “But at this point, I don’t have enough information on Donnie Cosgrove to think one way or the other.”
“But he isn’t home right now, is he?” Mel ascertained.
“Right,” I told her. “That’s what DeAnn said on the phone.”
We drove for a while in silence. The clearing that had happened earlier was now a thing of the past. The wind was coming in sharp gusts and it was spitting rain as we headed for the bridge. I knew I should keep my mind on the Cosgroves and what was happening there, but it kept coming back to Mel.
“What’s Anita’s deal?” I asked.
“Anita’s?” Mel returned. “What do you mean?”
“The other women you were telling us about, the ones on the board, all but one of them-you included-got involved because of something that happened to someone else-a friend or a relative. Since Anita’s the mover and shaker behind all of it, I’m just curious about what set her off. Did something happen to her? Did it happen to someone she cared about?”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Now that you mention it,” Mel remarked, “I am, too.”
By the time we parked in Donnie and DeAnn Cosgrove’s driveway, the sprinkles had changed into a hard rain. The porch light was on. The moment we pulled into the driveway the front door opened and DeAnn came dashing out to meet us. Her hair, hanging loose, seemed to stand on end in the blowing wind and rain.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I said at once.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping forward to meet me. “And thank you for coming. I didn’t know what else to do or who else to call. And with the kids already asleep, I couldn’t just throw them in the car and go traipsing all over God’s creation looking for him.”
“Looking for Donnie?” I asked.
She nodded. “He left the house a little while after Detective Lander did. I was so upset about my mother that I couldn’t think straight. I really needed him here with me, but he said he had to go out, that he’d be right back. But it’s been hours now, and I have no idea where he is. I’ve tried calling his cell and his office phone, but he isn’t answering. I even tried calling his friends, the ones he said he was with last night.” She paused.
“And?” I prompted.
“They hadn’t seen him,” she said. “They hadn’t seen him today-or last night either, Detective Beaumont. What does it mean if he wasn’t where he said he was?”
Mel rounded the back corner of the car. Neither she nor I answered, but we both knew what it meant: Donnie Cosgrove’s alibi was out the window.
“I even called some of the local hospitals,” DeAnn continued distractedly. “But then, when I found the note…”
“What note?” Mel asked, speaking for the first time.
DeAnn wheeled and turned on Mel. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Obviously a good part of what we’d said on the telephone hadn’t penetrated DeAnn Cosgrove’s frantic concern.
“I’m Detective Beaumont’s partner, Melissa Soames,” Mel explained. “He asked me to come along and see if I could help. Since it’s raining so hard, maybe it would be best if we went inside.”
Nodding, a distraught DeAnn Cosgrove led us into her house. The place looked entirely different from the way it had looked on my previous visit. The living room appeared to have been cleaned within an inch of its life. There were fresh vacuum cleaner tracks on the rugs. The dining room table had been cleared of almost all paper debris, and no toys at all were anywhere in evidence.
“After Detective Lander left, he did, too,” DeAnn went on. “I mean, how could he do that, leave me here alone with my mom dead and everything? After a while I called some of my friends from church, just so I’d have someone here with me, so I wouldn’t be alone. They came over and helped with the kids. Helped get the house cleaned up. They finally left a little while ago. I knew I needed to get some rest whether Donnie came home or not. That’s when I found the note-when I was getting ready for bed.”
“What note?” Mel prompted.
DeAnn hurried over to the dining room table and picked up a single three-by-five card. On it was written: “I’m sorry. I love you. Donnie.”
“Sorry for what?” I asked.
DeAnn shrugged. “About my mother, maybe? I guess that’s what he meant.”
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman. Her mother and stepfather had both been murdered, but at this juncture she was so concerned about her missing husband that grief for the two homicide victims had yet to gain any real traction.