Actually, I did. I was once more running out of steam-I just can’t seem to go without sleep the way I used to. Besides that, my feet were killing me. But if Ralph was doing the cooking, all that would be required of me was to hold up my head long enough to eat.
Knuckles looked at me suspiciously as I held the door for him to go into my apartment. “How come a cop gets to live like this?”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I inherited it. On what I make, I could barely afford the bottom floor in this place.”
The house smelled of garlic and roasting chickens and something else, something exquisite, that turned out to be homemade bread. Once inside the apartment, I expected to hear the clattering din of a video game, but the house was quiet. I introduced Ralph to Knuckles Russell, explaining that he was a friend of Ben Weston’s and that he needed a place to spend the night.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
“The girls are down swimming. Junior hasn’t come back from the funeral yet, although I expect them any minute. Emma Jackson called to say they’d be by in a few minutes to pick up Junior’s things.”
“Where’s Dr. Jackson taking him, back to West Seattle to his grandfather’s?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Ralph asked. “Evidently Ben and Shiree Weston named her as legal guardian if anything ever happened to both of them. Emma said they’d come by for the Nintendo on the way. They’re going to take some time off. She says she’s taking him to the coast for a few days so they can get used to the idea of living together.”
The telephone rang and I answered it. “It’s Emma,” a voice said from downstairs. “Junior said he knew the door code, but I thought we should call and let you know we’re here.”
“Come on up,” I said, buzzing them in.
When I opened the door into the hallway, there were three people waiting there-Emma Jackson and Carl Johnson, that uncommonly tall principal from McClure Middle School. He was holding a worn-out and half-dozing Junior Weston cradled gently in his arms. Junior in turn was holding tight to his teddy bear.
I invited them into the apartment. “Emma,” she corrected when I introduced her to Ralph Ames as Doctor Jackson. “Ralph Ames and I already met on the phone.”
Ralph nodded. “I have everything gathered up, but wouldn’t you like to stay for dinner?”
“No thanks. I’ve reserved a room down at Long Beach. It’s quite a drive, but I want to go tonight. I probably won’t be able to sleep anyway.”
Ralph handed her Junior’s things, and I followed her to the door. She stopped and held out her hand. “I went by Harborview to check on that detective friend of yours. He’s going to be fine.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m glad we’re both good at what we do,” she continued. “Maybe Ben was right and I was wrong. The city needs doctors, but it also needs cops. See you around.”
With that, she turned and started toward the door only to collide with Knuckles Russell, who was just coming down the hall from the bathroom. Dr. Emma Jackson stopped and studied him with a long, searching glance. It was a moment before she made the connection.
“You wouldn’t happen to be Ezra Russell, would you?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I should have figured you’d be here. Reverend Walters told me about you, Ezra. As soon as you can, you go back to school and work hard, you hear? I’m sure it’s what Ben would have wanted.”
Knuckles ducked his chin. The gang-induced bravado and identity had disappeared, leaving behind a shy young man who still didn’t know who he was.
“And you take good care of Ben’s little boy,” he said. “You see to it that he doan get mixed up with no gangs.”
CHAPTER 28
The next morning I was awakened by a strange scraping noise, one I’d never heard before. At first I thought it was a fire alarm, but when I came staggering out to check, Ralph laughed and told me it was just the fax machine.
“I’m surprised they’re sending it this morning, but some people work all the time,” Ralph said. “I asked one of my people in Phoenix to get me a Best’s analysis of that company Curtis Bell was working for. From everything he said, it didn’t seem like he was entirely legitimate. He just didn’t know enough, not even for a beginner. The company’s not that good either. It’s pretty much one of those pyramid schemes, but saying he was in the life insurance business and actually selling a dozen or so policies was a good cover. It allowed him to have extra money that otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to explain away.”
“It figures,” I said glumly, taking a proffered cup of coffee.
“Nonetheless, he did give me some good estate-planning ideas, and we’ll have to get together with someone from a better company to get it handled. Do you know any CLUs?”
“Any what?”
“Never mind,” Ralph said. “That’s insurance talk. I’ll find one for you, an insurance agent who actually knows what he’s doing.”
A Sunday newspaper was strewn on the window seat. I glanced at the headline. “SPD COPS ARRESTED FOR HOMICIDE” it said. I didn’t bother to read the article. Regardless of what it said, every honest cop in the Pacific Northwest was going to be dealing with fallout from Curtis Bell and his cohorts for a long, long time.
After rummaging through the paper and locating the crossword puzzle, I took it over to the desk. The puzzle didn’t take long, and when I’d finished it, I picked up the phone and dialed Harborview. Much to my surprise, instead of being put through to the ICU waiting room, I was connected directly to Big Al Lindstrom.
“How’re you doing?” I asked.
“Better than anybody expected,” he returned. “You guys did a helluva job. Thanks, Beau.”
“We did what needed to be done,” I said.
Call waiting-call interrupting, as Heather calls it-signaled that someone else was trying to get through. I switched to the other line.
“Good morning,” said a woman’s voice. “This is Alex.”
For a moment I couldn’t place her, and the stunned silence must have given me away. “Remember me? Alexis Downey from the Seattle Rep.”
“Sorry,” I said. “The one who likes Bentleys. I guess I’m not quite awake. Did you ever get to go for your ride?”
“No,” she said, “I never did. Actually, Ralph had hinted that you might be able to convince the Belltown Terrace syndicate to donate the Bentley to the Rep. We’re trying something new this year, an auction. That Bentley would make a terrific auction item. I wouldn’t be calling on a Sunday morning, but tomorrow’s our deadline.”
“Give me your number,” I told her. “I’ll have to get back to you on this.”
I cut short the conversation with Big Al and went looking for Ralph Ames, who had disappeared into the kitchen, where he was totally involved in starting a new pot of coffee.
“All right, Ralph,” I said. “Tell me about Alexis Downey. We both know that if the Belltown Terrace Syndicate needs to be talked into making a charitable donation, Ralph Ames is a whole lot more qualified to do the talking than I am.”
For the first time in all the years I’d known him, Ralph Ames looked guilty as hell. And he couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, either. That hardly ever happens either.
“All right, Ralph. Out with it. Tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“She’s a nice lady,” he said lamely.
“So?”
“I thought maybe, if I set it up, the two of you would hit it off.”
“So this was all a plot to fix me up?”
Ralph sighed. “I keep telling you, Beau. It’s time you got over Anne Corley and went on with your life.”
Naturally, my first reaction was an overreaction. “Here’s her number,” I said, handing him the scrap of paper on which I’d scribbled Alexis Downey’s number. “You call her back and tell her she can have the car or not, I don’t care which, but leave me out of it.”
The next morning, Knuckles Russell returned to Ellensburg and Ralph Ames went back to Phoenix. On Tuesday Ezra called to say that with Ben Weston dead, the bank wanted him to rewrite his student loan and the other three as well. Which is how it happens that I am now the proud cosigner on four separate student loans. I told Ralph I consider it an investment in this country’s future. So far they’re all getting good grades.