He looked up and down the barren landscape. If he waited in the sun, he really could melt. He decided to drive to the nearest town, park his butt in an air-conditioned restaurant, and call Adams a little later.

  Dan pulled into the parking lot for the Whatcom County assessor’s department on Grand Avenue in Bellingham. He felt like a yo-yo—driving to Bellingham, back to Cedar Grove, then back again to Bellingham—but he also believed he was on the verge of uncovering something important, something that could potentially break wide-open Larry Kaufman’s suit against the city.

  He met with a young woman from the assessor’s office named Celia Reed, told her he was hoping to obtain the parcel number for a certain piece of property, and gave her a description of the property’s location. Reed tapped her keyboard for a few minutes, then told Dan the property he’d described actually comprised three separate parcels with three unique lot numbers. Not busy, Reed showed Dan how to use the parcel viewer to pinpoint the parcel numbers. After doing so, she then tapped into the tax assessor’s site and read from the computer screen while Dan scribbled down notes.

  “Between 1984 and 1993 the parcels were owned by the Cascadia Redevelopment Corporation. The land was condemned by the State of Washington in 1993.”

  “It was flooded,” Dan said. “The state allowed the installation of hydroelectric dams on the river and it flooded that area.”

  “That was before my time,” Reed said.

  “Unfortunately, not mine,” Dan said, smiling. “Anything else?”

  Reed ran her finger across the screen. “In 2014 the three parcels were purchased by a limited liability company, Cedar Grove Development LLC.”

  Dan listened, his mind churning. “What other information can I get on the property or the purchaser?”

  The woman sent Dan to the county planner’s office on Northwest Drive. Once there, he used the parcel numbers to determine there had not yet been any pre-development meetings or pre-development applications filed for the three parcels. There was also not yet a report filed of the topographical survey, though Dan was certain one had been done to map the significant trees on the parcels. The lack of information made sense—if someone was trying to keep redevelopment quiet, at least until after Cedar Grove had purchased all the businesses on Market Street for next to nothing. Dan didn’t expect the topographical survey, or any reports of pre-development meetings, to be filed until after the stores on Market Street were up and running. He also suspected he now knew the reason for the city’s eagerness to settle Larry Kaufman’s lawsuit. If news of a development leaked, the value of Kaufman’s business would skyrocket.

  Dan drove back to the assessor’s office and asked Celia Reed if there were any available computers. He wanted to access the Washington Secretary of State’s Office.

  “You want to look up Cedar Grove Development LLC?” she asked.

  Dan did.

  Reed tapped the keys of her keyboard and turned her screen so Dan could see the information she had retrieved. It was as he expected. Of particular note was the limited liability company’s designated agent.

  Just after 1:30 p.m., Faz called the number for Pete Adams from the restaurant he’d found and got a live female voice. He asked for “Pete.”

  “He’s just getting off the golf course and is on his way home. Who’s this?”

  “It’s the club,” Faz said. “Looks like he left some golf balls in the cart this afternoon. We’ll run them over to the house.”

  “I can call—”

  “No problem, ma’am.” Faz disconnected the call. There was probably little reason for subterfuge, but Faz hadn’t come all this way to get a phone hung up on him, not without the chance to make a first impression in person.

  He drove back to the house and pulled up to the intercom. Behind the iron slats of the fence he now saw two parked cars. The gate pulled apart and he drove over cobblestones, parking beside the two vehicles. As he stepped out, he put on sunglasses to combat a blinding sun. A man came out from the front door and walked toward him. He looked to be early seventies, with a thin build, silver hair, and a reddish tan on his arms. He wore golf shorts and a collared shirt and gave Faz a curious look. “Are you from the club?”

  “I’m actually a Seattle detective, Mr. Adams. I’m here because I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “What about?”

  “The years you owned the Four Points Tavern in Silver Spoons.”

  “Silver Spurs?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “That’s a little broad. I owned it for thirty years. What about it? I sold the Four Points several years ago. I’m retired.”

  “I can see that, and let me assure you this has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do. We’re trying to run down some things in a couple of cold cases.”

  “The attorney? What was his name? Mathew something.”

  “Jason Mathews?”

  “That’s the one.” He gave Faz an inquisitive look. “You came all this way? Why didn’t you just call? Why’d you make up the excuse that you’d found my golf balls?”

  “Call it paranoia. A detective’s curse.”

  Adams smiled, mildly amused. “What is it you wanted to know?”

  “Would you mind if we went indoors, someplace air-conditioned? I’m not exactly built for the heat the way you are. I’m sweating just standing here, and the top of my head feels like it caught fire.”

  Adams smiled. “Sure, come on in. I’ll get you an iced tea.”

  When Dan pulled into his driveway, the police car remained parked across the street. He had spoken to Tracy on his drive home, after his second meeting with Zack Metzger, this time to discuss Metzger’s formation of Cedar Grove Development LLC.

  Inside the house, Dan handed Tracy the documents Celia Reed had printed for him at the Bellingham building department.

  “This is the story Kimberly Armstrong was working on at the time she was killed,” Tracy said, reviewing the documents. “Her editor didn’t know how far she’d gotten in her research, but she told him the land was going to be redeveloped. If she knew that much, she knew someone bought the Cascadia property from the state.”

  “And Sunnie was the contact person with the attorney in Bellingham who became the agent for service of process.”

  “It has to be Gary,” Tracy said. “Cedar Grove Development has to be his company.”

  “My first guess is it’s Ed’s. Ed always liked to make a buck, and development would dramatically increase home and business values in Cedar Grove. If it’s not Ed’s, then it could belong to Gary and Rav Patel. I don’t think Patel came to Cedar Grove because he was getting a pay raise.”

  “How could they set up a company and expect to get away with it?”

  “Because they didn’t think anyone would bother to investigate. They didn’t expect Kimberly to pursue it, nor did they expect any of the Market Street owners to turn down what amounted to free money. When Larry Kaufman balked at their offer, it threw a wrench in their plans, but again, they probably doubted he would go so far as to hire an attorney who would look up the other companies. They likely figured they could just increase their offer and he’d take it and go quietly.”

  “Those companies are going to be worth a small fortune if a resort goes in, Dan.”

  “I think so, too, and they’ve already started the process with the topographical survey, but they haven’t done anything further, at least nothing they’ve filed. I think they’re waiting until they’ve got all the business matters settled before they move forward. Did you hear back on the addresses and phone numbers of the members of those LLCs?” Dan asked.

  Faz had asked Kins to try to run down the information. “Not yet, no,” Tracy said.

  Dan paced, as he always did when thinking through information. “I’m betting these companies were bought by Witherspoon’s relatives or fraternity brothers, people with enough money to do the repairs and keep things quiet. Or Ed and Gary could have taken out loans, created each of the LLCs, and are playing with the banks’ money until the development goes in. Individually the loans wouldn’t be that significant a financial burden. It’s sort of like the Cedar Grove of old—they’re mining for gold, but this time they’ve assured themselves of a strike. The improved condition of Cedar Grove with viable businesses makes the redevelopment a lot more lucrative, and vice versa.”

  Tracy nodded, but didn’t respond.

  Dan knew that look. “Something else bothering you?”

  “I don’t disagree with anything you’ve said, but I’m having a hard time believing someone would kill Kimberly over this.”

  “It’s a lot of money, Tracy. And you said the editor told you he mentioned to Gary what Kimberly had found out.”

  “Thought she’d found out.”

  “Do you think this editor has any interest in this?” Dan asked.

  “No. Nothing beyond the newspaper. He and Gary are close, given their positions in town. I’m sure he mentioned it in passing to Gary because the redevelopment of Cascadia would be a boon for the city . . . for both of them actually. Improved business would mean increased advertising revenue. But if you met Atticus Pelham you’d understand why I don’t think he’s involved. That’s what I started to say. I’ve done this for a long time now, Dan. To shoot someone can be an instantaneous bad decision. But to beat someone—a police officer’s wife—is indicative the killing was motivated by something besides money. And what about Heather Johansen’s death, and Jason Mathews’s? How do they fit into all this?”

  “Their deaths might not be related to Kimberly’s death.”

  “Heather was also beaten to death, and Kimberly was also asking about her death.”

  “You said her editor told you Kimberly had backed off that story.”

  “He did. He said that after Kimberly read the ME’s report disclosing that Heather was pregnant, she told Pelham she didn’t believe it, that she and Heather had been best friends and Heather would have told her. But I wonder if she backed off for another reason.”

  “She didn’t want to know the father?”

  “Maybe it scared her to think that the father could have been Finlay.”

  “I still can’t see how the two deaths could be related,” Dan said. “In 1993 the hydroelectric dams were going in. The property was worthless. There’s no way Ed or Gary or anyone else could have foreseen this happening now.”

  “I’m not saying Heather was killed because of some scheme related to the redevelopment. I’m just saying the manner of death, both women bludgeoned, is too similar to dismiss as unrelated.”

  “Maybe,” Dan said. “But how are you going to prove they’re related?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m working on an idea. It came to me on the drive home. I’m not sure it will work, but if it does, it could help both of us,” Dan said. “And I just may have a hard-ass judge willing to accommodate me.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Faz stepped to sliding glass doors and looked out onto a small backyard with a kidney-shaped pool and several trees, the branches weighed down by lemons or grapefruit.

  “What do you do with all the lemons?” Faz asked.

  Adams handed him an iced tea. “Make lemonade, lemon marmalade, all kinds of things. You want to take some with you? I have more than I can use.”

  “I don’t think I’d get them on the plane.”

  They sat on red leather furniture. The floor was tile and the décor southwest. “You said some things have been called into question about Jason Mathews’s death. I understood that was a hunting accident.”

  “That’s what’s been called into question,” Faz said. “We understand he was a regular at your tavern.”

  “For a while. You do know Cedar Grove sent over an officer after Mathews’s death to find out if Mathews made any enemies in the bar, right?”

  “Had he?”

  “Not that I knew of.”

  “What did you know of him?”

  “Not a lot. He’d come in and keep mostly to himself, unless he drank too much. Then he could get loud and offensive.”

  “In what way?”

  “His ex was usually the target of his comments. Let me ask you something. Outside, you said this had to do with two cases. What’s the second case?”

  “Young girl who disappeared along the county road in 1993. They found her body partially buried in the snow.”

  “Thought that might be it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he wasn’t exactly discreet about it.”

  “Who? About what exactly?”

  “Mathews. I recall he was doing some work for the family of that girl or at least said he was.”

  “You remember anything more?”

  “I remember him saying he’d learned something, something the police didn’t report. Probably just bullshit. He was that kind of guy.”

  “Did he say what that was?”

  “If he did, I don’t remember. That had to be five or six years ago now.”

  “What about somebody else in the bar, someone he may have spoken with, a drinking buddy?”

  “Nobody regular. Like I said, he wasn’t liked much. I had to call the police on him once when he wouldn’t stop bitching about his ex-wife. He was using some pretty crude language to describe her.”

  “When was that?”

  “When I called the police? I don’t know.”

  “Can you relate it to the time he died? That was in October 2013.”

  “I can’t; I’m sorry. I imagine the police likely have a report.”

  “That would be the Silver Spurs police?” Faz said.

  “I called Silver Spurs, but they called Cedar Grove since that’s where Mathews lived. I guess they figured he was their problem and if anyone was going to have to drive him home, it might as well be them. He was pretty drunk. Passed out on the bar.”

  “You recall the name of the officer who came out to get him?”

  “Sure. It was Finlay Armstrong. He later became the chief in Cedar Grove.”

  Tracy had told Faz something similar, but he hoped remembering the incident might spur something else in Adams’s memory. “You sure?”

  “Positive. Finlay came into the bar and escorted Mathews outside.”

  “You talk to him? I mean Finlay.”

  “Nothing beyond just There he is, you know.”

  “You said this guy Mathews had a loose tongue. Did he ever talk about the young woman or what he was doing for the family? Anything at all?”

  “Not to me, but yeah, he likely did, though I couldn’t say to who in particular. He was one of those guys. He talked like he was a big shot.”

  “I’ll bet you became a pretty good judge of character owning a bar all those years,” Faz said, looking to feed Adams’s ego and keep him talking.

  “I wasn’t bad. Got tired of it, though. That’s why I sold it.”

  “Can you recall anything Mathews said about the girl?”

  “I’m sorry. I just remember him saying the parents hired him and that maybe the guy they thought killed her didn’t do it. Something like that. Best that I can remember anyway. I think he was just lonely and trying to get people to pay attention to him.”

  “And he never hinted at the information he’d uncovered?”

  “Never did,” Adams said.

  “And no one else in the bar who Mathews seemed to have a connection with? No one who he might have talked to about it in more detail?” Faz asked, trying again.

  Adams shook his head. “Like I said, nobody in there cared too much for him. I’m sorry, I wish I could offer more.”

  “What about anything unusual or out of the ordinary? You recall anything like that?”

  “Well, there was something. I’m not sure if it means much but . . .”

  Faz, at this point, would take anything. “What was that?”

  “Someone came into the bar one night, and he and Mathews sat at a table in the back talking.”

  “Did you know this person?”

  “Oh yeah,” Adams said with a smile.

  “From Silver Spurs?”

  “No. He was from Cedar Grove.”

  Jason Mathews sat at the table at the back of the Four Points Tavern, the table farthest away from the pool table and the shuffleboard, where he could expect a little privacy. He had a business negotiation to conduct. The Johansens might not want to profit from their daughter’s death, but Mathews saw no reason why he shouldn’t. He suspected the Johansens would sing a different tune when he told them he knew who was behind their daughter’s death. And if they didn’t? That really wasn’t Mathews’s problem. More money for him.

  He sipped his vodka tonic. He wasn’t sure how many he’d had, enough to calm his nerves and get him in the right frame of mind. He’d even dressed the part, putting on one of the three suits he’d kept from his days practicing law in Montana. The others he’d either outgrown or worn out. He gave those to a local Goodwill before he’d left Montana. Good riddance.

  The door to the bar pushed open and his visitor stepped in, stopping to allow his eyes to adjust to the dreary illumination provided mostly by neon lights glowing in the windows and mounted on the wall behind the bar.

  The visitor looked like he was about to approach the bar. Mathews pushed back his chair and stood, giving the man a nod. They hadn’t formally met, though Mathews had made enough noise around Cedar Grove that he had a hard time believing the guy didn’t know what he looked like. The fact that he had come to the bar meant he knew exactly who Mathews was, which was a good sign. It told Mathews he was on the right track.

  Mathews thrust his hand across the table when the man approached. “Mr. Witherspoon. I’m Jason Mathews.”

 

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