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They’re just the first. Could be he’s just warming up.
The road curved as they approached Astoria, the lights along the riverfront twinkling.
“South end of town,” Voss said, “before you get to
the roundabout and the bridge over the bay, not the big one over the Columbia.”
“I know that.” He had to slow through the heart of the town, where taillights and stoplights greeted them. Under the overpass leading to the Astoria-Megler Bridge linking Oregon to Washington, past businesses tucked shoulder to shoulder along the highway, he drove, cars moving to the side when his lights were spotted.
“There!” She pointed to the cross street that he’d already spotted on the GPS, and he cut across traffic and up the hill for several blocks before Voss pointed to another corner where a rundown two-story apartment complex came into view. Shaped like an L around the parking lot, it was two toned at this point, in the middle of a much-needed paint job.
Cade checked the lot as he parked. No white Buick. A quick scan of the streets didn’t provide one either.
He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.
“Up top. Unit 201, on the end, next to the stairs.”
“Got it.” Cade got out of the SUV and made his way to the stairs and up the single flight, Voss right behind. He knocked on the door, stood to one side, and waited. His fingers gripped his weapon. Voss already had her own sidearm out of its holster, thumbing off the safety.
Just in case.
Footsteps sounded from inside and a dog began to bark loudly, baying as the door swung open and a short, round woman pushing sixty peered through a slim opening held in place by a small chain. She appeared to have just awoken, her graying hair pinned up at odd angles, her eyes squinting behind wire-rimmed granny-type glasses.
“Denise Aimes?” Cade asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Detective Cade Ryder and this is my partner, Detective Patricia Voss.” She squinted as he pulled out his wallet and showed his badge and ID. “We’re here looking for Bruce Hollander.”
“Of course you are,” she said sourly over the ruckus the dog was making. “Monty, shut up!” she yelled at the dog, who ignored her. To Cade she said, “I figured you’d show up and so did Bruce. He left early this morning. I wasn’t even up yet, but I heard him tear out of here in that beater of a car of his. And guess what? He left me a present. Monty here. Lucky me.”
The beagle’s nose appeared in the crack of the partially open door.
“You have any idea where he may have gone?”
“None,” she said.
“Mind if we come in and talk to you?”
Denise slid a glance at Voss. “Mind if you put your damned gun away? They kinda make me nervous.” But she unhooked the chain. It rattled as it dropped. She opened the door and reminded the dog to stay rather than bolt onto the portico.
Dressed in a rainbow-colored kimono, she led them three steps into a small living room stuffed with mismatched furniture. “Look, I know you want to know all about Bruce, but I can’t tell you much. He got out of the big house, needed a place to crash, and I said, ‘Okay, but you gotta get a job, pay rent, and be out in two months; that’s what I told him. Well, the only thing he did to keep his promise was to vamoose.” She rolled her eyes and waved them into two overstuffed chairs and fell onto a well-worn couch. Monty kept near the door.
“Can you tell us where he’s been the last few days? Give us a timeline of when you saw him?”
“Well, not hardly. You’re lucky you caught me between shifts. During the day I work at Tommy’s Boat Dock, running the register, and four nights a week I waitress down at Barbie’s Ales and Eats in Warranto, across the bay, y’know. Here’s the funny thing about it. Tommy and Barbie, they were married when I was first hired, but they split the sheets a couple of years ago and I still work for the both of ’em.” She laughed at the thought and reached onto the coffee table for her e-cig before lighting up and breathing out a cloud of fragrant vapor that dissipated quickly. “Anyway, most of the time, Bruce was gone, doin’ whatever. He claimed to be lookin’ for a job or meetin’ with his parole officer or . . .” She let the sentence drop as a sudden thought hit her. “Hey, wait a minute. Why’re you here? Is he in trouble? Jesus, I knew I should never have let that SOB in. Bruce has been nothin’ but trouble all his life, but I figured he could use a break. Just call me stupid.” Another big lungful of vapor and Cade got down to business.
“Have you ever seen him with this man?” he asked, scooting a picture of Nate Moretti across the coffee table.
“I never seen him with anyone. Like I said, we were like ships passing in the night, only my ship was sailing to work and his . . . God knows.” She picked up the picture of Nate Moretti and frowned, drawing on her e-cig. “This is the guy who’s missin’, right? I seen it on the news.”
“Yes.”
“You think Bruce had something to do with that?” As the light dawned, her eyes widened. “Wait a gosh-darn minute. You’re not tryin’ to connect him with those murders, are ya?” She took a long drag on her e-cig. “He wouldn’t do that,” and before Cade could cut in she added in another cloud, “Yeah, I know he had his troubles in his past but that was because he was young and dumb and into drugs and God knows what all, but he’s outgrown that.” She glanced at the dog, who was still in position at the door, nose close to the panels. “I guess Bruce is just into petnapping now. I asked him where he got Monty and he said the local shelter, but that there dog?” She pointed a puffy, blue-tipped finger at the animal. “I’m bettin’ he’s a purebred and he belongs to someone. I used to work as a dog groomer, so I can spot one that’s been loved. And that one there, someone’s missin’ him.”
“We’re in touch with the owner,” Voss said.
“Then take him with you when you go.” Aimes eyed the dog. “Monty doesn’t like me much, nor Bruce either. Fussy little thing, that beagle.”
