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“Hi.”
“Wanted you to know,” he said brusquely. All business. “We’ve got a visual on Bruce Hollander.”
“Tell me.” She put the phone on speaker and as she wound her hair into a knot on her head, snapping a band around it, then stepped into clean jeans and a sweatshirt, he relayed his conversation with the Seaside PD and also told her about his meeting with Denise Aimes, Hollander’s cousin.
“So he has an alibi for the night of Violet Sperry’s homicide?”
“That’s right.”
She let out a sigh. “Well, here’s another kicker. The hair found on the painter’s tape?”
“Yeah?”
“Doesn’t belong to a dog. It’s feline.”
“A cat?”
“Bingo.”
“But—”
“I know . . . all the dogs.”
“Crap.” He paused a second, then said, “We still need to talk to this guy. Hollander’s involved. We just have to figure out how.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I can be there in twenty.”
“Meet you there.” He clicked off and she wasted no time calling Biggs, filling him in and ending with, “I’m on my way.”
“Pick me up. I’m ready.” In the background she heard Biggs’s wife’s groggy voice protesting, but then he clicked off and by the time she’d driven to his home, with its fresh coat of gray paint, he was waiting, leaning against the porch support. At the sight of her Honda pulling up to the curb, he jogged to the passenger side and slid inside.
“Explain to me again why we’re interested in this dude.” Biggs snapped his seat belt into place as she drove toward the highway, merging with the thin flow of traffic heading south. “What’s the ex-con got to do with the Sperry homicide?”
“That’s what we hope to find out.” She slowed for the roundabout, then hit the gas on the far side and sped across the bridge spanning Youngs Bay, where water dark as pitch stretched out on either side of 101.
Her pulse was ticking and she felt a mix of apprehension and excitement. This could be the turning point in the case. As she squinted into the night, the wheels of her car humming along the dry pavement, she reminded herself to keep a cool head. Bruce Hollander could turn out to have nothing to do with the Sperry murder. This could all be a wild-goose chase. Cade Ryder had been wrong before.
Still, what did she have to lose?
* * *
Cade had been on the phone the entire drive to Seaside, not just alerting Kayleigh of what was going down, but also keeping in contact with the Seaside PD.
The town itself had a carnival feel to it and had been a destination for Portlanders seeking sand and surf for over a hundred years. Its long promenade stretched along the shoreline of the Pacific Ocean, separating the heart of the town from the beach. Broadway was the main street of the town, linking the Pacific Coast highway to the business district and ending in a turnaround at the prom. As such, Broadway was lined with shops and warehouse-type malls, taverns, and amusements like putt-putt golf and bumper cars. In the summer, the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians, the streets clogged with cars, bicycles, and surreys.
Now, near midnight, at the end of May, the streets were quiet, cars parked in lots or along the street, a few people strolling the sidewalk. Smokers were hanging close to the entrances of taverns, where music and laughter rolled out of open doors, but the bumper cars, T-shirt and souvenir shops, and ice cream vendors had closed for the night.
It was the hope that Hollander would come quietly, and it was the expectation that he would not. Rather than risk a shoot-out in the brewery, where bystanders could be wounded or killed, the cops were situated around both the front and back of the building, watching the exits. Dillinger, a deputy situated inside, communicated to them through a hidden mic. They were all wired up, able to speak to one another.
“Pretty fancy for your little town,” Cade had remarked when given his earpiece.
“That’s what we’re known for down here: fancy,” Swanson had remarked, his voice deep with sarcasm.
Kayleigh and her partner had arrived. They were also linked by headsets and taking positions on the street.
Now it was only a matter of time.
So they waited.
