Niki spoke up. “We know it was someone young enough that Gilman called him or her ‘kid.’ ”
“Right,” said Grady.
Leda said, “Somebody newer, maybe? Perhaps an underling or an intern, or—as his wife suspected—his assistant. Wait. I don’t actually know how old she was.”
“Midtwenties, if I recall,” said Grady. “Now, Abbot Keyes said he suspected the wife, and Beckmeyer didn’t suspect anybody,” Grady said as he scribbled. “Suspicions don’t add up to much if we can’t find facts to support them.”
“Fair enough,” Leda said. “But we’re narrowing the pool, and that’s good.”
Grady paused. “Only if Janette wasn’t lying to protect herself. She’s still in the suspect queue, herself. If she honestly thought that Kim was sleeping with her husband, it might’ve stung her pride—even if she hated the guy.”
Niki asked, “Did she have an alibi?”
He shook his head. “Nope. She was home alone the evening of the murders.” He tapped the pen on the card as he considered the possibilities. “And the cheap hotel where her husband died, in a distant part of town… that’s the kind of place you’d take a lover, if you wanted to keep it quiet.”
Leda interjected, “You said the room was paid for in cash, using his son’s ID. It does sound like a sexy rendezvous—the kind you don’t want your richly divorced wife to find out about. She’d already sued one ex for everything she could get.”
“Over infidelity,” Niki pointed out.
“Right—so she’d be especially sensitive to it. Maybe.”
Grady very much wanted to join the enthusiasm, but he instinctively held back. “You’re right, obviously. But something about the whole thing bugs me. A lovers’ clandestine meeting in a mediocre hotel? If his wife found out, I don’t think she would’ve believed it was Kevin’s doing. She’s too smart for that. Then again, it’s always possible that Christopher was dumber than he seemed and thought he could get away with it exactly that easily.”
Niki slumped into the other chair and scooted it back against the wall. “This is hard,” she griped.
“Sure it’s hard. If it wasn’t hard, every idiot with a podcast would do it,” Grady replied.
Leda let out a single syllable grunt that sounded like it was meant to be a laugh. “Every idiot with a podcast does do it. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Too many people who think they’re experts, not enough actual experts?”
Grady went back to looking at his index card, and the chicken-scratch handwriting upon it. “That’s one of the problems. But there are bigger ones. People lie. People forget. People have their own weird motives and suspicions that have nothing to do with reality—they imagine grudges and motives that don’t exist. The difference between an amateur and a professional…” He heard footsteps banging down the short hall outside the office. “Is that the pros try hard not to do those things.”
A series of fast knocks rapped upon the open door. “Hello there, darlings—oh!” A middle-aged Asian man stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He wore a killer black suit and the brightest white sideburns that Grady had ever personally set eyes on. “Darlings, and… some random gent I’ve never seen before. Welcome to my bar, stranger. I hope these girls haven’t looped you into their murder-board shenanigans.”
“Grady Merritt, Seattle PD.” He held out his hand for a shake. “And if you want the truth, I’m afraid I’ve been enabling these shenanigans.”
The newcomer accepted the handshake. “Ben Kane,” he said. “Owner and general manager of Castaways. It’s a pleasure.” He clapped his hands together, as if to signal a change in conversation. “Well! Matt told me you were back here, and I’ve got all the flyers up for tonight. You’ve got half an hour until showtime, darling. Brush your hair, touch up your lipstick, do some vocal warm-ups… whatever makes you happy. You’ve already got a crowd.”
Leda looked a little green around the gills. “A crowd?”
“Ten or twelve people? But they’re definitely here to see you, my psongstress. A couple of them were actually holding the handbills I printed up.”
Grady could almost hear the silent p that Leda hated so much. “Maybe I’ll stick around for the show.”
She shrugged awkwardly. “Oh, don’t feel like you have to. I do these all the time. If you’ve got somewhere to be…”
“I do not!” Grady fibbed. “Half an hour, you say?”
Ben bobbed his head. “The flyers say six thirty, so you should definitely be onstage by seven. Hell, honey—I’ll even buy the first round. Except for Leda. She always drinks for free. The rest of you plebs only get one drink apiece.”
“Sounds more than fair to me. Excuse me for a second? I just need to make a phone call, and I’ll go grab a spot at a table. Before they’re all taken.” Then Grady ducked out of the office into the hall and pulled out his phone to call Molly.
Her cell phone rang twice before she picked up. “Hey, Dad. Are you on your way home? Should I put a pizza in the oven?”
“Throw one in for yourself, would you? I’m going to be here another hour or two at least. But I’ll be home before too late, don’t worry.”
“You’re not out binge drinking are you? You gave me a very firm talk about binge drinking.”
He chuckled. “Well, I am at a bar—but no. No binge drinking. One drink, because the first one’s free.”
“Why’s the first one free?”
“Because I’m a guest of the entertainment, apparently.”
“What?” she asked.
He leaned against the wall, grinning to himself. “The psychic travel agent does a karaoke show at this bar on Capitol Hill. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. Wait.” He shifted his phone to the other ear. “Aren’t you still supposed to be at work? I don’t hear any work sounds.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “You aren’t at work, are you.”
“I am… not at work.” Before he could ask why, she said, “A pipe broke and flooded the seating area. It’ll be a day or two before it’s all cleaned up, so I won’t be at work tomorrow, either. Get used to it, dude.”
“Aw, man. Now I feel bad for leaving you alone tonight. I should come back.”
Molly wasn’t having it. “No, you should stay right there and have a little fun with your friends. I’m practically an adult—an adult with a PlayStation and Netflix, and absolutely no plans to have anybody over or do anything exciting in your absence.”
He leaned his forehead against the wall. “If you swear to God.”
“I swear to God that I have no plans to bring anybody over to the house, or order excessive amounts of delivery food, or anything like that. I also swear to God that I think you should totally stay there and enjoy yourself. When’s the last time you left the house for something fun?”
“Not since…” He started to say “since you were a little kid,” but in truth the answer was even worse. “Not since before you were born.”