“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Peter said. “Losing someone you care about, it’s messy. It hurts, then it doesn’t. Then it hurts again.”
“When will itstophurting,” she asked. “I want it to stop.”
He wasn’t going to tell her that it never stopped hurting. Now wasn’t the time for that. Instead he thought about his post-traumatic stress, and the people he’d lost, and what he’d learned that helped.
“Don’t resist the pain,” he said. “Feel your feelings. Lean into it. Cry when you need to cry. That’s how you honor her memory. That’s how you begin to move forward. To heal.”
She sniffled again. “Well, that sucks.”
“Yes,” he said. “It does. But if you fight it, things get worse.”
They were quiet a moment. Traffic crept past downtown. “I guess Carlotta’s taking me to see a therapist today?”
“That’s great,” Peter said, thinking about the Oregon shrink who had set him on the path of working through his PTSD. Had saved his life, really. With how he was feeling about KT’s death, Peter knew he should call the man.
“I’m nervous,” Ellie said. “What’s it like? Have you ever been?”
“Many times,” he said. “It’s just a conversation. With a very kind person who understands what you’re going through. You’ll be great. And if you don’t like the therapist, Carlotta will find you a different one.”
“Can’t I just talk to you?” Her voice was small.
“You can always talk to me, kiddo. But you should also talk to someone who’s trained to help people with stuff like this. Someone who actually understands teenage girls.”
“I mean, you’re notsobad.” She sniffled again. “Can you come to dinner tonight?”
“I’ll do my very best. Call you later, okay?”
Then he hung up and called Captain Durant.
Because there was nothing more fun than getting yelled at by an angry policeman.
—
Peter’s call went straight to Durant’s voicemail. He left a message, saying he had updates.
As with calling Detective Kitzinger, it was a risk using his burner to call the captain. Although the police would need a court order to track his location, and Peter was betting that Durant had more pressing things to do.
Next he tried Kitzinger again, reasoning that she already knew his number, but this time she must have rejected the call because her phone didn’t even go to voicemail.
He was taking the exit toward the Tacoma Dome when Durant called back. “This better be good, Mr. Ash. The Conference for the Future starts in under twenty-four hours and my plate is very full.”
“I’m just checking to see if you’ve heard anything about Ellie’s father.”
“Nothing yet. Although something tells me that’s not your only question.”
“It’s not.” Peter told him about the man watching Stella’s house. “I lost him, but I managed to get the plate. June looked it up. The car belongs to Scott Enderby, the motel killer.”
“Mr. Ash, we’ve had this conversation. You need to stand down.”
“The guy left a phone behind,” Peter said, not specifying which guy. He didn’t want to give Durant any added motivation to chase him down. “It had an app on it with encrypted messages. The messages make it clear that there’s at least one more person involved in KT’s killing. And that Toyota pickup you thought belonged to Enderby? The messages make clear that it belongs to this new guy. He calls himself Circuit Rider.”
Durant gave an audible sigh. “Mr. Ash, why are you telling me this? Perhaps you don’t remember, but this investigation is officially closed.”
“That’s not all of it,” Peter said. “I went into the foothills east of Maple Valley and talked to a pair of gun guys who are supposed to be plugged into the wingnut community. They wouldn’t admit to any connection to the Messenger, but they had a serious arsenal of illegal Kalashnikovs.”
“Well, that’s concerning,” Durant said. “It’s also out of my jurisdiction. Give me the names and address and I’ll call the local sheriff personally, get somebody up there ASAP.”
“There’s more. These backwoods armorers had the equipment to make black-tip rounds. Armor-piercing. Restricted to law enforcement and military only.”
