None of these had gone to court. Charges were dropped. I wouldn’t expect any less. Monique had friends in high places. She’d somehow managed to get me into college without me having graduated from high school. Someone had doctored my records for her and I enrolled under an assumed name, complete with fake IDs and a diploma.
One trespassing charge is a little more serious than the other. She broke into an apartment and was caught inside. The apartment belonged to a recent parolee, a man who had abducted and raped a twelve-year-old girl. The report didn’t say what she was looking for. Probably evidence of other crimes.
Reading between the lines, I can imagine a judge giving her the benefit of the doubt and scolding her not to do it again. The man whose apartment she broke into was a scumbag. She was a prominent figure. A public figure. She was well known for her work as a violent crime victims’ advocate.
Ronnie included some news articles too. The scumbag had kidnapped another little girl while he was on parole. He didn’t kill the girl but he was convicted and went back to prison. A second article said he was killed by another prisoner. Prisoners have daughters and wives and sisters too. They don’t take well to child molesters or child rapists.
I stop reading. We’ll need DNA to prove the body is Monique, but I have no doubt it is. But why was she here? I wonder if she sold her own house and was checking out Port Townsend as a place to move. But she was always more organized than that. She would have found what she wanted first and then sold her house in Tacoma. Her house was beautiful, and I can’t imagine her wanting to live in Port Townsend. Of course, that house was huge for one person to live in.
I flip to the next page and find the answer.
Ronnie checked several real estate broker sites and Monique’s Tacoma house wasn’t up for sale. Ronnie searched the county records for the deed and the house was still in Monique’s name. Ronnie checked the deed to the rental house and turned up the Donaldsons’ name and a current address in Sarasota, Florida. She even included a website photo of the retirement community where they lived. In the margin were the telephone number of the HOA and the Donaldsons’ direct line. Ronnie wasn’t lying when she said she was bored to death.
The next pages are a shock. One page is a photo of Leanne Delmont and a news article of her murder. Another page is a copy of a news article about Monique’s work as a crime victims’ advocate. The last page is a photo of the youngish woman I saw in the shattered picture frame on Monique’s bedroom dresser. It’s a graduation photo, and the caption reads something about Gabrielle Delmont and mentions a son, Sebastian. Michael Rader told Monique he would find and kill Gabrielle if Monique didn’t confirm that I was alive and tell him where I was staying. I need to find Gabrielle. Ronnie hasn’t included any information on her other than the photos. I hope that doesn’t mean there is nothing to be found.
I rake the papers into a stack and shut the folder. Why was Monique in Port Townsend? Why that particular house? Is that important? It had a view of the bay. It’s semi-private. She didn’t make friends, according to Mrs. Perkins. She didn’t invite Mrs. Perkins into her house. Is that important? Was she keeping a low profile? I had experience with that, of course. Was she trying to find me? She must have had some reason to come here. Maybe she saw my picture in the paper. If so, why didn’t she come to the Sheriff’s Office in Port Hadlock? Someone had taken the picture of me there.
Could it have been her?
Ronnie comes in carrying two cups of coffee and a bag with bagels. “Morning, boss.”
“Never call me that,” I say, but not in a mean way. After all, she brought coffee and bagels. “I’m not your boss.”
I am your supervisor, however, so you can suck up all you want.
She sits at my desk and I check my coffee. Just the way I like it. With caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine.
“I’ve been going through the info you collected yesterday. Good job.”
She smiles and blows the steam across the top of her cup. Ronnie drinks candy coffee. Latte, Frappuccino, whatever. Usually with