can I do you for?”
“I’m working a missing-persons case,” I told him. “I was wondering if you could run a name for me. I need to know if she has any outstanding warrants and if there’s something I should be worried about if and when I find her.”
I’m sure Internal Affairs wouldn’t have approved, but between Scotty and me no further conversation was needed. “Who are we looking for?” my son asked.
I gave him Naomi Dale’s name and listened as he typed it into a keyboard. Compared to me, he’s a lightning-fast typist. I’m still strictly a hunt-and-peck sort of guy. While Scotty was doing the search, I held my breath. If he did turn up a mug shot, would he notice the striking resemblance between Naomi Dale and his own sister?
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a real winner,” he told me, finally. “If you’re looking for violations, take your pick. We’ve got driving under the influence, driving without a valid license, driving without valid insurance, disturbing the peace, shoplifting (twice), as well as a drunk and disorderly. She’s been arrested numerous times, but she’s served surprisingly little jail time. On each of the traffic violations, she was given fines, which she paid. On the shoplifting charges, she was given suspended sentences. For disturbing the peace, she was given a ten-day jail sentence, which she served. The drunk-and-disorderly case was dismissed because the cop in question didn’t show up in court.”
“In other words, she’s likely to be a handful.”
“Yes,” Scott agreed, “and should probably be handled with care. I can send you a mug shot if you like.”
“Please,” I said. “And do you happen to have an address?”
“I don’t know how good it is, but the one that’s listed here is from that last shoplifting charge, and it’s over in West Seattle. Still, that address is from more than a year ago, so it may be out of date.” He rattled it off, and I jotted it down.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Nope,” I said, “that’s all.”
“Got it,” Scotty replied, “I’m sending now.”
A second later I heard the distinctive chime of arriving messages.
“Watch yourself out there,” he warned.
“Will do,” I told him. “And thank you. You’ve been a huge help. How’s Cherisse by the way, and how are things going for you?”
“Are pregnant women always cranky?”
Obviously the answer to my question should have been, “Not so good.” And I’m pretty sure my reply to his query wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear either.
“In my experience they are,” I told my son. “They’re mad as hell about anything and everything most of the time, and the closer it comes to delivery, the worse it gets.”
“Terrific,” Scotty muttered, “that’s just great!”
“When are we going to get cracking on putting that crib together?” I asked.
“My day off is Wednesday,” he said. “Want to drop by then?”
“Sure thing,” I told him. “Text me and let me know when I should show up.”
I enlarged Naomi’s mug shot to full screen and spent some time studying it. This more recent image showed Naomi Dale to be even more of a dead ringer for my daughter, Kelly, than the school photo had been. Mel maintains that men are far too literal-minded. They tend to see what they expect to see and nothing else. That was evidently true here. Clearly Naomi’s resemblance to his sister had gone completely over Scotty’s head, but my call to him had at least put one worry to rest. Naomi had a record. Her prints were on file. If she was stowed in a morgue someplace, someone would have noticed.
My next step was to go looking for a glimpse of Naomi around the time she left Harborview. It would have helped to know exactly when she arrived and when she was admitted, but I knew better than to tackle the hospital directly asking for patient information—HIPAA rules and all that. What I needed instead was a work-around. Since I’d recently added the name of Sergeant Albert Thorne of the Arson/Bomb Squad to my contacts list, I dialed his number next. The ABS is part of Seattle PD, but because of Al’s regular interactions with the Seattle Fire Department, I thought he might be my best bet.
“Hey, Beau,” he said once I identified myself. “How’s it hanging?”
Al’s telephone persona hasn’t changed in decades.
“What’s up?” he added. “You interested in bluffing your way into another arson investigation anytime soon?”
With Al’s help I’d gained unauthorized access to the scene of an arson/homicide investigation. We’d both