Long Time Gone by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online Page B

years.
    “Look,” I said. “I know what it’s like when an ex-spouse dies. I’ve been there, remember? Divorces are all about the bad times, but when somebody dies, the good times resurface. They come back to bite you in the butt when you least expect it.”
    “The divorce wasn’t exactly over,” Ron said bleakly.
    “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Wasn’t I the best man when you and Amy got married?”
    “Rosemary was trying to regain custody,” he answered. “Of Heather. Tracy’s close enough to her eighteenth birthday that it’s not really an issue for her, but Rosemary claimed that since I’ve had Heather all to myself for so long, she wanted some time with her as well.”
    “When did all this come about?” I asked. “The last I heard, Rosemary was just out of jail and was going into a drug-treatment facility. Was she clean and sober then?”
    “That’s all a matter of opinion,” he replied. “Whenever she got involved in something, she always went overboard. While she was in treatment, she hooked up with this religious group, and she dove into that the same way she dove into drugs. It’s called Bread of Life Mission. They operate soup kitchens for the down-and-out all over the country. Rosemary ended up managing one for them. It’s down near the Tacoma Dome, corner of Fifth and Puyallup. She lived in an apartment over the storefront.”
    I thought of the nice home on Queen Anne Hill in which Ron and Amy Peters were raising their three children—Tracy, Heather, and Jared Beaumont Peters—a cute little guy who happens to be my namesake and who’s already charming the socks off the little girls in his kindergarten class.
    “Surely Rosemary didn’t expect Heather to go live there, did she?” I demanded.
    “As a matter of fact she did,” Ron replied. “In a run-down building that backs up to the railroad tracks and with drug-using bums lined up outside day and night.”
    “Sounds like the perfect place to raise a precocious, headstrong teenager,” I said. “If you want her to turn into a druggie, too, that is.”
    “That’s exactly what I told Rosemary on Friday,” Ron said. “And I told her I’d see her in hell first.”
    “Probably not the best choice of words,” I said. “Especially in light of what’s happened. What did she do?”
    “Called her lawyer, evidently. He’s the one who sicced the Tacoma cops on me. He told them I had threatened her. I didn’t, Beau. I swear. It was strictly a figure of speech. Rosemary’s been so big on hellfire and damnation lately that I thought I’d put the situation into terms she’d understand.”
    “So what happened?”
    “Two Tacoma homicide dicks turned up at my office down at Internal Affairs about three this afternoon. They claimed they were coming to notify next of kin, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I did that job long enough to know the drill. They notified me, all right. Then they asked as many questions as they thought they could get away with without having to read me my rights. You know where all this is going, don’t you?” he asked.
    Unfortunately I did. “Straight to the SHIT squad, right?”
    Ron nodded. “I wanted to give you a heads-up, Beau. I owe you that much.”
    “Believe me, Ron. You don’t owe me a thing.”
    “Thanks,” he said. “I needed a place to vent. Now I’d best get home. I have to tell the girls what happened—before someone else does.”
    For some time after Ron left, I sat and wrestled with the uncomfortable knowledge that one of my best friends was about to come under the scrutiny of my colleagues at the Special Homicide Investigation Team.
    A year earlier Tacoma’s chief of police had run off the rails. He had used a gun to murder his estranged wife and had then taken his own life while their horrified young children observed the carnage from a few yards away. Subsequent investigations had revealed that for years Tacoma PD had either ignored or covered up reports of domestic