Three weeks later, Lisbon absently doodled two stick figures on skis in the corner of her notebook as she sat at her desk with her phone pressed to her ear, waiting for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.
"Hello?" a woman's voice answered on the fifth ring, a little breathless.
"Mrs. Ramseth?" Lisbon asked.
"Speaking."
"My name is Teresa Meyers. I'm a reporter with the local paper. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
"Meyers," Mrs. Ramseth repeated thoughtfully. "Are you the one who wrote that lovely article on Clem Greenbaum last week?"
"That's me," Lisbon said, pleased.
"Clem is a wonderful man. I've known him for many years. He's done great things for this town. It's nice to see his work recognized."
"He's an interesting guy. I really enjoyed talking to him."
"Well, I'm glad to hear Givens has finally got someone over there who knows what they're doing," Mrs. Ramseth said approvingly.
"You know Givens, too?" Lisbon asked curiously.
"You work in city government long enough, eventually you cross paths with anybody who has anything to do with anything in this town," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Now, dear, what can I do for you?"
"I'd like to interview you," Lisbon explained. "That article I wrote on Mr. Greenbaum is part of a series I'm working on about public servants in Salt Lake. When I told Mr. Greenbaum about the concept, he said I should talk to you. I'd like you to be the topic of my next article."
Mrs. Ramseth laughed in surprise. "Goodness, why would you want to write an article about me?"
"You've worked for the city for over fifty years. Broke a lot of barriers and contributed materially to some landmark developments in the city. I think our readers would find your lifetime of public service inspiring. I know I do."
"That's very kind of you to say, dear," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Very well, then. I suppose there's no harm in it. At my age, if you say something bad about me, at least I won't have to live with it long," she joked.
Lisbon laughed. "Something tells me that's not going to be an issue."
"So how does this work? I've never been interviewed by a reporter before."
"I'd like to meet with you in person. I'll bring a photographer along. You and I will sit down and chat, and then I'll write up the article for next week's feature."
"When do you want to meet?"
"Are you available this evening?"
"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Ramseth said. "I'm going to be working late on a public works contract. I can't for the life of me figure out how it could have happened, but it seems that my boss mixed up some of the paperwork and the numbers aren't adding up. I'll need a couple hours to get to the bottom of it. But I won't bore you with the details. Would tomorrow work instead?"
"That's fine. Six o clock?"
"Let's make it seven," Mrs. Ramseth decided. "If you're bringing a photographer, I want to get my hair done. Why don't we meet at Mel's Diner over on Maple? They have wonderful strawberry pie. I've been going there for years."
"Seven o clock at Mel's it is," Lisbon said. "I'm looking forward to meeting you in person, Mrs. Ramseth."
"Please, dear," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Call me Dorothy. I may be old, but I'm not as old-fashioned as I look."
"All right, then, Dorothy," Lisbon said, smiling into the phone. "If you'll call me Teresa."
"It's a deal. I'm looking forward to meeting you as well, Teresa," Dorothy said. "Something tells me we're going to be good friends."
Xxx
The following day, Lisbon took Heather over to Mel's Diner to wait for Mrs. Ramseth at the appointed time.
"So, you got any plans to go to Scottsdale anytime soon?" Heather asked once they'd settled into a booth at Mel's while Lisbon frowned at her watch. Mrs. Ramseth was late.
"Scottsdale?" Lisbon said blankly. "Why would I go to—oh." Belatedly, she remembered her cover. The one in which she had just moved here from Scottsdale, Arizona. "Er—I'm sure we'll go back to visit friends and family at some point. But probably, uh, not until the fall."
Heather frowned at her. "But what about your brother's new baby? Isn't he due in July? I thought you said you wanted to go meet him. You sounded really sad about not getting to see them as much now that you're here."
"Oh," Lisbon said, cursing herself for mixing up her real life and her cover life in the details she'd shared with Heather, who had become a good friend. Stan and Karen were expecting a new baby in July and she had been feeling blue over the prospect of missing the baptism. She must have mentioned something about it over one of their lunches together. "I do want to go meet the new baby. But I—I don't think it will be possible for us to get out there by July."
"Out there?" Heather said with a laugh. "Don't you mean 'down there?' Isn't it basically due south of here?"
"Right—well… you know what I mean," Lisbon said, flustered.
Heather scrutinized her. "Is everything okay? You seem kinda distracted."
Lisbon checked her watch again. "I'm worried about Mrs. Ramseth. She's fifteen minutes late."
Heather shrugs. "So she's an awesome old lady who can't keep track of time. Happens to the best of us."
"I guess," Lisbon said, unconvinced. "She seemed pretty sharp to me, though. She didn't strike me as the type to be late."
"Okay, well, while we're waiting, I have something I wanted to ask you."
Lisbon glanced at her, wary. "What's that?"
"I'm dying to meet Patrick," Heather said. "Do you think we could set up a double date sometime? I told Caleb some of the stories you told me about him and he wants to meet him, too."
"Sure," Lisbon said, still distracted. She checked her phone. "Mrs. Ramseth sent me a text confirming the time a half an hour before we came over here. I don't understand what could be keeping her."
"Isn't she like, eighty-five?" Heather said, impressed. "That's pretty cool that she knows how to text."
"Yeah," Lisbon said absently. "Mr. Greenbaum said she refused to retire. She's been working for the city since she was twenty-two years old."
"And you said she was instrumental in some of the city's major progressive reforms, right?" Heather said. "That's so badass."
"Yeah." Lisbon looked at her watch again. She had a bad feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. She stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna go look around."
"Look around for what?" Heather said, startled.
"I don't know," Lisbon said, antsy. "I just want to—scope things out."
"All right," Heather said dubiously. "I guess I'll scope with you."
Heather followed Lisbon out of the diner, watching her scan the street for signs of Mrs. Ramseth. Having failed to catch sight of her in the front, Lisbon walked around to the back of the restaurant. She and Heather had parked on the street in front of the diner, but there was a small parking lot behind it—maybe Mrs. Ramseth usually parked back there.
There were only two cars in the parking lot, a beat up silver Honda, and a baby blue classic Cadillac in mint condition.
"That's Mrs. Ramseth's car," Lisbon stated, looking at the empty Cadillac. A hot stone of dread sank into her stomach.
Heather glanced at her. "How can you tell?"
"Mr. Greenbaum told me about it," Lisbon said. "It was a gift from her husband." She looked around. The far side of the parking lot led to a poorly lit alley on the other side of the diner. Lisbon started towards the alley. Her hand went to her hip automatically, fumbling for a second before she remembered that she no longer carried a gun. She picked up her pace.
Heather followed. "Where are you go-?" she stopped, nearly running into Lisbon as she came to an abrupt halt.
Mrs. Ramseth lay on the cracked asphalt in the alley, her eyes wide and staring in death.
Heather covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my God."
"Call 911," Lisbon instructed, and knelt down at Mrs. Ramseth's side. She put her fingers to Mrs. Ramseth's neck and confirmed there was no pulse, though her staring eyes were enough to tell Lisbon she was beyond saving. She looked into Mrs. Ramseth's eyes and frowned. Her eyes were bloodshot.
Lisbon looked at her more closely. The skin around Mrs. Ramseth's nose and mouth was pale, almost blue. Cyanosis? Lisbon wondered. That would suggest—
She stood and looked around for signs of a struggle. She didn't see anything in the alley, though. She walked back to the parking lot.
Mrs. Ramseth's keys were in the driver's side door.
Lisbon frowned and looked over at Heather, talking to 911 dispatch over at the entrance of the alley, twenty yards away.
She scanned the ground. Fresh tire marks led out of the parking lot, as though someone had left in a hurry. She took out her phone and took several pictures of the marks—out of habit, more than anything else.
She scoured the area, but found no more clues. She went back to Heather's side.
Heather hung up the phone, her face pale. "Ambulance will be here in ten minutes."
Lisbon nodded wordlessly. God. If only she'd thought to come out here sooner—
Heather moved towards the body.
Lisbon flung out an arm automatically to stop her. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," Heather said, startled. "Shouldn't we…I dunno. Cover her up or something?"
Lisbon shook her head. "No. You don't want to compromise the scene."
"Compromise the scene?" Heather echoed, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"I think she was murdered," Lisbon said grimly.
"Murdered?" Heather repeated. "She's like—a thousand years old. Why would anyone want to murder her?"
"I don't know," Lisbon admitted.
Heather looked down at Mrs. Ramseth dubiously. "She could have just had a heart attack or something."
"Maybe," Lisbon said. But she doubted it. "Autopsy should be able to tell us for sure." Of course, she didn't have the authority to order autopsies anymore. Or review their results, for that matter.
Two squad cars showed up a few minutes later, about a minute before the ambulance turned up.
Lisbon approached the man who appeared to be in charge. "Hi," she said. "Are you the lead officer in this case?"
"That's me," the officer said, a burly man with the name 'Tennant' printed on his badge. "Bob Tennant. You the one who called it in?"
"Yes, me and my friend found Mrs. Ramseth in the alley," Lisbon confirmed. She showed him her press credentials. "We were supposed to meet Mrs. Ramseth for an interview."
He looked at her credentials with a weather eye. "Press, huh?" he sighed. "I mighta known I couldn't just catch an easy one for once."
Lisbon ignored this. "I noticed Mrs. Ramseth's eyes were bloodshot."
"So? Maybe she was a bit of a drinker. That's not a crime."
"And she has signs of cyanosis around her nose and mouth," Lisbon persisted.
He looked at her like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Cya-what now?"
"Cyanosis," Lisbon repeated. "It's what causes the skin to turn blue when the cells are deprived of oxygen. I mention it because the bloodshot eyes and the cyanosis around the nose and mouth are signs of suffocation."
"Suffocation?" Tennant repeated. He drew himself up and wagged a finger under her nose. "This little old lady obviously died of natural causes. Don't get any ideas into your head about turning this into some crazy story to drum up fear among your readers."
Lisbon restrained the impulse to break the finger he was wagging in her face. "Do you think it's possible she was mugged?"
"She's got her wallet and her phone on her," Tennant said smugly. "No mugging."
Lisbon controlled her temper with some difficulty. "How do you explain the keys in her door, then?"
"Keys?" Tennant repeated. "What about her keys?"
Lisbon gestured to the Cadillac. "Her keys are still in the driver's side door. Why would she leave her keys in the door if she was just walking to the restaurant? For that matter, why would she come into the alley at all? There's another entrance on the side of the building that's much closer to the parking lot entrance. She came here regularly. She would have known it was faster to go that way."
Tennant turned red. "Maybe she wanted to go the scenic route. How the hell should I know?"
"Someone could have grabbed her right when she got out of the car and dragged her over to the alley so they wouldn't be seen," Lisbon said. "That would explain the keys, and why she was in the alley in the first place."
"You're writing fiction," Tennant sneered. "Leave this to the professionals, okay? We've got this."
"And there are fresh tire marks on the ground near the parking lot entrance," Lisbon continued, undeterred. "It looks like someone peeled out of here in a hurry."
"Right," Tennant sneered. "Now we're in an action movie. Because that makes for a more exciting story, doesn't it? Well, you can forget it, lady. You're not making a name for yourself off this one. It was the old lady's time, that's all."
"You're not even going to order an autopsy to be sure?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "If someone did kill her, you're going to just let them get away with it because you're too lazy to check out perfectly valid leads?"
Tennant rolled his eyes. "If I need advice from the press on how to do my job, I'll be sure to call you. O'Hara," he barked, waving to a young uniformed officer standing by the Cadillac and jotting down the license plate number.
The young woman looked up from her notebook and came over. "Yes, sir?"
"Can you please see that Ms.—"
"Meyers," Lisbon supplied. "Teresa Meyers."
Tennant waved his hand dismissively. "That Mrs. Meyers stays clear of the scene so we can let the fine people from the medical examiner's office do their work?"
"Yes, sir," O'Hara said, and tucked her fingers under Lisbon's elbow with a gentle, but firm grasp.
Lisbon submitted to being dismissed from the crime scene—because it was a crime scene, she thought mulishly—with an ill grace.
"Don't mind Tennant," O'Hara said affably. "He's old school. Not so good with the warm and fuzzy side of the job."
Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, well. He's making a big mistake." She hesitated. "Listen—I know how it is when you're a beat cop. I know he's calling the shots. But for what it's worth—it looks to me like there was foul play here." She explained about the cyanosis and the keys in a low voice.
"Huh," O'Hara said, bemused. She looked at the Cadillac. "It does seem strange she would go that way when the entrance over on this side is only a few yards away."
Taking heart, Lisbon pointed out the tire marks near the parking lot entrance. "Think you could get forensics to take a few pictures of those, just to get them in the evidence log?" she asked hopefully.
O'Hara shrugged. "Can't hurt. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," Lisbon said gratefully. "Look, I know you can't talk to the press about an ongoing investigation, but if there's anything I can do to help, will you please call me?" She handed O'Hara her card.
O'Hara tucked the card into her pocket. "Can't promise anything, but if something comes up, I'll let you know." She touched the tip of her hat. "Thanks for the tip."
Lisbon nodded in return and turned to Heather, hovering near the entrance to the parking lot and still looking pale. "You okay?" she asked her colleague.
Heather nodded. "Yeah. You?"
"I'm all right," Lisbon said, though her heart was heavy. She'd really been looking forward to hearing Mrs. Ramseth's stories. Now she'd never have a chance to hear her tell them.
"You were amazing," Heather said. "How'd you know all that?"
Lisbon blinked. "Know all what?"
Heather gestured vaguely. "You know, about securing the scene, and the suffocation, and everything."
"Oh. I, uh…I watch a lot of CSI," Lisbon said lamely.
Heather shook her head. "Damn. You must really be a big fan."
"Yeah," Lisbon said gloomily. "Can't get enough of it."
Xxx
The following evening, Lisbon put in a call to Salt Lake PD and asked for Officer O'Hara.
"Oh, hi," O'Hara said when Lisbon identified herself. "Listen, I talked to a friend of mine in forensics. He said you were right about the cyanosis and the bloodshot eyes being possible signs of suffocation. And he confirmed the tire marks looked fresh based on the photos I sent him. But he can't really do much unless the officer in charge sends the body for an autopsy. And Tennant has no intention of requesting an autopsy. He says it's open and shut."
"I see," Lisbon said, her heart sinking. "Thank you for your time."
"No problem. I wish I could do more. I'll let you know if something changes."
"I appreciate that," Lisbon said, and hung up.
Jane looked up from the pot of homemade spaghetti sauce he was making. "That about the Ramseth case? Any news?"
"Nothing good," Lisbon sighed, and explained the situation with Tennant and the autopsy.
"Hm," Jane said, pondering. "Is he the only one who can order the autopsy?"
"Someone from the family could request it, but it has to be properly authorized. The M.E. or a judge could authorize it, but they're unlikely to do it unless the officer in charge requests it," Lisbon explained.
"What would normally cause the police to request an autopsy?"
"Something suggesting the person died under suspicious circumstances," Lisbon said. "But I already pointed out the physical evidence, and Tennant doesn't want to hear it."
"So in this case, you'd need something that made it beyond obvious that there was foul play involved," Jane mused.
"That's about it," Lisbon said.
Jane came over to where she was sitting at the kitchen counter and kissed her temple. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to find her."
"I just kept thinking if only I'd come out earlier, maybe I could have protected her," Lisbon said, turning her face into his shoulder. "I could have stopped this from happening."
Jane rubbed comforting circles on the small of her back. "You couldn't have known."
"I suppose," Lisbon said grudgingly, lifting her head. "It's just—it's like Tennant thinks it's no big deal that she died, just because she was older. But she had such an amazing life. I spent all of today looking into her, and she did some really amazing work for the city. Had a wonderful family. After everything she's contributed to this world—she should have lived her last few years on this earth in peace. Been celebrated at the end of her life by all the people whose lives she changed while she was living. Not been cheated out of who knows how many years by this—cowardly act of violence."
"I know," Jane said. "You're absolutely right."
"I hate this," Lisbon said, clenching her fists in a fit of temper. "I hate being so powerless. If I was in charge, we'd be able to get justice for her. Instead, I'm stuck here hiding while morons like Tennant have the power to completely torpedo an investigation like this."
Jane stroked her hair. "You're not powerless, Teresa. You just might have to get used to the idea of being a bit…sneakier about the exercise of that power, that's all."
She looked up at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"
"I have an idea," Jane said. He stepped away from her and returned to his saucepan. "But first, we must eat."
Lisbon continued to watch him suspiciously, but she accepted her plate of pasta and ate.
Xxx
The next day, Lisbon received a call from Officer O'Hara. "Good news," O'Hara said briskly. "This conversation is off the record, okay?"
"Sure," Lisbon said. "What's the news?"
"Tennant ordered the autopsy."
"Really?" Lisbon said, amazed. "What made him change his mind?"
"He had no choice, really," O'Hara said. "We got a confession."
Lisbon blinked. "A confession? From who?"
"Well, that's the thing. We don't know," O'Hara admitted. "We got an anonymous confession sent by email to the mailbox maintained for public inquiries."
"An anonymous confession?" Lisbon repeated, frowning. "What did it say?"
O'Hara rustled some papers in the background. "Here it is. It says 'I confess. It was me. The guilt is eating me alive. If you do an autopsy, you'll see Dorothy Ramseth was murdered. Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood murderer.'"
Oh, crap. "Where was it sent from?" Lisbon asked, her fingers tightening on the phone.
More paper rustling. "The address it came from is 'iamapatheticmurderingloser .'"
Lisbon closed her eyes. "Were you able to trace it?"
"No. We pinged the IP address, but it was sent from a public library. Anybody could have sent it."
No, Lisbon thought grimly. There was really only one person who could have possibly sent that particular confession.
Xxx
Lisbon found Jane on the couch in the living room that evening, stretched out with his eyes closed. She marched over to the couch and kicked it. "'I am a pathetic murdering loser,' Patrick? Really?"
Jane opened his eyes and smiled. "How'd you know it was me?"
"I recognized your style," Lisbon grumbled.
Jane's smile widened. "You know me so well."
"What if they trace that message back to you?" she demanded. "How the hell would we explain that?"
"Oh, relax," Jane said. "They're not going to trace it back to me."
"How do you know?"
"Because I once asked Grace how to make sure an email couldn't be traced back to the sender, and she said if it was sent from a public location, it would be damn near impossible to trace."
"It was too risky, Patrick. You shouldn't have done it."
"It was a calculated risk, and it worked, didn't it? Did Tennant order the autopsy?"
"Yes," Lisbon admitted grudgingly.
Jane closed his eyes. "Well, then. Problem solved."
She looked down at him, still annoyed at him for the risk he'd taken, but also touched that he'd gone out of his way to resolve an issue she was worrying about in a way only he could. Torn between two impulses, she compromised and followed through on both. She leaned down and kissed him, then tweaked him on the nose.
