Something seemed to click in Julia Osgood’s head. She looked quickly back and forth between Sergeant James and me. “An APB? An all-points bulletin? For Dan? Why?”
“Mrs. Osgood,” I said. “We’re conducting a homicide investigation here. We have to ask your husband some questions.”
“Homicide?” Her eyes widened. She groped behind her for a chair and lowered herself into it. “You think Dan’s involved in a murder?”
“Possibly. And drugs too.”
She looked at me directly. “Oh,” she said. It was an acknowledgment, not a denial. “He told me he was getting out of it. He promised.”
“Out of what?”
“Cocaine. He used it sometimes.”
“Did he sell it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
There was a pause, a long pause, and then a much smaller “No.”
Sergeant James was standing near the door. “Come on, Beau. We’d better go.”
I nodded. If Osgood was trying to make it out of the country, there wasn’t a moment to lose. I turned back to his wife. “Would you be willing to give us a statement?” I asked.
“I suppose so,” she answered.
“Then you’d better come with us. Sergeant James can take you down to our office. You shouldn’t be here by yourself.”
“Dan wouldn’t hurt me,” she said.
There was a good possibility she was wrong about that, but I didn’t argue the point. “Maybe your husband wouldn’t hurt you, Mrs. Osgood, but some of his associates might. I’d rather you went along with Sergeant James. I’d feel better.”
Julia Osgood nodded slowly, got up, and picked up a purse from a small table near the front door. On her way out she paused as she passed by me.
“I love him, you know,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you caught him. Even when I knew he was using, I couldn’t bring myself to turn him in. Do you understand that?”
I nodded. I did indeed understand.
Julia Osgood turned away from me and followed Sergeant James out of the house. Maynard and Hawkins were standing by the door, awaiting instructions.
I looked around the room. A gold-framed wedding picture of a smiling Julia and Daniel Osgood sat on a wooden mantel over the fireplace. The picture was several years old. The happy, smiling people in it were a few years younger, but neither one of them had changed very much. I plucked the picture off the mantel and handed it to Detective Maynard.
“That’s him,” I said. “I know what he looks like; you don’t. Get copies made of that and paper the airport with them.”
They headed out. I took the opportunity to use the phone. First, I called the Port of Seattle office, to let the port police know what was up. Next, I called the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab and requested a crime-scene team to come to the Greenwood North house and go through Dan Osgood’s home with a fine-tooth comb. My next call was to Larry at the Far West Cab Company. For the third time that day, I put him on the trail of a fare. I think he was getting tired of playing that game. So was I.
It didn’t take long, since we knew both the company and the time and point of origin. I waited on hold until Larry came back to me. “They dropped him off at the back entrance of the Fifth Avenue Theater at five thirty-seven. Does that help?”
“You bet it does.”
My last call was to the Fifth Avenue. I asked to speak to the house manager.
“This is Detective Beaumont,” I told him when he came on the line. “I don’t know if you remember me from last night or not.”
“Sure, I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Dan Osgood. Is he around?”
“I don’t know. Let me check.” He was away from the phone for several minutes. Finally he came back. “Nobody’s seen him today. He must not have showed up for work. Is there a message, if I see him?”
“No,” I said. “No message.”
Julia Osgood had left the search warrant lying on the table by the door. I handed it over to the crime-scene investigators as soon as they got there. Since we were going by the book for a change, I had to flaunt it. I think it took the crime-lab guys by surprise.
By the time I got to the airport, the port police had already made copies of the wedding picture. They, along with Detectives Maynard and Hawkins, were working their way through the ticket counters and gates, handing out copies of the picture to all ticketing agents and to the security guards at the various concourse entrances.
They had done a hell of a job of coordinating. If Dan Osgood had been there, I’m sure we would have found him. But he wasn’t. No one had seen him. We all compared notes. The consensus was that, if Dan Osgood was flying out of Seattle, he hadn’t gotten to the airport yet.