More Twisted

never hurt the girl.
    Replacing the gun, Liz joined Beth Anne.
    “Let’s go,” her daughter said and, shoving her own pistol into the waistband of her jeans, she led the woman outside, gripped her mother roughly by the arm. This was, Liz realized, the first physical contact in at least four years.
    They stopped on the porch and Liz spun around to face her daughter. “If you do this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
    “No,” the girl said. “I’d regret not doing it.”
    Liz felt a spatter of rain join the tears on her cheeks. She glanced at her daughter. The young woman’s face was wet and red too, but this was, her mother knew, solely from the rain; her eyes were completely tearless. In a whisper she asked, “What’ve I ever done to make you hate me?”
    This question went unanswered as the first of the squad cars pulled into the yard, red and blue and white lights igniting the fat raindrops around them like sparks at a Fourth of July celebration. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark windbreaker and a badge around his neck, climbed out of the first car and walked toward the house, two uniformed state troopers behind him. He nodded to Beth Anne. “I’m Dan Heath, Oregon State Police.”
    The young woman shook his hand. “Detective Beth Anne Polemus, Seattle PD.”
    “Welcome to Portland,” he said.
    She gave an ironic shrug, took the handcuffs he held and cuffed her mother’s hands securely.

    Numb from the cold rain—and from the emotional fusion of the meeting—Beth Anne listened as Heath recited to the older woman, “Elizabeth Polemus, you’re under arrest for murder, attempted murder, assault, armed robbery and dealing in stolen goods.” He read her her rights and explained that she’d be arraigned in Oregon on local charges but was subject to an extradition order back to Michigan on a number of outstanding warrants there, including capital murder.
    Beth Anne gestured to the young OSP officer who’d met her at the airport. She hadn’t had time to do the paperwork that’d allow her to bring her own service weapon into another state so the trooper had loaned her one of theirs. She returned it to him now and turned back to watch a trooper search her mother.
    “Honey,” her mother began, the voice miserable, pleading.
    Beth Anne ignored her, and Heath nodded to the young uniformed trooper, who led the woman toward a squad car. But Beth Anne stopped him and called, “Hold on. Frisk her better.”
    The uniformed trooper blinked, looking over the slim, slight captive, who seemed as unthreatening as a child. But, with a nod from Heath, he motioned over a policewoman, who expertly patted her down. The officer frownedwhen she came to the small of Liz’s back. The mother gave a piercing glance to her daughter as the officer pulled up the woman’s navy-blue jacket, revealing a small pocket sewn into the inside back of the garment. Inside was a small switchblade knife and a universal handcuff key.
    “Jesus,” whispered the officer. He nodded to the policewoman, who searched her again. No other surprises were found.
    Beth Anne said, “That was a trick I remember from the old days. She’d sew secret pockets into her clothes. For shoplifting and hiding weapons.” A cold laugh from the young woman. “Sewing and robbery. Those’re her talents.” The smile faded. “Killing too, of course.”
    “How could you do this to your mother?” Liz snapped viciously. “You Judas.”
    Beth Anne watched, detached, as the woman was led to a squad car.
    Heath and Beth Anne stepped into the living room of the house. As the policewoman again surveyed the hundreds of thousands of dollars’ of stolen property filling the bungalow, Heath said, “Thanks, Detective. I know this was hard for you. But we were desperate to collar her without anybody else getting hurt.”
    Capturing Liz Polemus could indeed have turned into a bloodbath. It had happened before. Several years ago, when her mother and her lover, Brad Selbit, had tried to knock over a jewelry store in Ann Arbor, Liz had been surprised by the security guards. He’d shot her in the arm. But that hadn’t stopped her from grabbing her pistol with her other hand and killing him and a customer and then later shooting one of the responding policeofficers. She’d managed to escape. She’d left Michigan for Portland, where she and Brad had started up her operation again, sticking with her forte—knocking over jewelry stores and boutiques