Practice to Deceive

wife—”
    Plumberg held his breath. This was almost the same story that Peggy Sue Thomas had told him—about going to Russ’s apartment with that gift. And Brenna Douglas had mentioned that she didn’t really question Russ about where he was going around 11 A.M. on December 26. She said he was going to pick up a tablecloth for her—as well as going surfing after that.
    Peggy Sue Thomas and whomever her boyfriend might be had been only blips on Plumberg’s intense investigation. It had been far easier to connect Eddie Navarre—a likely headhunter—to Russel, or someone the victim might have met at a swingers’ club (if, indeed, he ever went to one). It also could have been a former coworker.
    What possible motive could Brenna Douglas’s friend and her lover have to plan a cold-blooded murder?
    It didn’t make sense. Not at all.

C HAPTER S IXTEEN
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    I T SEEMED TO MARK PLUMBERG that several principals in the murder probe were getting restless. Brenna Douglas called him in late July 2004 to ask if he would like to go with her when she emptied the storage unit where she was keeping Russ’s possessions. He told her that he would. At the same time, he reminded her that she had promised to bring him her Nextel cell phone records.
    “I’m having a hard time getting them because it’s not in my name,” she said.
    She explained that she had taken over payments from a friend for a year, but she’d never changed the account name. Plumberg suggested she have the account owner phone Nextel; it would be simple for him to get the records.
    She called him back later and asked if there was anything in the Tracker, which was locked in the evidence garage, that he could release. She wanted her kids’ sleds, a power converter, and some paperwork from the glove box. There might be other items she hadn’t thought of.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “Just anything . . .”
    * * *
    A ND THEN, AT LAST, the mysterious caller was ready to give up the name of the person he believed had shot Russel Douglas. He told Mike Beech that it was his friend James E. Huden, fifty-one, who had grown up and gone to school on Whidbey Island. “I think Jim Huden still has family on the island—a brother who was an air force colonel.”
    There weren’t that many current or former residents of Whidbey Island who had brothers who were retired air force colonels.
    Plumberg found that Huden’s brother owned a bed-and-breakfast called Sea Shell Manor.* He had a good reputation and his business was doing well.
    This was the first time that the investigators had heard the name Jim Huden. The informant said Jim was having a rough time financially; he was about to file bankruptcy.
    “He and Peggy do nothing but party when he’s in Las Vegas, and they’re living on credit cards.”
    There was the name Peggy again. Asked to identify her, the caller said she was Jim’s love interest and she lived in Las Vegas.
    That, of course, struck a chord; this had to be the same Peggy the investigators had spoken to on the phone.
    Mark Plumberg had obtained Brenna Douglas’s phone records. He found numerous calls between Brenna and the number he had for “Peggy.” They had apparently talked a great deal in the month of December before the twenty-sixth. After Russel Douglas was murdered, there had been only eleven calls.
    Things seemed to be coming together. At last, the secret informant was ready to tell Mike Beech who he was. He gave his name as William R. Hill, fifty-six, and said he lived in Port Charlotte, Florida.
    “I didn’t know if I was going to spill the beans or not,” Hill said with some regret. “Jim’s my best friend.”
    It had indeed been a difficult decision for Bill Hill to come to, but the thought of the man who had been murdered seven months before haunted him.
    And initially he had been afraid of reprisal. In the end, he had called the Island County Sheriff’s Office and told them what he knew.
    A search of Hill’s background showed him to be a solid citizen with no criminal history. He had lived at the same address in Florida for years. Bill Hill had been part of a musical group Jim Huden started called Buck Naked and the X-hibitionists. Jim was, he said, a very talented guitar player and they had played regular gigs in and around Punta Gorda, Florida.
    Mark Plumberg felt they should move ahead rapidly, and his instincts were correct. On August 2, Bill Hill phoned Mike Beech once more and told him he had just had lunch