Pane and Suffering

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Perfectly understandable, luv.”

  “Even in my earliest memories, my mother was always sick. For the longest time, I thought if I was the perfect little girl, she would get better, that the cancer would leave her body. She knew that and encouraged me and my dad to find adventures without her long before her condition kept her in bed. I learned to fish, surf, snorkel, camp, and hike trails. My dad and I were outside all the time. She was a wise woman. I think about her every day.”

  “Oh, Savannah. I’m sorry. Anytime you need me, I want you to call.”

  “I appreciate that.” She looked into those green eyes and felt warm and safe.

  “Do you know why John wanted you to find this box?”

  She sorted through the box and found an assortment of meaningless little items. “No, I don’t see anything that strikes me as meaning anything important. There must be something here, though. I’ll study them at home under a magnifying glass.”

  He glanced at his watch and jumped up. “This is retched timing, but the assistant cook called in sick tonight so Chef is by himself. Even on a slow night, it’s a brutal workload. I’ve got to get back to the Queen. Are you good?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Catch me up in the morning.”

  Feeling better, she smiled, snapped the lid, and slipped the pencil case into her backpack. She watched him helmet up and ride away on the low purr of the Indian.

  She looked around carefully at each person in the dog park. Could any of them be involved in what her dad warned her about—if the conspiracy wasn’t just paranoia?

  None of them looked particularly interested in her.

  Rooney bounded back and nuzzled her calf, then whined a bit. “Okay, fella. Let’s get home and figure out what these things mean.”

  She led Rooney out of the dog park and they walked calmly back to the house. Opening the door, she keyed the alarm code, removed Rooney’s leash, and checked to make sure he had water.

  She took the backpack into the dining room and removed the Hello Kitty pencil box. Setting aside the letter, the box held an array of small items that she placed on the table one by one. They were:

  a small green plastic snake

  a guitar pick

  an individual packet of Off! insect repellent

  a worn wooden nickel

  a gray plastic elephant

  a logbook

  a pen

  Next to those, she placed the remaining items:

  a letter to her mother

  the Hello Kitty pencil box

  She picked up the logbook. It listed the names of the people who had located their Hello Kitty geocache and when they’d found it. There were multiple pages of entries that were spread erratically over the prior year, but the last entry was about a month ago. She felt a shock as she realized the last entry was in her dad’s handwriting.

  She figured that he had probably removed the location from the organization’s global database before visiting the cache so that no one would look for it after that. The membership practiced compliance about rules like that.

  So, he had been worried for a while. In order for her to access the geocache database, she’d have to become a member. She could renew her membership and sign into the database to find out when he had removed the cache, but knowing him it was likely only a few days before the last entry.

  Savannah looked at the collection.

  Damn! None of these is a puzzle or clue that I can make out. What was he thinking?

  She glanced over them again and ran both hands through her hair. She grabbed a small flashlight out of her backpack, then picked up each piece to look for hidden clues.

  There must be something here that he means for me to decode.

  The little green snake was only about three inches long and was a little brittle from being in the box. It was a typical Florida green snake with no evidence of tampering or hidden compartments.

  The guitar pick was a typical red marbleized plastic and completely unremarkable.

  She picked up the insect repellent and used the flashlight to see if it had been opened then resealed. It didn’t look like it had been tampered with. She set that aside as well.

  The wooden nickel was fairly new and displayed the logo of the Queen’s Head Pub on one side and an old-fashioned five-cent imprint on the reverse.

  Maybe Edward knows something about this one.

  The little elephant was a child’s molded plastic toy with no marks, scratches, or obvious tampering.

  She threw it back on the table and leaned back. Her eyes brushed over each object, then she had an idea that maybe they were just distractions.

  She picked up the logbook again. It was another tan Moleskine notebook that her dad favored. It was a little misshapen, probably because it had been in the little box. Anyway, she used the flashlight to examine the little notebook and found a small nick on the inside of the back cover.

  Dad, you are the clever one.

  She carefully slid a fingernail under the nick and pulled gently. The back cover was a double thickness and between the layers, she found a folded piece of onion skin paper. She hadn’t seen a sheet of onion skin paper in ages.

  I didn’t know onion skin was still available. Well, Dad, you would have saved some for just this purpose.

  Slowly unfolding the thin sheet, Savannah spread it on the table. It was a little larger than a half sheet with tiny punched holes in random patterns all over the place.

  She leaned back in the wooden dining chair. She looked down at Rooney’s upturned face. She took his face in both her hands, and peered into his warm amber eyes. “Rooney, I’m absolutely lost. This is a new one for me. I don’t have a clue how to decode this. Do you?”

  He cocked his head to one side trying to figure out what she was saying.

  “Maybe Jacob will know,” she mused. She might not be able to decipher the code by herself, but she was sure this was serious. Her dad and Hugh had been murdered. Her dad’s games never had been played with more than one code at a time.

  She stretched a great yawn and wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or tension. Either way, it was time for bed. She let Rooney outside into the fenced backyard and gave him a treat when he barked to be let back inside. He wandered down the hall and stood by her dad’s door.

  Remembering a program she saw on the Animal Channel last month, she went into her dad’s closet and pulled a couple of his work shirts out of the dirty laundry hamper and spread them out on the floor right next to the bed.

  Rooney groaned a gentle whine and rolled his head on the shirts, then turned over onto his back to rub the scent all over himself. He sat upright and looked at Savannah, his crystal-amber eyes reflecting a grateful thank you.

  Rooney settled himself to sleep and didn’t rouse even when the mosquito spray truck swooshed through the quiet moonlit brick streets.

  Chapter 7

  Tuesday Morning

  Detective David Parker looked up from his display screen and frowned deep enough to cause him to rub his forehead. He could hear clumping footsteps echo down the hallway of the St. Petersburg Police Station. They were marching relentlessly along to his office.

  It was one of the few private cubicles—if you could call a half-height cubicle private. It was counted among his peers as an early reward for setting a new record for attaining the rank of detective. He was proud of gaining it so quickly in what he hoped was a long and successful career.

  He recognized the distinct footsteps as those belonging to eternally-on-probation Officer Boulli. He was famous for spending more time and energy avoiding work than if he had just done the work.

  The only perceived skill he possessed was an encyclopedic knowledge of Pinellas County labor and employment laws. He was an expert in each of the detailed steps outlined by the flowchart of actions called out in the employee termination process. David couldn’t count the number of times Boulli had flirted w
ith the final steps of termination, raising the hopes of city management everywhere only to be reinstated to full employment status at the last minute.

  One of Detective Parker’s newest goals was to become an encyclopedic expert in those very same termination regulations and he had been using his precious novel reading time to study them carefully.

  It was never good when Officer Boulli felt the need to stop by for a chat. David relished the peace of his office and Boulli spoiled the carefully crafted environment simply by stepping across the threshold.

  Even though the small office was barely big enough for a desk, an office chair, and two guest chairs, David had arranged the limited standard issue furniture to be the most effective use of intimidating power and comfortable ease.

  His office chair was behind the desk and the desk faced the metal cubicle door that featured a large pane of glass in the top half. The guest chairs were pushed against the walls so that any guest would have an awkward view and not feel inclined to linger. That was a key element in having the office to himself most of the time. It also encouraged electronic communication rather than conversations that could never be correctly recalled. Electronic data lived on forever.

  A small, low bookcase was tucked behind David’s chair and stacks of files were neatly stored on its shelves. The desk’s surface was clear except for an open file folder with papers perfectly aligned within, and a ceramic coffee mug on a beer coaster. The only personal item was a lone African violet plant on top of the bookcase. It was in lush bloom.

  The computer flat screen was angled just enough so as to not block his view, but ensured that no one could see what was on the screen. That was all.

  David loved his office.

  “Good morning, Officer Boulli. Have you lost your way to the break room?”

  “On my way, sir, but I thought I would hand this weird call off to you. You seem to be the solver of strange cases, so I thought of you right away.”

  “I’m stunned that my case load has broken through to your attention. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “No problem, sir.” He grinned like a schoolboy and handed Detective Parker a small scrap of yellow paper raggedly torn from a ruled tablet. “This girl called to say that her dad had left her a coded message that her life was in danger.”

  “Girl? You mean a little girl called 911?”

  “No, sir. She wasn’t a little girl. I meant to say that she was a woman. She was a very tall full-grown woman. Anyway, she thought that the dead guy in the glass shop had been murdered.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I think she’s crazy. I mean to say that it doesn’t make sense. I answered the 911 call about this old guy who was found dead in her glass shop. His name was Hugh something, I think. It was obviously a heart attack. The paramedics thought it was probably a heart attack.”

  “Did you formally report it?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t think there is anything to it. We answered the call yesterday morning if you want to look that up in the database.”

  “And . . .”

  “She said her dad had worked for the government as a kind of cold war spy.”

  “When did she call?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon. I got a last-minute reassignment to assist in a traffic emergency but I remembered the call this morning.”

  “Give it here. Which agency did her dad work for?”

  “She didn’t say, but she seemed positive that the information he left her would put her in danger. She sounded cranky, by the way. So you might want to record everything in case she gets pissed off.”

  Detective Parker walked around his desk and snatched the scrap of paper from Officer Boulli’s outstretched hand.

  “Hey, I was handing it over.”

  “I’ll take it from here, Officer. Thanks for dropping by.” David closed his office door on Boulli who backed up quickly to avoid the advancing door.

  David sat down and typed a few words into the search command line of his desktop computer. He stared at the results. He rubbed his smoothly shaven chin. Her dad had indeed served as an analyst in the government, but there were no details about the kind of work he’d done. David would have to submit a special request to get more information.

  He opened the bottom drawer of his desk to select a brand new manila file folder. He placed the torn scrap of paper in it and began a new case file by writing Glass Shop in bold letters across the file tab. He placed that folder on his desk and lined it up with his three other open cases.

  Tapping a few keys, he looked up the information on yesterday’s incident and saw that the body had been taken to the city morgue awaiting release to a local funeral home. An autopsy wasn’t scheduled and the case was awaiting assignment of an investigation officer so that the next steps could be processed.

  He leaned back in his chair. His caseload was light at the moment, although it didn’t look like it from the status of his records. He had solved them, but didn’t have the finalized reports to close his current caseload. Those reports should be on his desk within the hour—all he had to do was wait. Waiting wasn’t his strong suit.

  This could be just the thing to do while he was waiting for the last information to clear. Closing four cases in a day would be a record that would not easily be matched by even the most experienced officers. He e-mailed his supervisor to ask if he could check out the young woman’s tip that the two recent deaths in her glass shop were suspicious.

  The e-mail reply bounced back almost immediately. You already have three cases assigned to you. You can have it if you think you can handle it, but please see me at the end of the day to review current progress on your open cases.

  That was exactly the response that David was looking for. He anticipated telling his supervisor that not only had he closed his current caseload, but that he had resolved another one, as well.

  He closed down the active window, waited a few seconds, then reopened the case file and noted that he was assigned as the investigating officer.

  Reviewing the records of the two deaths, it did seem an extraordinary coincidence for two heart attacks to occur so soon in one small business. Maybe it would take a little longer than he thought.

  He called Officer Boulli and miraculously found him at this desk.

  “Officer Boulli.”

  “This is Detective Parker. On that case we just talked about—”

  “Which one?”

  Parker grit his teeth and reminded himself of the higher goal of his department—to investigate cases, not actually murder city employees. “I’m sure you remember. The unattended death of a man found at Webb’s Glass Shop.”

  “Okay. Yeah. What do you want me to do?” There followed a pause not quite long enough for Parker to challenge. “Sir.”

  “Drive out to Webb’s Glass Shop and verify the circumstances that the woman has reported.”

  “Today, sir?”

  David noticed a decided reluctance on the part of Officer Boulli to make the short five-minute drive straight down Central Avenue. It was practically within walking distance of the police department building. “Do you have any other tasks that have a higher priority, Officer Boulli?”

  “No, sir,”

  “Then what is the problem? It’s a necessary part of the investigation.”

  “It’s probably a waste of time. It’ll be a heart attack like the paramedics said when I was standing there.”

  The whiny tone nearly threw Parker into a fury—nearly. He took a slow breath. “Just do it. It needs to be done and should have been done immediately after she called. I hope we don’t have to justify the delay in sending out an officer to verify the situation.”

  “It just didn’t seem that important.”

  “I don’t understand why you are not in your patrol car right now. This is an official request to verify her call. You are not deliberately refusing to take this assignment, are you?”

  “No, sir. Not in any way. That would be considered a serious br
each of duty to refuse an assignment. I am on my way immediately, sir.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to have to file a report.” Detective Parker hung up the phone then searched the database, bringing up records for Hugh Trevor. He discovered that both men had been analysts during the cold war years. Like John Webb, most of his information was also not visible.

  David pulled up the form required to access the detailed government records and filled in information required to request access to the records for both men. He sent it up the signature chain and hoped it would go through the approval process quickly.

  The few facts he had were beginning to pile on top of each other, looking more and more suspicious. It appeared to be a case of three too many coincidences. The first was two deaths within ten days in the same small business. Second, the two men were intelligence analysts of an unknown type. Third, one of them had left behind a warning to his daughter.

  He quickly ordered an autopsy with primary focus on a toxicology analysis for the glass shop victim. He could report it as natural causes, not wait for the toxicology report, and take credit for closing four cases in one day, but that didn’t feel right.

  Setting a new case closure record would ensure his position on the fast track, but a haphazard effort would erase his efforts in one fell swoop.

  In his experience, when the circumstances didn’t feel right, it was usually because the circumstances weren’t right. One of the reasons he had been promoted so fast was because his instincts were usually smack dab on target.

  No shortcuts just for a record count. He closed the report folder. He’d wait for the toxicology report.

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday Morning

  Setting up Webb’s Glass Shop for the second day of class felt easier, but still hollow. Hugh would never walk through the door with a cheery, “Hi Kitten.” Savannah forced her swirling brain back to positive thoughts. Today’s teaching plan included learning to solder safely. The awkward, pointy, scary hot irons presented a teaching challenge that required serious concentration on everyone’s part.