Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles

by Terry Odell

  “I agree, that seems far-fetched.” Although that was something he hadn’t thought of. Points to Angie.

  After forty-five minutes of discussion, they’d come full circle, to Gordon’s original assumption that whoever took the card wanted either the photos, Gordon’s contacts, or both. But they couldn’t figure a motive.

  “I’d skip that artist guy,” Angie said. “I mean, he could have wanted your pictures to use for his paintings, but from what you said, he does landscapes.”

  “I suppose I should look at his website—see if he does anything like the scene I photographed. I did stop for a few pictures on my drive from Mapleton, though. They might be more up his alley.” Gordon tried to remember how much he’d mentioned to Tyner. That he used his cell for pictures, but he couldn’t recall telling him that he’d taken pictures on his drive. Why would the man want them?

  “So, we didn’t eliminate anyone, did we?” she said.

  “No, but it’s good to talk things out, to get other points of view.”

  “That mountain man guy— Nick Metcalf? From what you said, he sounded a cupcake short of a box. I’d rank him at the top.”

  “He saved my life,” Gordon said.

  “But he also found the phone. He had the best chance to take the card without anyone seeing.” Seconds later, Angie jerked, as if Gordon’s words had taken a roundabout route to her brain. “He what? I don’t remember you saying you needed your life saved.”

  Gordon fumbled his way through an explanation of falling into the tree well.

  “And you thought you’d mention this when?”

  “Metcalf helped me out. No harm, no foul.”

  She glared at him. “And if he hadn’t been there?”

  “He was, so it’s over.”

  Her silence kept him company until they got to Denver.

  Gordon was escorted to a treatment room as soon as they arrived. Dr. Demming’s assistant settled him into a chair and put drops in his eyes. “These will dilate your pupils so we can do the exam,” she said. “But you’ve been here enough times to know what’s going on. Once we locate the problem area, we’ll numb your eye for the procedure.”

  “What if it’s both eyes?” Gordon asked.

  “Then we’ll do both. You should be out within an hour or so, and normally, you can resume all your regular activities by the next day. You do have a way home, right?”

  “Yes. She’s waiting. And, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell her that I’m not going to need a seeing eye dog or a cane when this is over.”

  “I’ll explain everything to her. You can relax while the drops take effect.” She dimmed the lights and left him with his damn thoughts again.

  Gordon wondered why doctors expected you to be able to relax. If you were in a doctor’s office, odds were, the conditions that brought you there weren’t conducive to relaxation.

  ~~~

  Late the next morning, after an enjoyable but not too strenuous night, Gordon dropped Angie off at her apartment above Daily Bread. He leaned across the console to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks again. For everything.”

  “You sure you want to go to work right away?” she said before getting out of the SUV.

  Which was the seventy-eleventh time she’d tried to get him to stay away from work. And his answer was the same. “I’m going to check in at the station. Let Solomon prove that he ran a tight ship while I was gone. I promise I’ll leave as soon as the third shift comes on board. Don’t you have your own things to catch up on? Baking cinnamon rolls? Catering Valentine’s Day parties?”

  “I had my work covered,” she said. “Since I started working with Megan, I’ve delegated more of the Daily Bread duties. And Megan and I have everything under control for our Valentine’s Day events.”

  “My point exactly.”

  She rolled her eyes, then grabbed her things and jumped out of the SUV. He watched her jog up the staircase to her apartment.

  Using his private entrance to his office, Gordon paused after stepping inside. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of his desk. Breathed in the burnt coffee, lemon furniture polish and disinfectant. Listened to the phones ringing and footfalls from the hallway. Now this was a place where he could relax.

  His vision was vastly improved, and his right retina had been fine. The CSR had finally diminished in that eye, and Dr. Demming had said all should be well in a couple of weeks. In fact, he’d said unless symptoms worsened, he didn’t need to see Gordon again for six months. However, he recommended Gordon stick with the blood pressure meds and keep his caffeine consumption down to one cup of regular coffee a day, a price Gordon was willing to pay.

  Gordon reached into his desk drawer and strapped on the watch he’d left there. Nice to be able to read the time again. He even looked forward to reading reports and searching databases. A quick perusal of Solomon’s daily summaries left him with mixed feelings. Good to know things ran smoothly without him, but there was that niggling of Didn’t anyone miss me?

  And why would he expect otherwise? He’d insisted Solomon not tell anyone about his procedure, and hadn’t told anyone he was coming back today. He wasn’t due until Monday, and a week’s vacation certainly didn’t warrant a welcome home party.

  And, since he wasn’t expected, everything should be covered. Gordon booted up his computer, eager to do a little of what Solomon called poking around.

  Easy one first. He found Sam Tyner’s website, and was disappointed to find only “natural” landscapes. Nothing man-made in any of his works, so using the photos Gordon had taken of Wardell’s car made no sense. Tyner’s work was infinitely better than any of the pictures Gordon had taken with his cell phone, so why would Tyner have wanted them? Gordon felt comfortable removing the artist from his list of potential memory card thieves.

  Next up. Orrin Wardell. Google was little help, so he moved up a level to more private databases. Orrin had said he was from New Mexico. He accessed the New Mexico DMV database and plugged in Wardell’s information. He looked again. Now that was curious. And, with his curiosity piqued, he dialed Matt Kennedy’s number.

  Chapter 31

  “Do you have any images of the Wardell car accident scene?” Gordon asked when Kennedy picked up. He explained why he wanted them, and Kennedy promised to email him copies.

  “Any decent trace from the interior?” Gordon asked.

  “What little we have is still at the lab,” Kennedy said. “Low priority. Nothing in the vehicle indicated his wife was injured. Working hypothesis is marital discord and she took advantage of the opportunity to ditch him. Either that or she wandered well out of our search area before she succumbed to the cold or any internal injuries caused when the car rolled down the embankment. Of course, there’s the remote possibility she’s got amnesia—banged her head—but nobody thinks that’s likely. If she’d been in the car when it went over, there would have been more evidence. The husband provided a photo, and we have her description out to the surrounding counties. No hits yet.”

  “Can you send me her picture, too?” Gordon asked.

  “Slow day in Mapleton?” Kennedy said. “Of course, we’re always glad for extra eyes on a case.”

  “Something to play with in my spare time. Technically, I’m on vacation until Monday.”

  “Busman’s holiday, then. But I understand. Always investigating something. It gets into the blood.”

  “You’re right,” Gordon said. “You ever get in touch with the uncle in Telluride?”

  “Negative. Just an answering machine. But that’s no longer an issue. The husband’s been checking in constantly, wanting to know if we’ve made any progress. I haven’t had the heart to tell him I think he ought to give it up.”

  “I hear you. People cling to the tiniest threads of hope.”

  “Gotta’ go,” Kennedy said. “I’ll get those pictures to you.”

  Gordon hung up, then poked around some more while he waited for the email to arrive. He figur
ed he’d look at Paula’s blog. See if she’d written up the Yardumians’ place yet. He hoped so. A little positive publicity would be nice for them.

  He called up Paula’s Places and found her latest post—the one she’d been so concerned about uploading—but it had nothing to do with the Yardumians, or even that part of Colorado. This one was called “Off the Strip” and focused on things other than casinos and themed hotels around Las Vegas. Hoover Dam, Red Rock Canyon, and a natural history museum. He scrolled through more of the blog, refreshing his memory of what he’d seen before. She tended to write about smaller attractions or natural settings, which made sense if she’d chosen a place like Tranquility Valley.

  He and Angie had written her off his memory card thief list, and nothing he saw while clicking through her blog said they’d been wrong. A quick hop through the DMV database revealed that she lived in Marshalltown, Iowa, although he imagined she wasn’t home for long stretches. He didn’t expect to find much, but he checked the criminal database. Zilch.

  His computer let him know he had an incoming email, and he shifted his attention to Wardell’s case.

  He unzipped the folder Kennedy had sent of the accident scene photos. Simply looking at the images sent chills through him. Those two trips down that embankment in freezing temperatures weren’t things he wanted to remember. Despite the heat in the building, he crossed his arms over his chest as if he needed to keep warm. The urge for a cup of coffee, cocoa—anything hot—hit him hard.

  He’d already had his allotted cup of high-test coffee. Not smart to push things. He found the container of decaf in his cabinet. Might as well let his presence be known. He brought the carafe to the break room to fill it, stopping along the way to let Laurie, his admin, know he was in.

  “But I’m not back,” he said at the surprised look on her face.

  “Ed told me there’d been a fire where you were staying. You’re all right?”

  At her obvious tell me everything expression, he changed his mind about a trip to the break room. He extended the carafe. “Fine. Trying to get a little extra-curricular work done, so if you wouldn’t mind filling this with water for me, I can brew a pot in my office and won’t need to spend time going over everything with everyone in the building. I’ll be at Monday morning’s briefing. Until then—”

  “Sure, Chief. I won’t tell a soul.” She cocked her head. “Although, some of the guys might be clever enough to deduce your presence if you parked in the lot.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. “So, they can speculate. But for now, my door will be closed, and if anyone asks—make up something plausible. I plan to duck out before change of shift, so there shouldn’t be too many people coming or going until then.” He turned for his office, then paused. “How’s McDermott? And Jost’s wife? The baby?”

  “Vicky is still knocked for a loop. Jost’s baby is in the neonatal ICU. His wife is okay, though, and he’s back on shift.”

  “If he needs time when the baby comes home, make sure he knows we can schedule around him.”

  She nodded as though she knew he’d say that. “I’ll get your water.”

  Gordon went to his computer and brought up the images, zeroing in on the ones of the car’s rear bumper. As he remembered it, it had been crumpled, and the plate wasn’t legible. Given the snowy conditions, he hadn’t paid it much attention on either of his trips. He printed several of the images. As he studied them, for a moment, Gordon thought his eyes were reverting to their CSR state, until he realized the blurred effect was a film of snowflakes.

  He tried his magnifying glass. Still no luck reading the plate. He shifted to the computer, zoomed in. No better. He reached for the phone. “Kennedy? Gordon Hepler. Sorry to bother you again, but I’d like the VIN of Wardell’s vehicle. The plate’s obscured, and even if it wasn’t, there’s a possibility that it’s not the one that belongs on the car.”

  “You have a reason to think it’s a switched plate?” Kennedy asked.

  “No. Trying to cover all the bases.” Gordon recalled a former case where a swapped plate had provided a vital clue. Couldn’t take anything for granted.

  “I’ll check with the accident unit and see what they have. Meanwhile, I can get you the VIN. Might take a bit. I’m on patrol at the moment, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Laurie came in and insisted on brewing the coffee. “My way of saying welcome home.” She displayed a can of designer coffee. When Gordon lifted a hand, she stopped him. “I know you’ve switched to decaf, and that’s what this is. But I haven’t mentioned it to anyone. Wouldn’t want you to lose cop points.”

  He smiled. Very little got by his admin. He’d have to make sure he got her an extra-large box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day. And flowers. He was pretty sure she didn’t like roses, but couldn’t remember what her favorites were. He’d better figure something out or he’d be in danger of losing cop points with her.

  While he waited for the VIN to come through, he called the florist. “A mixed bouquet,” he said. “A big one.”

  There was a pause. Of course. The clerk knew Angie loved roses. Would she think Gordon was two-timing her? Or that he didn’t know what his girlfriend liked? “And a second one of roses, please,” he added. “Mixed bouquet to Laurie at police headquarters. The roses to Angie at Daily Bread.”

  “Will do, Chief Hepler. We’ll have them out as our first deliveries.”

  That taken care of, he wrote himself a note to stop for chocolate on his way home, and then opened the picture of Orrin Wardell’s wife.

  Grainy. Was that because Wardell had blown it up, or because the troopers had? He figured Kennedy would have sent him the best one they had, so it was undoubtedly what Wardell had given them. Either way, if she was around Wardell’s age, this had to be an old picture. It looked more like a black-and-white high school yearbook picture than a photo from a family album. Now, if he knew what high school Roni had gone to, and her maiden name, and the year she’d graduated—which he figured he’d uncover right about the time pigs started flying.

  He plugged Roni Wardell’s name into his databases, using a wide age range, but the hits didn’t bear any resemblance to the woman in the picture. Then again, if it was an old picture, she might look different now. Plus, nothing said she’d taken Wardell’s name when they married. Gordon was only slightly better off than he’d been when he was at the hospital with no Internet and no database access.

  Deciding this was an exercise in futility without more information, he finished a second cup of coffee and did what he should be doing as long as he was here. Solomon had left excellent records, but the buck stopped on Gordon’s desk, and he needed to be up to speed on everything that had transpired in his absence.

  He was through the second day’s reports when his email chimed. When the subject line said VIN, he shoved the paperwork aside and opened the email. He cross-referenced that in another database. Surprise, surprise. This put an entirely different slant on things.

  He printed out everything he had so far, and started a new file folder. Of course it wasn’t his case, or his jurisdiction, but he did feel like he had a vested interest in Orrin Wardell. After all, he’d nearly died trying to help the guy. He should definitely let the troopers know. And, he thought, maybe he’d share this one with Solomon.

  Chapter 32

  At a quiet tapping on the rear door to his office, Gordon debated whether he should ignore it or answer.

  “Chief, it’s Solomon.”

  Gordon unlocked the door and motioned Solomon inside.

  “Saw your car. Thought you weren’t due in the office until Monday.”

  “I wasn’t, but I thought I’d take care of some paperwork, be ready to go first thing. And, as far as anyone else other than Laurie is concerned, I’m not in.”

  Solomon wandered to the visitor’s chair and plopped down. He stretched out his legs. “I, for one, am very glad you’re fine and returning to duty. I think I’d go nuts de
aling with all the bureaucracy. I much prefer life on the streets.”

  Gordon didn’t confess he did, too, but he’d accepted the chief’s position and it deserved the best he could give. “I’ve got something for you to chew on.” He opened the file and removed the copies he’d made of the images.

  Solomon perked up. “Yeah?”

  Gordon summarized how Orrin Wardell had shown up at the Yardumians’, how they’d tried to locate his wife, how distraught he’d been, that he was still driving the State Patrol crazy with constant requests for updates.

  “So, what’s the puzzle?” Solomon asked.

  Gordon slid the prints of the images across the desk. “Can you make out the plate?”

  Solomon studied them, asked for Gordon’s magnifying glass. Moved it back and forth, in and out. “Nope. The crumpled bumper and the snow are obscuring it.”

  “State?”

  Solomon looked again. “Sorry, Chief. Might as well be no plate at all.” He set down the glass. “Or is that the case?”

  “No, there’s a plate.” Gordon said. “There was a corner in another shot—nothing that was any more identifiable than what you’ve got in front of you.”

  “Then I’d ask for the VIN.”

  Gordon nodded. “Which I did. And here’s what I got.” He passed the file folder to Solomon.

  Solomon reviewed the pages. Frowned. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you say the guy was from New Mexico?”

  “I did.”

  “So why is the vehicle registered in Colorado?”

  Gordon raised his brows. “You tell me. Wardell said he was from New Mexico. At the time, there was no reason to doubt him.”

  Solomon paused. “Could be a recent move and the change of address hasn’t caught up yet.”

  Gordon nodded. “That’s definitely a possibility.”

  “Or,” Solomon continued, “it could be he was driving someone else’s car. Didn’t you say the uncle lived in Telluride? Maybe Wardell borrowed the car.” Solomon studied the printout again. “Car’s in Wardell’s name. Unless he was named after his uncle.”