by Terry Odell
When Gordon checked Connie’s dispatch reports from the previous night, the call had come through on the tip line, which promised to maintain anonymity, so there was no record of the incoming number. Not without a warrant, and no judge would feel there was a reason to issue one for a simple complaint. Jost had been dispatched to eight calls last night. The last one had been for a drunk and disorderly, half an hour before the citizen’s complaint came in.
He buzzed Laurie, told her to set up an appointment with Jost.
“He said he’d like to see you before ten, if possible. He’s picking his wife and baby up later this morning.”
“I’ll see him any time this morning,” Gordon said.
“You want me to see if he can come in right after your morning break?” she asked.
Was he in that much of a rut? “My break isn’t fixed in stone. Personnel issues take priority.”
Twenty minutes later, Laurie announced Jost’s arrival. “Send him back,” Gordon said.
Hat in hand, Jost appeared in Gordon’s doorway. Gordon motioned him inside. “Close the door.”
Jost did, then stood at attention two paces into the office.
“Relax, officer. Sit down. Would you like some coffee?”
Jost lowered himself into the visitor’s chair, sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat, as if Gordon’s invitation had been an order. “No, sir, and thanks for seeing me.”
“What can I help you with?” Gordon said.
Jost rotated his cap between his hands. “Sir, I understand I was written up, and if there’s anything I can do to clear my record, I’d appreciate it. Things are tight, what with the baby and all, and I was counting on a promotion in the next cycle. Anything that might hamper that—well …”
“I read Sergeant Gaubatz’s report. Now, why don’t you tell me how you saw it.”
Jost took several breaths. Still fussing with his hat, he spoke. “Calls were back to back for a while that night. Nothing major, all routine. But it doesn’t matter what the call is, there are reports to file.” He gave Gordon an almost sheepish look. “Of course, you know that, sir.”
“I most certainly do,” Gordon said. “Continue.”
“I was where the complainant said I was, but I was working in my vehicle, trying to get a head start on the paperwork. You know, while everything was fresh in my mind. And I was awake, sir. I don’t know why the sergeant said I was asleep. I didn’t receive any calls during that period, and I chose that spot because people frequently exceed the speed limit on that stretch of road. My radar was on the whole time.”
Of course, until they got computers in their vehicles, there was no way to check exactly when a report was written, but Gordon didn’t doubt Jost’s story. He had no reason to. If anything, Jost was killing several proverbial birds with a single stone by not leaving the streets to come into the station to file his reports. “Did you give this information to Sergeant Gaubatz?”
“I tried, sir, but he didn’t seem to care. I’d been parked in one spot for too long, he said. Gave the citizens the impression we were milking the clock, or not protecting them. I know the sergeant can be tough at times, but he’s never gone to these extremes.”
Gordon stood. “Thanks for coming in, Officer Jost. You know my door is always open. I’ll look into this, and I doubt that this incident, even if it turns out to have merit, would be enough to have you passed over for a promotion. Your name will be considered—along with everyone else who’s applied, of course.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jost stood, snapped to attention, then pivoted and left.
Gordon frowned. He buzzed Laurie. “Can you send Solomon in here, please.”
Chapter 43
In contrast to Jost’s hesitation, Solomon tapped the door jamb twice and strode to Gordon’s desk, taking a seat. “You need something, Chief? Find any new puzzle pieces?”
“No, unless this turns out to be a new puzzle, although I don’t think it’ll have many pieces. I need your opinion. Work related,” he added when Solomon’s brows waggled.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“You noticed anything different with Gaubatz lately?” Knowing Solomon would keep things confidential, Gordon related the discrepancy between Gaubatz’s report and Jost’s accounting. “This is the first time anyone’s complained about how he runs his shifts. I looked through all his reports for the last couple of days, and Jost’s is the only one with any negative comments.”
Solomon worked his lips in and out. “I agree. Doesn’t sound like him, coming down on someone without at least hearing him out. You don’t think Jost is trying to get Gaubatz reprimanded, do you? Claiming he didn’t do what he was written up for, that Gaubatz isn’t following protocol by listening to both sides?”
Gordon recalled how Wardell had fooled him, but Gordon had known Jost for years, not hours, and he didn’t think Jost could have faked the emotions behind his report. “For now, I believe Jost, and I also believe Gaubatz was following up on a citizen’s complaint, but you don’t write someone up based on that. Most people have no clue what we do all day.”
“And the call was anonymous, so no way to follow up with the citizen,” Solomon said.
“Correct. Gaubatz never spoke to whoever did the complaining. Merely took action as though it were true.” Gordon smacked his fingers on the desk. “Which is not the way I run this department. But before I call Gaubatz in here, I’d like something to back me up.”
Solomon nodded. “You want me—totally discreetly, of course—to see if I can pick up any vibes. Be a spy, in other words. A snitch.”
“Those weren’t the words I’d have chosen, but if there’s anything causing dissension in the ranks, I need to know it.”
“You know, being ranking officer here—other than yourself, of course, but being your second in command—people don’t talk that much around me. Especially after I filled in for you.”
“The break room doesn’t get quiet when you walk in, does it?” Gordon asked. “People don’t move out of your way and stand up straight when you enter a room, do they?”
Solomon widened his eyes, tilted his head back and forth. “No, not yet. Guess I’m still closer to being one of the regular cops than you can be.”
“Precisely.” Gordon wasn’t thrilled, but when he’d taken this job, it was as if a brick wall had been erected between Gordon the cop he used to be, and Gordon the chief he was now. There were still a few openings in the wall, but not many, and they weren’t very big.
“Guess I’d better start doing your snooping.” Solomon gave a mock salute and marched away.
By now, it was almost lunchtime. He might as well delay his break until 2 when the security system at Daily Bread was being installed. There’d be that lull between the lunch and dinner crowds. No, he thought. Although Angie had told him he was welcome to be there, he had a feeling this was one of those woman things, where they said something but expected you to know they meant something entirely different. At least he hoped it was. Angie had agreed to the installation in her apartment, and he’d let her deal with it directly.
Between the vending machine in the break room and his emergency stash, he found food enough to tide him over until dinner. As he munched a Power Bar, he went through all of Gaubatz’s reports for the last week. Innocuous enough. Straightforward, lots of copspeak, but he hadn’t come down on any officers other than Jost. He buzzed Laurie and asked for the sergeant’s personnel jacket. Maybe there was a clue in there.
Laurie brought the folder, obviously curious, but didn’t say anything. Although she had a finger on the pulse of the department, as his admin, people tended to be careful what they said around her. Asking for Gaubatz’s jacket probably tuned in her radar. If she heard anything, she’d let him know. Which, of course, was why people didn’t say much around her.
Gordon went through the file. Most of it was familiar, and the parts that weren’t had no bearing on Gaubatz’s treatment of Jost. He set it aside. After he heard from S
olomon, he’d talk to Gaubatz, and then see what he’d have to do.
Damn, he didn’t like this part of the job. No matter what he’d do, someone would be unhappy.
But it beat budget spreadsheets, which was next on his to-do list. Shoving his puzzles aside, Gordon clicked open the budget files. At least he could see the spreadsheets now. His right eye wasn’t fully recovered from the CSR, but the difference was significant.
Jost’s visit remained in Gordon’s thoughts, and he looked to see if he could expand the department’s family perks. Non-sworn female support staff had respectable maternity benefits. Sworn officers, not so much, and there was hardly anything allowed in the way of paternity leave. Gordon switched to the scheduling spreadsheets. Could he give Jost light duty for a couple of weeks? Give him more time at home with the new baby without jeopardizing his pay?
He sighed. Back to the budget. Without more money coming in, there was no way to add anything new without subtracting something already there. Everyone was overworked and underpaid. The city wanted bells and whistles for almost everything except the people who were protecting them. But Gordon refused to have his officers spend all their time watching parking meters expire, or ticket people going five miles over the speed limit.
His private line rang. Angie. Shit, how did it get to be four o’clock? He picked up.
“You avoiding me?” Angie asked. “No coffee break, no lunch. And you didn’t supervise the security installation.”
“Things got busy. How did the installation go? Everything set up the way you wanted?”
“Yeah, we’ve got alarms and cameras up the wazoo downstairs, and I can watch from my place, too. Plus, new locks on the front and back doors. You want to come over later, see if it meets your standards? And I can give you a key.” She lowered her voice to pure seduction. “And the security code and password.”
He dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “And I’ll give you the code for that present you gave me.”
“Mmm. Sounds like a fair exchange,” she said. “Want me to fix you dinner?”
“No need. I want to touch base with Mick Finnegan, so I’ll grab something there.”
“Don’t eat dessert,” Angie said. “And try not to be too late.”
Gordon promised to try to get there around seven—how was that for vague?—and got to work. Grants. That was the only way he was going to get more money. A grant would not only get the department something it needed, like computers in vehicles, but it would free up the money they’d been setting aside to pay for them.
He was on page eight of an application when Solomon popped in. Gordon rubbed his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be home with your wife and kids?” Gordon asked. “Don’t you have a dog to feed?”
“I thought you wanted me to keep you informed,” Solomon said, once again settling into the visitor’s chair as if it belonged to him. “I got some interesting hits from ViCAP.”
Gordon made sure he hit “Save”—twice—before asking Solomon to fill him in.
“Now, I’m not sure it’s relevant,” Solomon began, “but I fed in data from that pickup truck homicide. Checked into other sniper-like killings. Kept it loose, which meant I got way too many cases, but I started narrowing them down. Drivers, then pickup truck drivers—anything I could think of. But then I thought, why not look at the victims rather than the method of killing?”
Gordon checked the time—something he seemed to do a lot when Solomon was regaling him with his far-fetched notions of catching serial killers or finding mob members hiding out in Mapleton. “And your point?”
Solomon tugged his ear. “I’m not sure I have one—yet—but I’ve found a whole bunch of unsolveds where the victim was very much like our pickup driver.” He tossed a file folder on Gordon’s desk.
Gordon left the file where it was. “He’s not our pickup driver. The accident wasn’t even in our county, remember. State Patrol is in charge.”
“Yeah, I know. But I thought it was a different approach. Did you know that in the last three years, there have been thirteen possible homicides involving deadbeat husbands?”
“Guess it depends on your definition of deadbeat,” Gordon said. “You think you’ve got a killer sniping at deadbeats?”
“Not all of them were snipers. Three were killed with rifles. One of those looked like a hunting accident. Four with handguns, five might have been poisoned, one drowning.”
“And you think they’re related? Why? What do you have to connect them other than the victims were deadbeats?” As crazy ideas went, this had to be Solomon’s craziest.
Solomon shrugged. “I don’t know … not much. But what if there are people out there who think deadbeats should be done away with?”
“I’m sure there are. But they don’t up and kill them. Are you trying to pin these down to a serial killer? Serial killers generally use the same method. You’ve got everything from shooting to poisoning. And from what you’ve said, many of the deaths looked like accidents.”
“Yeah, but you know a lot of killers try to make their work look like anything but a homicide.”
“I thought serial killers targeted people of the same sex, age, type. Did you get that much at least?” Gordon asked.
“Well, all the victims were male, all had more than one ex-wife, and they were all between thirty and fifty.”
“All white, like the pickup victim?”
“No. Three African-American, two Latinos. The rest white.”
“I don’t think it’ll fly. The pickup driver was also involved in a DUI and a suspect in a hit and run. Any of those could be a commonality instead of the deadbeat angle. No, you’ve got too many variables.” Gordon smiled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with catching an ATM scammer.”
“Yeah, it seemed like a good theory when I thought of it. But saying it out loud—not so much.” He snorted. “But wouldn’t it be cool if there was some sort of assassination ring and we figured it out?”
“Frankly, I’d be happier if we could get computers for our units. Or better salaries for our staff, with better benefits. Don’t suppose you had time to check into the Gaubatz-Jost friction.”
“Yeah, I did. But it’s not nearly as exciting.”
Chapter 44
“Gotta be more exciting than grant proposals.” Gordon put on his readers and grabbed a notepad. “What did you find out? Just the facts, please.”
“Can’t be sure this is the trigger, but it fits. Four years ago, Gaubatz’s daughter had a baby. High risk pregnancy. It only lived three days. Last night would have been its birthday. And because of the complications, the daughter couldn’t have another kid. She’s Gaubatz’s only child. His one shot at grandparentage, as it were. My theory is that he resents Jost for having a baby that’s reminding him of what happened. A few months ago, or a few months from now, it wouldn’t have pushed Gaubatz’s buttons. I also think it’ll blow over, but that’s based on what I know from working with him.”
Gordon rolled that around for a bit. “Could be. Going through an emotional time, jumped on the first target. And, knowing Gaubatz, he wasn’t going to back down and apologize once he’d taken a stand. I’ll talk to him.” Although he’d done it at least three times as he worked, because he didn’t trust the system, he hit “Save” once more on his grant proposal before shutting down his computer. He didn’t want to have to redo what progress he’d made when he came in tomorrow.
“No more serial killer fantasies, okay, Solomon? Go home and kick back. If you do feel obligated to investigate something, we could use a lead on the burglary. I know it’s not as exciting as a serial killer, but it’s our case, and one we should be solving. Unless you want an off-duty beer at Finnegan’s.”
“Nah, but thanks. You’re right.” Solomon checked his watch. “I should get home. Kids’ll be home from basketball practice by now.”
Gordon glanced at the file folder Solomon had left him. Printouts of case summaries. Shaking his head, Gordon shoved the fold
er into his inbox, then locked up and headed to Finnegan’s, where he might be able to find something that actually pertained to a Mapleton investigation.
He cruised the parking lot first, checking for Ford Focuses and Subaru SUVs. None of the former, three of the latter. He called in the plates. Although why would anyone who’d committed a burglary hang around? Unless the had a thing for Angie hypothesis held true. That could be pushing into stalker territory. While Gordon definitely didn’t wish a stalker on anyone, if someone was lurking, that could make him easier to catch.
He went inside, nodded to the men he knew at the bar. Leaving a few seats between them and himself, he sat and ordered a beer. The radio streamed country music, the air streamed the smell of beer and grease. Mick set the bottle and a glass in front of Gordon. “You here to be sociable or are you working?”
“Mostly unwinding.” But since he was looking for information, Gordon ordered a plate of Mick’s special wings. Never hurt to grease the skids. Besides, Mick’s wings were phenomenal.
Mick called in the order and stood in front of Gordon, washing glasses. “So, what’s the working part?”
Gordon took a swig of his beer. “Solomon said you remembered Avery Lambert coming in. He a regular?”
“Wouldn’t call him that.” Mick set the clean glasses on the shelf. “Of course, there’s regular, and then there’s regular. Here’s the Finnegan’s rule of thumb. Once a month could be considered regular, but it wouldn’t make my list. Top of my list would be every day, or five nights a week. Next step down, three nights. Once a week is still on the list, more so if it’s the same night.” He dried his hands. “So, to answer your question, no, Avery Lambert is an occasional drop in.” Mick smiled. “Of course he still gets the exceptional Finnegan’s service, and if he’s consistent in his orders, I’ll know what he drinks, but he’s still new. His status could change. I’d give it a few more months.”
