In the middle of the floor a bulletin board served as a meeting area where personnel discussed the latest scuttlebutt for all ears. Halliday checked the board and listened in on a breaking story. Detective Leo Bergman said, “Get this, the inmate escaped Soledad prison at 0600 hours by hiding out in the tank of a ‘honey wagon.’”
Members of the office staff stood with coffee mugs paused at their lips. Leo, known for his punch lines said, “The cashier on duty at a 7-Eleven had a hissy. The poor gal called up Soledad PD. In a shaky voice—you know, like a perp had a gun to her head—she cried out to the duty officer, ‘He stunk up this place so fucking bad that I had to close the store during morning rush hour.’”
Leo took a long sip of coffee and blurted, “Soledad PD arrived to find the inmate in a dumpster behind the 7-Eleven, holding his nose.”
Halliday headed to his desk during Leo’s patented airy guffaw. The detectives had small offices along the east side of the building that reminded him of the embassy’s offices—ECON, POL, ADMIN, and GSO—inside those third world missions.
His office, the size of a large closet, held a small desk, a short bookcase, and a table piled with documents that needed to be filed. He slid between the bookcase and desk to collapse into the roll around chair. If he leaned over, he had a limited view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains through the narrow window, despite the county courthouse spire.
Leo Bergman poked his head in the door and said, “The chief wants to talk to you.”
The thin, white-haired, senior detective responded to Halliday’s questioning look. “He didn’t say why.”
“Leo, have you seen Gladstone?”
The veteran raised his eyebrows. “Last I heard he was across the street at Cindy’s.”
Gladstone spent more time at the diner, a longtime PD hangout, than in his office.
Before leaving Leo said, “John, don’t come down too hard on Gladstone. He’s an honest kid. You know, raw behind the ears.”
Halliday grunted as once again his call to Gladstone went to voicemail. He hung up. The lad should have advised him what he had learned from the Redwood Bluffs sheriff regarding Lamar Festus.
Five minutes later Halliday approached the desk outside the chief’s office. He absorbed Betsy Martin’s inquisitive stare.
“What did you do?” she said.
“Nothing that I know of. Is Sheriff Andy in a bad mood?”
She giggled. “I don’t know, Opie. You’d better get in there and find out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Guess who I ran into at the grocery store?”
He played along. “Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
“Come on, John,” she said, her voice rising. “Vicky told me how much she enjoyed the movies with you the other night.”
Vicky, who lived across the hall, managed a car rental agency at Santa Reina Airport. She was always forcing her availability on him. “That was three months ago, Betsy.”
She heaved a sigh. “I think she has a crush on you.”
Halliday responded to her crooked smile with a grunt.
“The chief said to go right in.”
Fifty-eight year old Chief Matthew Brayden would merit a statue at the new PD if Santa Reina citizens got their way. However, many of the personnel under his leadership referred to him as a slave driver, often modified with a profane adjective.
Brayden rarely called his detectives into his office to praise them or for social pleasantries. Keeping the meeting to business worked for Halliday. The chief’s heavy-handed methods did not bother him. He grabbed a roll-around chair, but stayed far enough away to avoid the chief’s bad breath. He sat, back straight, with elbows supported by the chair’s arms. He noted the boss was getting grayer and heavier.
The chief cleared his throat and ejected a wad of phlegm into a spittoon beside his desk.
“Sorry, it’s too goddamned much trouble to head to the toilet down the hall every time I have to spit. The doctor gave me the ultimatum, quit smoking or live with congestive heart failure or CHF. I call it CFN—Continual Fucking Nuisance.”
Halliday held in a whimsical response.
A wheezy grunt ended the chief’s short coughing spell. “The wizards at Genevive will come up with a miracle drug before you know it.”
“For CFN, Chief?”
Brayden stared him down. “No, for CHF.”
To apologize would be even sillier so Halliday didn’t. Although Betsy had never mentioned it around the office, everyone knew that Brayden was also battling prostate cancer. It struck Halliday as odd that Brayden would want to hide it.
Brayden grimaced, like he wished he was somewhere else. “What happened this morning near Genevive Labs?”
“I took a call at 0930 from a vagrant named Lamar Festus regarding a missing person.”
“Missing person?” The chief expressed confusion.
“Yes sir, a friend of his named Shack.”
Halliday held up his hand, reached for the water bottle and took a long sip. Experience told him to minimize Genevive Labs’ involvement. If he did, the missing person issue would die here in the chief’s office as far as Genevive Labs was concerned.
“Festus appeared disoriented. He bolted when Gladstone arrived. We couldn’t find him or any evidence of Shack.”
“What evidence were you looking for?”
Halliday wouldn’t bring up the nonexistent body or the Sierra Contractors. “A pedestrian or tire tracks. We found nothing.”
The chief’s gaze settled on a bowling trophy off to the left.
“I had Gladstone check COPLINK,” Halliday continued. “He discovered Festus had a record. Then we found out he’s a missing person, too.”
“Two missing persons?” The chief looked perplexed. “I understand Sheriff Barnes reported that Festus, a citizen of Redwood Bluff, had been missing since last Thursday. Who’s this other MP?”
Halliday leaned forward in his chair. “Like I said, Festus’s friend Shack is missing.”
The chief seemed to swallow the remnants of a joke when he said, “Gladstone told me that Lamar Festus became distraught when his dog Shack turned up missing.”
Shit. “A dog? This is the first time I’ve heard that.”
Had Gladstone blindsided him? Halliday couldn’t hide his embarrassment.
The chief expelled another wad of phlegm into the spittoon. Brayden’s brief crooked grin could have been the result of Halliday’s ignorance or a grim reminder of his condition.
Chief Brayden brushed his hand across his eyes. “You and Gladstone need to get on the same page. Continue your search for Festus. Take the lead. Gladstone’s a good kid. As you know, his inexperience often trips him up.”
Halliday nodded, but decided to voice his thoughts. “Chief, is there anything I should know about Festus? Quite frankly, I’m surprised that you called me in to discuss it.”
“Anything that involves Genevive Labs goes through me. Is there anything you don’t understand about that, detective?”
“No, sir.”
Brayden had become tight with the biotech company. In private, some PD personnel argued the chief had crossed the line. Word was that he had done favors for Genevive, had looked the other way when an infraction involved Genevive personnel. As it was, the company’s security rivaled a military post. It made Festus’s story of spying on them even more remarkable.
“It is not necessary to involve Genevive personnel in the Festus investigation. Determine his whereabouts first and notify me. Got it? And keep me posted.”
Halliday had expected the order. “I understand, sir.”
The lull signaled an end to the meeting. Halliday rose. “Anything else, sir?”
The chief, his eyes sunk in fleshy folds, juggled papers around for a moment. Without looking up, he said, “I’m sure you’ve heard the budget cut rumors. A small town like Santa Reina hardly warrants three detectives.”
Halliday, both feet planted with hands on hips, said, “Yes, I’ve hea
rd the rumors.”
“A word to the wise. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. If I were you I’d keep my nose extremely clean the next few weeks.”
The chief waved the document in the air. “You’re a damned good detective, John. I’d hate to lose you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” he said.
Halliday saw the handwriting on the wall. Senior Detective Leo Bergman was untouchable. Either he or Gladstone would get axed. The chosen candidate would have to transfer to Los Angeles, San Francisco, or Stockton, where he’d get a pay raise to match the stress. Any detective on a small force could consider a transfer to a big city police force a promotion. Rich Gladstone wouldn’t cut it as a detective in the big city. They’d transfer him to some bullshit department like the Office of Internal Affairs. Gladstone would fit into the political goings on at IAO just fine until he got lonesome for Santa Reina.
As for Halliday, everyone knew his qualifications overshadowed Rich Gladstone’s lack of experience.
However, no one would lose any sleep if Halliday left Santa Reina.
Chapter Five
Cindy’s Diner had been serving Santa Reina and the PD for over fifty years. The diner’s walls were layered with paint, the ceiling with grease. Overhead fans droned over loud conversations accompanied by breakfast odors that pervaded the diner 24/7. Late in the afternoon, grease stained Santa Reina Tribune pages flapped on the tables.
Gladstone sat in a corner booth staring into a cup of coffee while gazing at the sports page.
Halliday scooted into the booth across from him.
The scruffy linoleum covered floor creaked until a waitress ambled over to the vinyl covered booth. “The usual John?”
He nodded. “Thanks, Carmen.”
Halliday interrupted Gladstone’s sports page. “Why in hell didn’t you advise me about your conversations with Sheriff Barnes and Chief Brayden?”
Gladstone held up his hands as if to ward off a defensive tackle. “Hey boss, I heard you had your hands full out at Sur on a domestic violence.” He paused too long and said, “That’s what Sergeant Garcia told me.”
Halliday held up his phone. “If we are going to work together I expect you to keep me advised of information that’s pertinent to an investigation. If I don’t answer, then you leave a detailed voicemail. Is that clear?”
“Sure, boss, I’ll keep you in the loop.”
The waitress placed Halliday’s ice tea in front of him.
When she left, he responded. “Another thing. I’m not your boss, Gladstone. Sure, I have seniority. You can call me Halliday or Detective Halliday in front of witnesses, perps, officials, and waitresses.”
Gladstone gulped. “Sure, Halliday.”
He moved inches closer. “My expectations are that you are going to grow as a professional with regards to your approach to investigative detective work.”
Gladstone digested what he had said with a gulp of coffee that went down the wrong way.
The kid coughed it out. If Gladstone didn’t shape up Halliday would jump in his shit at every opportunity.
Halliday said, “What did you learn regarding Lamar Festus?”
The lanky detective straightened up, clearing his throat. “Not much, really. Do you know Sheriff Barnes?”
“No, never met the man.”
“Barnes is… well, he gave me an earful. He believes Genevive had a hand in all the missing animals. He said Lamar Festus was looking for his missing dog, a German shepherd named Shack. Of course, you knew that from your discussion with Festus this morning.”
“No, I found out when Chief Brayden informed me during our meeting.”
“Shit. Festus didn’t tell you?”
“He said his friend was missing. I assumed it was a person not an animal.”
Gladstone glanced at him with a sheepish grin. “I should have contacted you earlier.”
“In the future let’s stay on the same page so we don’t embarrass ourselves in front of the chief. Or, for that matter, anyone involved in an investigation.”
Halliday accepted the kid’s nod. “What did Sheriff Barnes have to say about Genevive Labs?”
Gladstone’s eyes widened. “The evil empire is at the top of his shit list. He’s a minority, though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Most folks in the county are thrilled to have Genevive Labs as a neighbor. Genevive pays good wages with first class benefits. They give back to the community. Just look at our new PD. I hear the working environment at the Labs rivals a country club.”
Gladstone sounded like a commercial. Halliday had talked to several Santa Reina and Redwood Bluff citizens who were distrustful of the biotech giant.
Gladstone scratched his head. “Sheriff Barnes told me that several farmers had made complaints. They claim Genevive has abducted animals—livestock, pets, wildlife. They said they had seen Genevive security trucks rounding up animals during the graveyard shift.”
“Official complaints? To the sheriff?”
“Barnes said the complaints were filed with Santa Reina PD.”
Redwood Bluff and Santa Reina jurisdictions overlapped in the north and northeast sections of Santa Reina. “I haven’t heard of any complaints here. Have you?”
“No.”
“Find out who in the department has been taking complaints. What was the nature of those complaints? How were they handled? Begin with the dispatcher.”
“Got it.”
“What else did the sheriff have to say?”
“Festus was no vagrant. He has a Master’s degree in agriculture from UC Davis from over forty years ago. He set up several AG programs over the years in Redwood Bluff through the auspices of UC Davis. Barnes said local farmers view Festus as a hero because he introduced some robust strains of produce that were less susceptible to disease and infestation.”
Halliday found it difficult to believe the Lamar Festus he had encountered in the clearing owned a Master’s degree. “Go on.”
“Barnes said that Festus took up the cause of the farmers and ranchers with Genevive Labs. Either he didn’t receive a kind reception at the labs or else he rubbed someone the wrong way. An altercation ensued. I didn’t get much out of the sheriff regarding details.”
Halliday ran his thumb around the rim of his glass. This was all pointing toward Genevive Labs, exactly where the chief didn’t want to go. In April of last year a Genevive security guard had been accused of raping a local girl. Halliday had been close to an arrest when all charges were dropped per an agreement between the girl’s attorney and the chief. Halliday never got the full story. According to the chief, the girl had lied. Halliday, who had questioned the young woman several times, believed she had been telling him the truth.
His phone rang. “Halliday.”
“Halliday, Sergeant Garcia. What did you say to Martinez?”
“What are you talking about, Sergeant?”
“I am at the Martinez house watching it go up in flames.”
“Flames?”
“Yeah, the fire department is calling it arson. I wondered who might have started the fire.”
Garcia’s insinuation was bullshit. “It couldn’t have been Martinez. The family preceded me out to Highway 99. They were on their way to Chowchilla.”
“I’m betting that asshole Martinez made a U-turn. He returned to torch the place.”
“Do you have any evidence to back up your premise?”
“Well, no. No hard evidence.”
“What did the neighbors say?”
“Neighbors never talk in Sur, at least in English.”
“Jesus, Garcia, did you question anyone?”
“A neighbor told me that Martinez had promised to get revenge before he left.”
“Revenge?”
“Revenge for losing his house… I suppose.”
Or revenge on Garcia. “Garcia, you know why I removed you from the situation there this afternoon?”
“You t
ell me detective.”
“You were so goddamned wound up you could’ve ignited a powder keg. Break down the door? Then what? Race in with your weapon out? Force Martinez to go for his weapon? I wanted to avoid all that.”
“The neighbors are fucking crazy. El fantasma.”
“What do you mean Sergeant? Tell me what they said.”
“Sergeant?”
“The neighbors claim a ghost started the fire,” Garcia said in a voice barely audible.
More ghosts. “What?”
“The Latinos out in Santa Sur are ‘loco en la cabeza.’ Crazy in the head.”
Halliday had no reply.
“Martinez had a prior,” Garcia countered. “The neighbors had made several complaints.”
“I checked the records, Garcia. You were the arresting officer two months ago. You were this close to getting suspended for entering the Martinez home without provocation.”
“Shit, I gotta go detective.”
“Don’t hang up. Listen to me, Garcia. I’d better not hear any derogatory remarks or any insinuations in your report or your conversations in the office. If you don’t find concrete evidence against Martinez you stay the hell away from him. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t even try to mess with me.”
The line clicked off. Halliday put the phone down.
Gladstone’s face was all animated. “Jesus, what happened?”
He needed to talk to Brayden about Garcia. “Garcia called in reference to the domestic dispute call out this afternoon. I moved the family out. The place burned down an hour ago.”
“Sur’s a tough area,” Gladstone said in a low voice.
Gladstone exercised good judgment not to pursue his issue with Garcia. The egocentric sergeant had been way out of line with the Martinez family. What was that about a ghost starting the fire? It hearkened back to the ghost that little Maria and her mother mentioned.
Halliday stewed on while Gladstone’s direct gaze made him keep his emotions under wraps.
Gladstone’s DROID buzzed. When he looked up he said, “I received an e-mail from Fresno PD. They found a missing person.”
Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold Page 3
