The Priority Unit
Book 1: Maine Justice Series
by
Susan Page Davis
The Priority Unit, Copyright 2017 by Susan Page Davis
Published by Tea Tin Press
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Prologue
“Chris? Talk to me.” Detective Harvey Larson edged along the brick wall of the rundown ranch house, toward the back door. He had sudden misgivings about going in to bring in a small-time drug dealer. Getting the warrant and backup had taken too long. What if the dealer had gotten word that an informant had tipped them off?
“Yeah?” came his partner’s quiet voice over the shoulder mic.
Harvey reached out and tried the doorknob. It opened at his touch, and he shot Jim Haines, the tactical officer behind him, a look.
“The back door’s unlocked,” he said for Chris’s benefit.
“Go,” Chris said.
Too late now. Harvey stealthily pushed the door open a few inches. Chris Towne should be ringing the front doorbell.
Harvey didn’t like the vibes he got from the setup as he and Jim stepped inside a cramped utility room, pistols ready. Light streaked in from the kitchen beyond. The doorbell rang, and he heard footsteps.
He’d only taken one stride toward the kitchen when a burst of gunfire turned his world topsy-turvy. Fighting back the urge to call out to Chris, he flattened himself against the wall by the clothes dryer and listened.
After a few seconds of silence, he heard something moving—or being moved—and retreating footsteps. Jim nodded to him. Harvey whipped around the corner. The kitchen was clear. He dashed to the next doorway. Chris lay sprawled in the front entry, and the door behind him stood wide open. The second backup man was huddled on the steps. Harvey reached for his mic.
“Officers down. Send an ambulance.” The dispatcher already had their location and was tracking them. He quickly checked the front steps and driveway. Whoever had been in the house was gone. He panned the other rooms. Nothing. Less than thirty seconds had passed when he knelt by his partner, but he knew it was too late.
Jim Haines was at his partner’s side on the steps, and Harvey heard the other man’s voice. That guy would make it.
He sat down on the floor and against the wall, hauling Chris’s head and shoulders onto his lap, waiting grimly for the ambulance. What would he tell Marcia?
Only that morning, Chris had given him a pep talk. Harvey felt as though his life was falling apart. He and Carrie fought constantly. When his shift ended yesterday, all Harvey wanted to do was go home and unwind. Instead, his wife gave him grief about the crummy apartment that was all they could afford on his salary and the number of times he pulled night duty.
“Things are going pretty good at work, though, right?” Chris had said. “In January you’ll get a raise. That will keep Carrie happy for a while.”
Harvey leaned back against the wall. He should have insisted on more backup, but truthfully he’d thought they could handle it. Could anything worse happen?
He heard a distant siren.
*****
Harvey didn’t leave the police station until 2 a.m. He drove home under orders to get some rest and report to the chief at nine o’clock. He climbed the stairs wearily, dreading going into their apartment. Carrie would either be waiting up to scream at him for being late again, or she would be out with her friends partying. He almost preferred the latter, if that would mean he could take a shower, wash Chris’s blood off him, and go to sleep.
Fighting with Carrie was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe the sight of his bloody clothes would shock her into silence.
Carrie had long since decided her husband was not a social asset. When he did have weekend nights off, Harvey was too exhausted to go out with people he didn’t like. Carrie’s friends didn’t like being around him, either. They made snide comments about hanging out with a cop and how they’d have to be careful around him.
He took out his keys and braced himself as he turned the lock. It was a Friday night. Chances were that if Carrie was home, she would be three parts drunk.
The door opened upon silence and darkness. He flipped the kitchen light switch and shut the door. After one step, he stopped. The kitchen table was gone. A burglary? Or just Carrie rearranging furniture? He looked around.
Aside from a few dirty dishes in the sink, the kitchen counter was bare. That was odd. No coffeemaker. No toaster. No stupid Irish cop cookie jar that Carrie’s grandmother had thought made a quaint shower gift eight years ago. A burglar wouldn’t take that.
But Carrie wasn’t one to clean the kitchen that thoroughly.
A strange feeling radiated from his chest. Not the adrenaline rush he’d had when he realized that he and Chris had been set up tonight. It was a sick, achy certainty that the inevitable had happened.
He walked to the living room doorway and flipped another light switch. The room was bare except for the scarred maple coffee table and several piles of books. His books, dumped out on the carpet.
“Great,” he said aloud. “Just great.” He felt like slamming his fist into the wall, but that wasn’t his style.
One more room, but he knew what was coming. The bedroom looked bigger with only the queen-sized bed in it. No dressers. No lamps. He threw open the closet doors. His dress uniform and civilian clothes hung neatly on his third of the closet rod. Carrie’s two thirds was empty.
He stood gazing into the closet for a long moment, then took off his jacket and started to hang it up. He stared at the discoloration and wondered if the cleaners could get the blood out. Carefully, he hung it on Carrie’s side where it wouldn’t touch anything else and gently closed the door. He unbuckled his shoulder holster and stood for a moment with it in his hands. He always put it on his dresser, but the dresser was gone. Wasn’t one dresser enough for her?
He swore and laid the holster down on the carpet.
Chapter 1
Ten years later
“So, your computer programmer went missing yesterday … what time?” Harvey stood near the office doorway, looking around carefully. His partner, Eddie Thibodeau, stood to one side, waiting patiently, his gaze darting about the office.
“I saw him around nine or so yesterday morning.” Bart Owen sat down behind his gleaming walnut desk. “I asked him to come in here to discuss the project he was working on. Then I went looking for him after lunch, but he wasn’t at his desk.”
“And no one here at Coastal saw him for the rest of the day?” Harvey asked, fishing a small notebook and a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket.
“That’s right. I asked a few people right away—my partners, of course, and the employees who work near him, and the secretary, but …” Owen let it trail off with a shrug. “Seems no one saw him after noon.”
“His car wasn’t in the parking lot?”
“I didn’t check. I just assumed he’d left in his car for lunch.”
Harvey glanced at his notebook. “You called it in last night.”
Owen cleared his throat. “Yes. At first I figured he must have had a call from home and left early. You know, kid fell off his bike or something.”
Harvey nodded.
Owen sank back in his chair. “His wife called me at home about 7:30. Wanted to know where Nick was. Shocked me, I’ll tell you. I came back here just to be sure he had
n’t come back to the office, but there was no sign of him.”
“Eddie, check Dunham’s voice mail.”
Detective Thibodeau nodded and left the room.
“And you called the police station from here?” Harvey continued.
Owen ran a nervous hand through the fringe of brown hair at the back of his head. “I called Lisa Dunham back first. Tried not to panic her, but I suggested we ought to call the cops, just get it on record, in case something had happened. But they told me they couldn’t do anything until Nick had been missing twenty-four hours.”
Harvey nodded. “That’s standard with adults, unless there’s reason to think it’s an emergency.”
Owen straightened, a belligerent set to his jaw. “Well, I figured this morning was time enough. Lisa’s frantic. No sign of Nick all night, and that’s not normal. So I called again as soon as I got here.”
“You’re right, sir, it’s not normal for an adult to disappear like that. We’ll take a look around. How many employees do you have?”
“We have twenty people working on software. Designers, programmers, editors. We three partners have a secretary, Diane, and Leola’s our receptionist out front. She handles incoming phone calls and visitors. There’s an in-house accountant.”
Harvey scribbled furiously in his notebook.
Owen raised one eyebrow. “So, you think something’s happened to Nick?”
“Can’t say yet, sir. When you returned to the office last night, was there anyone else here?”
“No. The parking lot was empty.”
“No custodians?”
“Not last night. They come in Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Harvey wrote it down. “We’ll be taking a close look at Mr. Dunham’s work station. Could you please send the employee who saw him last to me there?”
“Certainly.” Owen headed for the hallway, his step more confident now that he’d been given something to do.
Harvey went out to the large workroom where the Coastal Technology employees were diligently typing away. Several glanced up at him uneasily as he walked past their desks. Eddie was bent over a desk in the far corner of the room. A choice spot, Harvey guessed. He’d fought for the corner position in the Priority Unit’s office at the police station, so he’d be out of traffic, in a quiet, inconspicuous place where he could work undisturbed.
“Eddie, treat this room like a crime scene. Tape off this cubicle and get a couple of techs in to go over it. Find out if they have the employees’ fingerprints on record. I’ll get a list of clients and other people who’ve been in the office this week.”
Eddie warily eyed the dozens of compact disks in a rack above Dunham’s desk. “We don’t generally pull missing persons, Harv.”
Harvey took a pair of latex gloves from a pocket, pulled them on and opened the top drawer of the desk. “Ace programmer disappears from an up-and-coming computer company. His car’s missing, too. The captain thought it was significant.”
“Dunham’s not the first white collar worker who decided to bail on his family.” Eddie pulled out his cell phone as Harvey surveyed the contents of the desk drawer.
He counted at least six flash drives, among the office supplies, and lifted a black zippered case from the drawer. “Without his blood test kit?”
Eddie’s eyes flared. “This guy’s diabetic?”
Harvey opened the case and checked inside to be sure. “I’d say so.”
Eddie whistled.
Harvey walked around the tiny work space that had served as Dunham’s office, scrutinizing the floor, divider walls and electronic equipment. “Ask Mike to have someone check all the hospitals for diabetic emergencies. And I think we’d better get over and see Nick Dunham’s wife right away. Get Pete and Arnie over here to question employees. Set up the techs for fingerprinting, then we’ll go see Mrs. Dunham.”
Eddie nodded, his dark eyes gleaming with interest now, and began making his calls as Harvey went to the men’s washroom. It was spotless, and he opened the cabinet under the sink, then the one above. He went back out into the workroom.
“Techs will be here in ten minutes,” Eddie said.
“Great. I’ll check his computer files and see what he was working on yesterday.”
“Excuse me.”
Harvey turned around. A young woman was standing near the divider that separated Dunham’s desk from the next cubicle.
“May I help you?” Harvey smiled involuntarily. Her long golden braid gave her a wholesome, unspoiled appearance. She wore no makeup to distract from her flawless complexion, and her gray eyes held a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. She was the sort of girl he’d expect to sell him a dozen ears of corn at a farm stand.
“Mr. Owen told me to see you. I’m Jennifer Wainthrop.” She stepped cautiously forward, darting a swift glance toward Eddie, then looking back to Harvey.
She wore a deep blue skirt and a lighter blue blouse, with a vest that looked as if it were made from silk neckties, in shades of blue and burgundy. Not the tailored, executive image he’d come to expect of career women. Harvey took in the simple neatness of her hair, pulled back from her temples into the thick braid.
He squelched a flash of annoyance. Her appearance was irrelevant to the case, and he didn’t want the distraction. He was known in the unit and the entire police department as a man who stuck to a case doggedly until it was closed, but never got involved. It had become almost a matter of pride that he never let his work intrude in his personal life. Not that he had much of a personal life anymore.
“It’s best if you don’t touch anything in here, ma’am,” he said easily, but he found the intensity in her eyes drawing him a step closer. “Is there another room where we could talk?”
“The conference room, down the hall.” She turned toward the door, and her braid swung below her waist, against the dark back of her vest.
“Eddie, come find me in the conference room when you’re done here.”
“Right.” Eddie stared after the girl, his eyes reflecting his appreciation.
Harvey scowled at him but said nothing. He’d noticed her understated beauty himself, and he’d sworn off women years ago.
Her skirt swished about her calves as she led him down the hallway, and he made himself look away from her trim ankles and kiltie loafers. He had no business looking at a witness as a woman.
And she was definitely a woman, he decided as she turned to face him in the software firm’s conference room, not the girl his brain had registered as a first impression.
Now that he’d passed thirty-five, they all looked so young. She was probably a computer whiz the company had hired fresh out of college. He wondered how old she was, and caught himself up short. What did it matter, anyway? She was too young for him, even if he were looking for companionship, which he wasn’t.
“Miss Winthrop. I’m Detective Larson.” He extended his hand, hoping his tone conveyed nothing but proficiency.
“Wainthrop,” she corrected gently.
He swallowed. He rarely made mistakes with names, and instantly he felt less competent.
“Miss Wainthrop. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged slightly and clasped his hand for an instant. The warmth of her palm startled him. He glanced around at the functional room trying to quickly subdue the adrenaline and the slight guilt that eroded his confidence. A long oak table was flanked by a dozen matching, leather-covered swivel chairs. The carpet was thicker than his mattress, and Impressionist pastel prints on the walls probably cost a bundle. Definitely upscale. He pictured the stark interview room in his unit’s office at the police station on Middle Street. Its low-budget, Early Municipal decor compared unfavorably to Coastal Technology’s luxurious facilities.
He took a deep breath and turned back to face the witness.
*****
“Would you like to sit down?” Jennifer asked. She felt a quiet authority radiating from the detective. He wore it as easily as he did his comfortably shabby jacket. His outdat
ed brown-and-navy striped tie was loosened at the neck of his pale blue cotton shirt. His vivid blue eyes didn’t miss a thing, she was certain.
“Yes, thank you.”
He sat at the end of the long table where the partners and software designers presented new concepts to their clients. Jennifer pulled out a chair and sat at the side of the table.
She had expected a barrage of questions, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to interview her. As the seconds ticked by, her apprehension grew.
“Miss Wainthrop.”
She nodded, a tiny acknowledgment that he’d gotten her name right. His face softened then, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepening into creases that suggested he smiled a lot. She felt suddenly that she could trust him.
The gleaming badge clipped to his breast pocket drew her eye, and she sensed that, for Larson, upholding the law was a lifelong passion. She wasn’t so sure about his handsome young partner, with the snapping dark eyes and black denim jeans. He was too good looking for a cop, but this one she could feel comfortable with. Detective Larson had a solid steadiness that was calming. She would do anything she could to help him find Nick Dunham.
*****
Harvey opened his pocket notebook. “Mr. Owen told us that, as far as he knows, you were the last one to see Mr. Dunham yesterday.”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “Oh, I hope not. He’s been gone that long?”
“It’s all right, Miss Wainthrop. We don’t know yet that anything is wrong. Just tell me how he was when you saw him yesterday.”
She swallowed and took a deep breath, her eyes focusing somewhere over his right shoulder. “Nick was fine when I saw him. My work station is next to his. We usually say hello in the morning.” She glanced at him as though suddenly remembering something different about yesterday. “He told me before lunch that he was working on a special assignment.”
Harvey nodded. “I believe Mr. Owen was supervising Nick Dunham’s project.”
The Priority Unit (Maine Justice Book 1) Page 1
