My form and coordination were terrible when I moved to the tornado kick. I could not manage the jump-spin sequence. I was determined to master it. Dizzy from trying, I bent over to steady my queasy stomach.
I lifted my head. Keith stood in the doorway. How long had he been there? Ignoring him I walked to the player and reversed the disk to the sequence I did best. He walked over and stood to one side. Then watched. Proud of my form I alternated snap-kicks.
When I went through them the second time he lunged forward and easily caught my leg throwing me off balance. But before I hit the floor he squatted and his powerful hands slid under my back.
I could not avoid looking into his eyes but I could not fully read his expression. It was somewhere between mockery and tenderness. He gently set me on my feet.
“Don’t get yourself in a position where you’ll ever have to use this, Lottie. The videos you see, the movie clips, showcase women who have trained with masters. Since childhood.”
I burst into tears then walked to the player and started the disk from the beginning.
He walked away.
That night I laid as far as possible on my side of the bed without actually falling off. “Come here,” he growled and pulled me to his chest.
Early in our marriage I’d come to realize that little marital sorrows would always float around us like ghosts in waiting. He hated my involvement in law enforcement. I hated his overprotective side. We would go to our fiftieth anniversary without coming to grips with this issue.
In the meantime, going to bed worked just fine.
***
The next morning the room in back of Sam’s office buzzed like a beehive. David Hayes walked around all the equipment. “Hot damn.”
“Bet you’ve never seen anything like this before.” One of the men gazed at him as he straightened one of the computers.”
“Actually, I have. Just not out here.” He smiled and went to the man supervising the installation.
David was clearly in his element. He moved easily in the light-footed manner that some really heavy men seem to have. Confident in his expertise, he seemed taller. Less gangly. In a half hour he had conferred with every technician in the room and they were deferring to him.
He had arrived with a list of specifications and argued for programs that I’d never heard of.
“Too much for out here.”
David easily won him over. “This will be a prototype for several regions in Kansas. I’m looking ahead. We have to prove we can use all these resources. And I intend to.”
“Going to cost a shitload of money.”
He grinned.
I had selected a soft gold color of paint. There was no reason to start off with the hideous institutional green that was slapped on the walls of all the rooms in public buildings. Or boring realtor’s beige. The floor would come last and a bit of texture would aid with disguising scratches made by big dogs or cleats.
“I have one more idea, Lottie. It’s an alert system for when something is placed in the evidence room.”
Storing evidence had worried me from the beginning because we were so short on manpower. In fact, none of the setups I’d looked at were very impressive. They were too easy to pilfer by both authorized and unauthorized personnel.
David’s method relied on the pagers he was giving to everyone on the team. There would be simultaneous notification when evidence was entered or removed and the door was unlocked by a revolving code that renewed daily.
“Terrific!” We high-fived. Harold noticed and came over. David gave him a demonstration.
“That’s ingenious. What are you doing out here?”
“Farming.”
“What a waste. I want the FBI to know what you’ve worked out.”
He managed a rueful smile. “Naw. I think they would just as soon I stay out here and tend to my crops.”
***
Keith and I arrived at the storage room early Friday morning. When we pulled up we saw a brand new entrance and a sign over the door: “Northwest Kansas Regional Crime Center.”
“Well, would you look at this,” Keith parked a couple of places down from the area reserved for handicapped persons.
I assumed we would be the first ones there but when we opened the door, there sat Sam looking like he had acquired a whole new kingdom. Warm air whooshed through a new central heating system. A huge conference table dominated the center of the room. A bank of electronic equipment was installed on the west wall.
The floors were covered with a high quality wood laminate and the walls would withstand regular scrubbings. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets with adjustable shelves housed forensic equipment and laboratory materials. In the back of the room was a small L-shaped kitchen. Someone had already started the coffee urn. I headed for it.
Sam stood when the rest of the task force arrived and gave the group a guided tour as though the whole installation had been his idea. I turned and looked at Harold who gave a small shrug and smiled. He had obviously coached Sam extensively.
It was time for the meeting to start, but Dr. Ferguson hadn’t arrived. The coffee drinkers went to the mini-kitchen and grabbed doughnuts and a cup of regular or decaf. I went to the head of the table and laid handouts on the broad surface. There was a large whiteboard and I rolled it closer to the conference table. I laid a copy of the agenda at each place.
Then the door blew open and bounced against the wall. In walked Dr. Ferguson who strode to an empty seat bringing the odor of winter-fresh air with him.
He glared at me. “Don’t interrupt. Go right ahead.” He nodded to the rest of the group. “Sorry for the delay. Ran into some construction on I-70.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll catch you up during the break. I’m sorry you missed Sam’s tour.” My words were calculated, implying that this room was Sam’s turf because it was attached to his office. “David Hayes can tell you all about the electronics too.”
David’s face was alight with excitement. Harold had “checked him out” but did not give me any specific information other than to say our young computer guru was A-okay. I certainly didn’t have any doubts about his ability after observing the reaction of the men who had installed the systems.
I walked over to the whiteboard and listed all the members of the team with specific assignments for each of them. Then I listed all the relevant facts we had compiled so far.
“Why are you using a whiteboard instead of a PowerPoint presentation?” Ferguson snapped.
“Because PowerPoint slides can’t be seen all at once and depend on a projector. I want any and all of you to be able to walk into this room any time Sam is in his office and be able to get the big picture at a glance. Whiteboards are the best for that purpose. Sam will have the key to this room and be familiar with updates.”
Ferguson looked around the table, rolled his eyes, and settled on a look that could only be described as a sneer, inviting the group to go along with his evaluation of the set-up. But unlike the last time, the men weren’t cooperating. The room had turned the trick. They were proud of it.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Believe what, Dr. Ferguson?”
“Using whiteboards when you have all this equipment. Why not just send out a composite e-mail to a distribution list? If someone knows how to create such a list, that is.”
David froze in his chair, taking quick umbrage, but easily keeping a lid on ill-timed comments.
“I’ll send out e-mails when I need to inform the team of new developments or if I’ve decided to take the search in another direction. But I’m going to keep this whiteboard updated. I value the judgment and opinions of each person in this group.”
I turned my attention from Ferguson to the men in the room. “Drop by the office when you’re in town. Your minds are more important than your use of electronics.”
Ferguson scoffed.
“Maintaining electronics is David Hayes’ job. Most of the men here don’t have time to take a computer course just to tell me they’ve had a new insight. They don’t need PowerPoint for that.”
“What’s PowerPoint?” asked Justin Harold.
“It’s like a cattle prod,” the Bidwell County sheriff quipped. “Only harder to use.”
There was a ripple of laughter. Josie and Harold Sider exchanged amused glances.
I turned back to Ferguson. “The Northwest Kansas Regional Crime Center is going to approach problems realistically and give a lot of consideration to our limitations. There’s a lot of ‘make do’ out here. Now, back to the business at hand.” I rubbed my palms together. “Sam and a few other men will figure out how someone put a baby in the hands of Reaching Woman. Keith will concentrate on the Suter family, and so on. Your assignments are all on the papers I’ll pass out at the end of the meeting.”
“It would be easy for someone to come in here and sabotage this equipment,” Ferguson wasn’t going to let this go. He quirked an eyebrow and his expression said that I was too dumb to have considered that.
“Yes, it would. That’s the beauty of having all this set up in back of the sheriff’s office instead of a separate building a couple of miles away. Someone will be here to guard access at all times, day and night. Sam and I will no longer just switch the phones over to our homes. Either he or I or a reserve deputy will be here twenty-four/seven. But David will be the only one using the more sophisticated equipment. He’s also trained to use the ViCAP database.”
“ViCAP? Jesus Christ.” Ferguson’s outburst—coming from a psychologist—was unexpected. “ViCAP? Are you nuts? There’s so few people in Western Kansas that you would be lucky to get the money together to buy a decent supply of dry pens for the whiteboard. And that’s if there is a sale going on. Why would you be using such a sophisticated program? What’s the point of all this stuff out in the middle of nowhere? It took forever for me to get here today.”
“Yes. Driving forever to get here is the point. The personnel in Topeka don’t like having to drive out here for every little whip stitch. They want us to solve our problems on a regional basis.”
Justin Harold rose and walked over to the coffee pot and began rummaging through the cupboard for a tray. When he found one, he arranged an assortment of doughnuts on it and carried it and a carafe of coffee back to our table. I suppressed a smile, knowing his interruption of Ferguson was deliberate. “Warm up?” Justin moved around the table, dissing the frustrated psychologist.
“But ViCAP, why?” Ferguson’s voice was filled with cold fury. He pulled a notebook from his worn leather briefcase and began taking notes.
“This case in particular is a good example. Some other state might have entered the facts about similar crimes.”
“It’s a dumb-ass program rarely used. Not worth wasting our time on.”
“I agree that ViCAP has been hindered because not enough law enforcement agencies take the trouble to enter information. But this crime center is going to enter every last bit of data. It might help in other areas.”
The Violent Crime Apprehension Program was a tool of the FBI that compared entered data for similarities. It coordinated investigations. A similar program works beautifully in Canada where entering information is mandatory, but was slow to take off in the United States because the original entry system had been too complicated and local authorities didn’t bother to use it.
Saddened by Ferguson’s scorn, I looked around the room knowing from all he had said and the looks that crossed his face how he probably viewed these people: Josie a thin-flanked weeping beauty who would develop a headache and scurry back to Eastern Kansas at the first hint of trouble. Aunt Dorothy, a prideful old mystery writer who rarely spoke. She had even brought her knitting today. Keith protectively guarding his turf like a range bull warding off wolves.
And Sam, with his large Roman nose—an elegant bump in the middle—set in his ways and ineffective, cultivating his Old West image by growing his hair a little too long and usually sporting a cowboy hat and a leather vest undoubtedly seemed like a caricature to Ferguson. In fact, the whole group undoubtedly looked like the most unlikely inept collection of law enforcement officers he had ever worked with.
His assessment was wrong.
I glanced at my watch. It was time for a break. The smokers headed outside. Ferguson left too, then in a few minutes stepped back inside. “Something has come up. I need to head back to Topeka.” He picked up his brief case and left.
“He called Dimon,” Harold said when he heard Ferguson start his Volkswagen.
“You eavesdropped?”
“Nope. But only because I wasn’t able to. I only heard the ‘Hello, Frank.’ Then he saw me and moved away.”
“There’s a chance. Just a chance,” I said slowly, “that Dimon wants this center controlled by KBI personnel. You brought it up and I’ve been thinking about it. He might want Sam and me out of here. And I ain’t gonna go.”
Chapter Thirteen
I was done in and not up to cooking supper. As usual, Tosca made a beeline for Keith the moment we walked in the door. He laughed and picked her up and began stroking her silky ears. “How’s my best girl tonight? Been lonesome today?” Tosca licked his face. If dogs could talk!
Josie and Harold Sider would bring Dorothy with them when they came out to the farm. “It’s a good night to order pizza,” Keith suggested.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Friday.” Our local café only offers it when the high school has a home game. Even though we give them a large tip to smooth their feathers, they are very reluctant to deliver this far out from town.
Keith awkwardly balanced Tosca in the crook of his elbow while he dialed the phone. Josie, Harold, and Dorothy arrived fifteen minutes later. After the pizza was delivered, we ate with perfunctory attempts to carry on a conversation. There was an unspoken reluctance to discuss Ferguson’s derision of the regional center.
“You have no idea how different this house usually is.” Determined to inject a bit of cheer, I directed an onslaught of small talk toward Dorothy. “Lots of people around and music. You can’t imagine the music. Josie and Keith play beautifully together and stay up half the night. At least one of the daughters is usually around. And when Bettina’s little boys are here it’s just heavenly. This place jumps.”
No one can top Josie when it comes to scornful looks, and I resented it.
“Murder doesn’t make for lively evenings,” she said haughtily. “Especially when babies are involved.” She stood before the fire warming her backside.
I persisted. “And I can cook, Dorothy. Honestly. Normally I would be stuffing you with pie and you’ve been in my kitchen more than I have this past week.”
“I love having someone to cook for.” She gave a little no problem flap of her hand then looked at Harold and Keith who weren’t bothering to disguise yawns. “I think it would be a good night to turn in early.” She rose and collected her knitting.
“Sorry, Sis, I didn’t mean to run everyone off.” Apparently ashamed of her churlishness, Josie tried to get back into my good graces. “Dorothy, don’t go to bed yet. Tell you what. Lottie and I have both caught up to where you placed a marker in the commonplace book. Why don’t you read it aloud?”
I had planned to tackle The Crime Classification Manual. I couldn’t afford to take evenings off but I could study after everyone else went to bed. “Okay. Not that Franklin Slocum is much easier to think about than the Ghost Baby Killer.”
Josie’s face tightened with indignation. “I could just weep. After we find that man, I want to find out what became of that sad little boy.”
Harold wandered over to our row of floor-to-ceiling bookcases and plucked a history book from one of the shelves. Keith picked up this latest copy of Veterinarian Pract
ice News. They each headed for a recliner. Josie and I settled into wing chairs beside Dorothy and she resumed the narrative. She had a splendid reading voice. But even if she were a poor reader, it wouldn’t have mattered. We were all three quickly bound up again in this tragic account of a small boy’s life.
I found piles and piles of books with the covers ripped off in the landfill. Which I think is just terrible. I would never hurt a book.
“Returns,” Dorothy said. “A bookstore has to tear off the covers and return them to the publishers to get credit on its account. Some of the books are offered to customers anyway, but that is illegal.”
“What about hardcover books?” Tosca lifted her head as though she, too, was interested in Josie’s question.
“They are sent to wholesale markets at drastically reduced prices.”
Dorothy cleared her throat.
“Sorry. Go on. Didn’t mean to lead us off-track.”
Dorothy began where she had left off.
They are all Westerns and I love them. I have read some of them three times. Especially the ones by Mr. Louis L’Amour. Sometimes there are pictures of him on the back. I wish I had a father who looks like him. I cannot change the way I look but he has helped me understand what a man is supposed to act like. I know what a man is supposed to do. There is another book called The Virginian that makes it even plainer. I have decided to make a list of all the things a manly man should do. I’m also going to add where I have room for improvement like I do on my list of animal accomplishments.
And I found a bag that isn’t too girly that I’m going to use for a possibles bag. In the Westerns all of the men carried a possibles bag. They kept stuff they would need during a day but I’m going to keep treasures in it too. I started off with a beautiful stone that I’m sure will bring me good luck, and a feather from a lovely blue bird. And I’m so thankful.
Fractured Families Page 13
