Long Time Gone: Konigsburg, Book 4

by Meg Benjamin

  “Getting set up for the festival?”

  Morgan gave him the faintest of smiles. “Well, yeah, seeing as how it’s Saturday.”

  Erik licked his lips. “Right. I like your banner.” Jesus, could you be any lamer?

  At least Morgan’s smile was more pronounced, although he suspected it was inspired by his idiocy. “Thanks. We get them from the Texas Department of Agriculture.”

  He nodded, thinking furiously and coming up dry. “Want to have dinner tonight?”

  Her smile dimmed. “I can’t. We’re knee-deep in preparations. I’ve got to stay at Cedar Creek tonight.”

  “Oh.” Erik sighed. “Maybe tomorrow.” Assuming he still felt like eating after the council meeting.

  “Maybe.”

  He hadn’t been this tongue-tied since he was a teenager. He managed one more smile and a nod before heading off toward the exit. Oh yeah, that went well!

  He swung by the mayor’s office around four. He didn’t have much hope about his ability to pry the festival permits away from Pittman, but he figured he had to at least try. Doralee sat at her desk, ticking desultorily at her keyboard. She glanced up at Erik and shook her head. “He’s gone for the day.”

  Erik frowned. Not having to actually talk to Pittman could be a very good thing, now that he thought about it. “Do you know if he’s still got the paperwork on the Wine and Food Festival? I’d like to go over it again myself.”

  Doralee gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry, Chief, he always locks up before he goes. I think the file’s still in there, though.”

  “Well, at least he didn’t take it home with him. Thanks, Doralee.”

  He headed to the Coffee Corral for dinner, hoping for once he wouldn’t run into any member of his family. The room was mostly empty except for some tourists at the back. Kent was running the counter.

  He glanced up, giving Erik a small smile. “Evening, Chief.”

  He nodded. “You learning the restaurant business?”

  Kent’s smile turned wry. “Sort of. Dad decided I needed to spend more time here. Especially in the evenings.”

  Erik nodded again. “Not a bad idea.”

  After his cheeseburger, he headed up Pin Oak for one last look at Biedermeier’s house as twilight began to descend. He had no reason to believe they’d missed anything significant among Biedermeier’s personal effects, but he wanted to take another walk-through.

  The house didn’t look any better in the gathering twilight than it had earlier. With a coat of paint and some attention to the yard, it might actually have some charm, although charm didn’t seem like a word that got applied much to Biedermeier. Now the place looked sort of like Biedermeier himself, like it had been a long time since anybody cared.

  Erik fumbled in his pocket for the house key, studying the darkened windows. A fool’s errand. He wouldn’t find anything.

  A light flickered across the upstairs windows.

  Erik blinked. Had he really seen anything?

  But there it was again—a moving beam, very dim, quickly extinguished. Like somebody with a flashlight was moving across the upstairs rooms in Biedermeier’s house. And that somebody was emphatically not Terrell Biedermeier, currently locked up tight in Ozzie Friesenhahn’s jail.

  Erik slid from behind the steering wheel of the cruiser, opening and closing the door as quietly as he could, and started toward the house. Logically, he should have called the station for backup, but seeing as how backup would have been Ham Linklatter, he didn’t bother. He unsnapped the top of his holster and climbed the front steps, keeping to the side to avoid any creaking boards. The front door was unlocked.

  Inside, the living room was partially illuminated by the neighbor’s yard light. Erik worked his way carefully to the stairs that led to the upper floor, then started up, listening for footsteps over his head. The person with the flashlight apparently wasn’t concerned about making noise. Erik could hear the sounds of drawers being pulled out, the rustling of papers.

  He slipped down the hall toward Biedermeier’s office at the back. A thin line of light spread from the partially open door. Erik pushed the knob slowly, inching the door open enough so that he could peer through the crack.

  A man was bending over Biedermeier’s battered metal filing cabinet, dropping manila folders onto the floor behind him. Erik unsheathed his service revolver and threw the door wide. “Police. Hold it right there. Do not move.”

  The man froze, his hands gripping a folder. Erik took his stance, holding his revolver in front of him. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. Stand up. Slowly. Hands in the air.”

  The man did as he was told, the folder dropping to the floor. “Look, Chief, I can explain.”

  “Turn around. Take it slow.”

  The man turned as Erik hit the light switch with his elbow. He stood blinking in the dingy room, manila folders piled at his feet. “I can explain,” he repeated.

  Erik’s mouth edged into a slow grin. “Oh my, Mr. Brinkman. I’ll just bet you can. But let me read you your rights, just in case.”

  As Erik pushed the handcuffed Brinkman through the door into the station, Ham Linklatter sat up straight at Helen’s desk, staring. Ham was the only one there, which made sense since Ham was on night duty. Just Erik’s luck—even Peavey would have been an improvement.

  Erik put his hand in the middle of Brinkman’s back, pushing him toward his office. “Linklatter, Mr. Brinkman here was apprehended in the commission of a burglary. I’m going to need your help.” He nodded toward his office door, and Ham rose quickly to his feet.

  Brinkman sank into the chair opposite Erik’s desk. “Can’t you take these handcuffs off now?” he whined. “They hurt.”

  Erik removed one cuff and refastened it to the side of the chair. “Stay there.”

  “Got no choice, do I?” Brinkman subsided with a pout.

  Erik opened his desk drawer and pulled out his camera. “Smile, Mr. Brinkman.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Erik snapped the shutter a couple of times. Then he headed toward the door, where Linklatter stood spellbound. Erik pushed him back into the hall. “I’ve got a couple of things to do before I question him, Linklatter. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, like try to get out of those cuffs. And don’t talk to him, no matter what he says to you. You understand me?”

  Ham nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  Erik started toward Helen’s desk, then turned back. “Ham, if any of this—and I mean anything—gets to Pittman, I swear to god I’ll see you fired. Even if it’s the last thing I get to do as chief. Got me?”

  Ham’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, he nodded again.

  Erik sat at Helen’s desk, fumbling through the cards in his wallet until he found the one he wanted, then punched the number into his cell phone.

  The voice on the other end sounded more gravelly than usual, if that were possible. “Toleffson, this had better be good.”

  “Sheriff, I just picked up a guy tossing Biedermeier’s house. I’m going to e-mail you his picture. You might want to show it to Biedermeier and see if he recognizes him.”

  Friesenhahn’s voice sounded less pissed. “You think it’s the guy who ran the dumping operation?”

  “Possibly. I’m sending it now.” Erik connected his camera to the computer and punched up the image, then clicked on the e-mail program. After a moment, he heard Ozzie’s grunt on the other end.

  “What the hell? That’s Pittman’s stooge. Wouldn’t Biedermeier already know him?”

  “Possibly not. This is Biedermeier we’re talking about.”

  Ozzie sighed. “You got a point there. I’ll get back to you.”

  Erik disconnected, then walked back up the hall to his office. Ham stood just inside the door, his arms folded across his chest. Brinkman slumped in his chair, glaring at him. “I take it as a personal insult that you left me with this moron.”

  Ham’s eyes narrowed as he scowled. Erik figured
he was discovering just who his friends really were. “I’m not particularly interested in your hurt feelings right now, Brinkman. What were you doing in Terrell Biedermeier’s house?”

  Brinkman stared back at him. “Terrell and I are business partners. I had a legitimate reason to be going through the files. I needed our records.”

  “What business would that be?”

  Brinkman’s mouth flattened. “Pest control.”

  “And the reason you were using a flashlight rather than doing your search with the lights on?”

  “Didn’t want to alarm the neighbors.”

  Erik leaned back in his chair. “Oh, very nice, Brinkman. Good save. I just sent your picture to Ozzie Friesenhahn. He’ll show it to Terrell. If you’re actually business partners, Terrell will confirm it. Of course, the business you were partners in may not be the one you just mentioned.”

  Brinkman swallowed, eyes narrowing. “It’ll be his word against mine.”

  “True. Of course, you were caught burglarizing his office, which may put some extra weight on whatever Terrell has to say. And I have a feeling searching your house could be very interesting. I’ll make that argument to the judge first thing in the morning. My guess is the search warrant will be forthcoming in record time.”

  Brinkman stared down at his shoes for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to Erik. “I want to call my lawyer. And you might want to call the sheriff back too. Hell, call the Rangers. I’ve got stuff you all might like to hear.”

  Erik kept his expression bland. “Yeah? Like what.”

  “Like what you’ve been waiting for. I can give you Pittman.”

  Morgan and Esteban finished labeling the Bored Ducks around seven that evening and loaded the cases into the truck to be taken to the festival grounds. Carmen had placed a plate of something in the tasting room refrigerator before commandeering Esteban for a job in the barrel room. Now Morgan placed the mystery plate in the microwave without really looking at it. Whatever it was she’d eat it—she was that hungry.

  Whatever it was tasted pretty good. Morgan had to restrain herself from wolfing it down. She thought about Erik Toleffson as she chewed, not that he helped slow down her metabolism. She wasn’t sure what that episode at the fairgrounds had been all about. At least he’d asked her to dinner.

  At least he still seemed to want some kind of relationship with her, even if that relationship didn’t have much future for either of them.

  Morgan rinsed off Carmen’s plate in the sink, then loaded it into the dishwasher with the last of the dirty tasting room glasses. She cast a quick glance over the shelves, wondering if they’d have enough glasses to sell in the tasting room tomorrow what with all the glasses they’d taken to the festival. Oh well, they’d probably have more people at the festival than at the winery.

  She flipped the lock on the door, checking to make sure both dogs were inside. No Arthur. She sighed. Probably out hunting—at least he wouldn’t run into any new examples of Biedermeier’s handiwork.

  Wheels crunched on the driveway, and Morgan turned back toward the door. Probably Esteban coming back from wherever Carmen had sent him this time. She flipped on the yard lights as a Konigsburg police cruiser pulled up in front.

  Morgan’s pulse immediately kicked up a notch. Erik. She stepped out onto the wide front porch as he emerged from the darkness into the pool of light on the bottom step.

  “Hi.” Her voice sounded ridiculously breathy. She moved toward him until they were almost eye-to-eye—if she stood on the top step she was level with him.

  “Hi.” His lips spread in a full, lazy grin that she felt all the way to her toes. “I just picked up Pittman’s assistant burglarizing Biedermeier’s house. My guess is, he’ll give Pittman up to save himself. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  Morgan stared at him blankly, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. She must look like a trout. “What?”

  Erik shrugged. “I’d say my chances of holding onto the job just went to slightly better than even.” He reached up and cupped the back of her head in his hands, pulling her mouth down to his.

  She tasted heat, desire, passion that made her knees melt. “Come inside,” she panted, when he came up for air.

  “Can’t. I’m on my way to Friesenhahn’s to see what they can get out of Brinkman. But I’ll be back tomorrow, and the day after that. I may get to stay right here in Konigsburg after all, Bambi. I just wanted you to know.”

  He gave her one more fierce kiss, then turned on his heel.

  She stood watching as the cruiser turned back up the drive, her hand against her heart. All of a sudden the night seemed much brighter than it had five minutes ago.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By ten the next morning, Morgan was up to her hips in wine, almost literally. Esteban and the vineyard workers were loading cases into the truck while she counted. They’d figured on five cases of sangiovese, five of viognier, another five each of the table wines Creekside Red and Creekside White, and three cases of Bored Ducks.

  Morgan made a face. If she didn’t sell any Bored Ducks, her father would never let her forget it. Plus he’d make sure she went on doing scut work for the foreseeable future, assuming she stayed at the winery.

  She glanced at the label in her hand. The woodblock print of ducks stared back. They really did look bored. Or constipated. There was a thin line, after all.

  Her father and mother had showed up at the winery again first thing in the morning. Her mother had even insisted on loading some boxes of glasses herself, which was the most support she’d ever seen her mother give to the winery. Her father said nothing, but he smiled.

  Morgan blew out a breath. Maybe her parents’ separation wasn’t that final after all.

  She looked around the patio. The winery seemed quiet at least. A couple of tourists sipped wine in the shade. Carmen could run the tasting room on Saturday while she and Kit took care of the festival table. It was one of her promotions, even if her father didn’t exactly recognize her efforts.

  At least Erik would be there. Maybe. Assuming the council decided Pittman’s charges no longer had any merit. He was the chief of police, after all, and the festival was a major event in town. He had to oversee the security around the park.

  Morgan’s lips tightened slightly. Erik might be staying, but they hadn’t really talked much yet about what that could mean. He might have a future in Konigsburg now, and she might have one too.

  The question was, did they have one together?

  The chaos surrounding Brinkman’s arrest had been about as bad as Erik had anticipated. Since any crimes involving Pittman’s office fell under the general heading of official corruption, that meant jurisdiction was up for grabs between Friesenhahn and the Rangers.

  The dumping service seemed to have been Brinkman’s personal operation, but he’d presented the mayor to Friesenhahn on a silver platter, complete with account numbers and transaction details, in hopes of cutting a deal.

  According to Brinkman, Pittman had profited from the biker rally rake-offs for sure. His part of the money had been delivered in the form of a campaign contribution from the Police Benefit Fund. Brinkman also claimed that Hilton and Brody had managed to extort payoffs from several other groups. Groups that might well be willing to talk to the Rangers about their experiences with the right persuasion.

  The Ranger forensic accountants had found the police fund as soon as the ever-helpful Brinkman had provided them with the location of the account, but they were still working on the others, some of which were apparently offshore and tougher to access.

  Pittman hadn’t yet been brought in for questioning, but Erik thought he might have more important things to deal with right now than the council hearing, namely consulting with the kind of legal representatives who could keep him out of the slammer.

  Nonetheless, he figured he wouldn’t take anything for granted. Pittman might show up. Erik arrived at the council chamber at five minutes before seven, his
hat in his hand and his stomach in knots.

  Horace nodded at him. The other council members glanced at him curiously, then went back to studying their papers. Erik couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

  At seven o’clock, Doralee came in. She gave Horace a quick shrug, then took her seat at the head of the table. Two minutes later, Pittman walked through the door.

  He’d obviously had a bad day. His complexion looked like putty and his hair stood in spikes, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. He stood at the head of the table, yanking papers out of his briefcase. After a moment, he glanced down the length of the room at Erik.

  Erik recognized that expression. He’d seen it before with cornered criminals before they started shooting. The expression of a man who knew he was licked, but who’d decided to take everybody else down with him.

  Well, shit!

  Horace cleared his throat. “Let’s get started.”

  Pittman narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to make a statement if I may.”

  “Mr. Mayor, you had your say the other night. Now I want to get down to business. If we have any time at the end of the meeting, you can speak then. Anybody got any problems with that?” He glanced down at the other council members.

  The way the three looked at Pittman gave Erik the feeling they knew exactly what Brinkman had been telling the Rangers. He wondered if that information had come from Horace or from Friesenhahn. Not that it mattered.

  “Okay, then, let’s proceed. Don’t know if you had a chance to study the chief’s personnel file, but I took a good look at it over the last day.” Horace picked up a sheet of paper from the pile in front of him. “I assume you’ve all got the file with you. Very interesting reading. Would you turn to page twenty-two please?”

  Albaniz stared at him blankly, but Craven shuffled through the papers in front of him. “Got it.”

  Horace nodded. “Starting from the top, you’ll see four commendations for meritorious service, for his dedication to duty and exemplifying the high standards of the Davenport Police Department.”