by Terry Odell
"Well, that narrows it down to about half a kazillion possibilities." Cyndi had her back to him now, peering into a microscope.
Dave touched his elbow. "Let me get you what we have. Come into the office."
Randy followed him along the corridor to a small workspace. Dave moved a pile of file folders and started digging through them. "Cyndi's husband deployed overseas two weeks ago. She's working too hard to compensate and she's a little on the cranky side, but her work is exemplary. She likes to get everything together on a case before turning the reports in." He stopped about halfway through the stack and opened a green folder. "Here we are. Nothing terribly exciting or conclusive. Clay under the fingernails is available in half the craft stores in the country. Bloodwork's not back yet, other than he was O positive, which we did here."
"The most common type."
"Yep. Oh, here's something you might be able to use."
Randy leaned forward, his pulse kicking up. "What?"
"Shoe print. It's a size ten, nothing helpful like a boot or sneaker tread pattern, but there's a distinctive mark—looks like there's a wiggly cut on the left heel. If you have a suspect, this would put him at the scene." He handed the page to Randy.
Randy studied the print and tried to ignore his disappointment. "Around here, someone not wearing sneakers or boots is unusual. But we can't arrest someone for wearing dress shoes. And there's the other picky detail. We have no suspects." He sifted the facts through his brain. "Hell, for all we know, this could have been the victim's shoe print. He was barefoot, but nobody found any prints from bare feet."
Dave shrugged. "We don't catch 'em, we just find clues for you. I stick things in machines."
"Anything at all to point us somewhere? So we can start finding real people to compare all this evidence to?"
Dave leafed through the folder. He handed Randy some more pages. "Here's a copy of the tox screen. Elevated alcohol levels. Also looks like someone sedated your vic."
So he might have been drugged before he was shot. That was something to add to the ViCAP search. "Can I have these?" Randy asked.
Dave nodded. "Those are Homicide's copies. Like I said, Cyndi likes to wait until she has everything and I should have intervened and gotten these upstairs as they came in, but we've been swamped."
"Understood. Ken Hannibal is lead on the case, but he's been swamped, too." He waved the folder and stood. "I appreciate this. I'll get it upstairs and see if I can make some pieces fit."
Head down, Randy breezed past Lorinda's desk and went up to his own. He perused the reports, jotting notes, his frustration rising. Finally, he called his chief.
"You have something for me?" Laughlin asked. "Since we're back to square one with our vic."
"What I have is a problem. Look, I understand the position you're in, but County's spread too thin and it's worse at the state level. It could be weeks before all the reports are in and meanwhile, there are gaps in what reports I have because some of it's here, some's still in Pine Hills. I'd like to set up a meeting with Kovak, Connor and the detective here, Ken Hannibal. Conference call would work, but a face to face might be more productive."
Randy waited out the silence on the other end of the line.
"I'll talk to Eldridge," the chief said.
So much for cutting red tape. "Right. I take it there's no good news from the bean counters."
"Well, no news is supposed to be good news, but it's still not looking promising."
"Chief, I can tell you firsthand, there's not enough manpower here to cover what Pine Hills needs. They're already further behind than we've ever been."
"My gut says the council will counter that our contracting out to County will allow them to hire more deputies."
"You know that's not going to happen. They'd increase staff, but it wouldn't begin to cover what we need." Randy's head throbbed in counterpoint to the acid churning in his gut.
"I'll see what I can do. You can report what you've seen, but don't hold your breath."
From the tone of Laughlin's voice, Randy suspected he'd already met with the council. And then it hit him. The chief would be out of a job, too.
* * * * *
Sarah lingered over coffee, contemplating a plan of action before returning to her boutique. The front of the shop was orderly, albeit a bit barren. Could she open tomorrow? Not likely. Bob from the insurance company wasn't satisfied with her proof of what had been stolen and wanted to go over her sales records for the past year. As if she'd try to sneak an extra candlestick or picture frame into the claim. Still, he hadn't threatened to cancel her policy, so she might as well jump through his hoops. She paid the lunch bill and drove back to Pine Hills.
By four, after matching sales records to spreadsheets to what had survived the fiasco, her brain was fried and her eyes couldn't take any more. She might as well blow off the day—heck, the rest of the week—and see if she could get some more consignment inventory.
Yeah, right. "Hi, it's Sarah. I was robbed a few days ago and I wonder if you want to send some merchandise my way." The reality of Saturday night settled in her gut like one of her Aunt Delia's meatballs.
Shoving those thoughts aside, she locked up and went home, thinking about her lunch with Janie. Maybe she should invite the Kovaks over for dinner this weekend. Maybe something at Randy's house where their kids could come too. Her apartment wasn't particularly child-friendly. She'd have to ask him after he got back from work. Maybe he'd get home early enough to join her at Saint Michael's.
And would he tell her what it was like working out of the Sheriff's Office? Would he be an outsider over there? Low man on the totem pole, not like his status in Pine Hills? Would he care? Would he tell her if he did?
She had to stop thinking so much. At least about the depressing stuff. The doorbell was a welcome interruption. Had to be Maggie. Nobody else would drop by at a time Sarah would normally be at work, and Maggie undoubtedly wanted the scoop on what had happened.
"Coming," she called and hurried to open the door. Only when she saw the uniformed police officer standing in front of her did she realize she hadn't checked the peephole.
"Officer Neville," she said. She swallowed, trying to get some moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. "Is something wrong?" Not her shop again. No.
He stood there, rotating his cap in his hands. "Some routine questions, ma'am."
"I was told Detective Kovak was in charge of the burglary," she said. "Did he send you?"
"He's got his hands full. This is one small lead I'm trying to clean up for him. I need you to come with me."
"Where? Why?" Her heart hammered in her chest. "Why can't you ask your questions here? I have to be somewhere by seven."
"Needs to be official, ma'am. It shouldn't take long. My car's out front."
"But—but where are we going?"
"To the station, ma'am. Like I said, shouldn't take long."
"Why can't I meet you there?" Her voice started to squeak and she struggled to control it. "I'm happy to cooperate with the police, Officer Neville. Wouldn't it be easier if I took my car? That way you wouldn't have to drive me back here."
"Against regulations, ma'am." His tone was firm now. Definite cop.
Panic assailed her. "Am I under arrest?"
Something more like a smirk than a smile flitted across his lips. "No, not if you come with me."
She glanced at the time. A few minutes after five. Too soon for Randy to be back. But maybe she could call him. She pasted a smile on her face.
"All right, but I need to use the bathroom before we go. And get a sweater."
He frowned.
"Do you honestly think I'm going to run away?" she asked. She pointed toward the kitchen. "The only other exit is through the back porch." She swung her hand toward the hall doorway. "I'm going that way. I'll be back in two minutes."
He didn't try to stop her when she pivoted toward the bedroom, but he did follow closely enough, leaning against the hall archway wall
, so she couldn't make a call from the phone in the bedroom without him knowing. Her purse with her cell was on the kitchen counter.
She lifted her eyebrows in his direction and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Locking it. There were limits.
Even with the door closed, she felt his eyes watching. Self-consciously, she turned on the water in the sink before she could relax enough to pee. She finished, washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face.
Okay, she could do this. Cooperate. Get to the station, find Kovak. He'd know what was going on. He'd have been the one at the door, or at least have phoned if there was a problem. Or Randy would have called. She was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Neville was simply a creep. Doing his job, but a creep nevertheless. She dried off, then unlocked the door and opened it. At least Neville wasn't in her bedroom. She grabbed a sweater from the closet and dug up another smile. Neville was still leaning against the wall, examining his fingernails.
She strode to the kitchen for her purse. "I'm ready," she said. "Thanks for waiting."
He grunted and nodded her toward the door. He followed her downstairs, just far enough behind her to make her uncomfortable. Was he watching her rear end? She made certain it moved as little as possible.
The black-and-white squad car parked in front of the building seemed to scream its presence as if lit by a searchlight. She kept her head down as Neville unlocked the back door. She almost protested until she saw the clutter on the front passenger seat. Fast food wrappers, coffee cups, bottles of water, some full, some empty. The car smelled like French fries, which after thinking about it, she decided was better than some of the alternatives that came to mind when she thought about who his normal passengers were.
"Buckle up," he grunted, then slammed the door.
Scrunched down in the seat, she didn't pay attention to the drive. When they arrived, Neville parked behind the Municipal Building. She scanned the lot for Randy's truck, but it wasn't there.
He escorted her through a side entrance, down a corridor and into a tiny room with a square tabletop bolted to a wall and two straight-back wooden chairs. The disinfectant didn't obliterate the smells of urine, sweat and vomit.
"Have a seat," he said, pulling out a chair as if they were sitting down to dinner in an elegant restaurant.
Almost afraid to come in contact with the plastic chair seat, she gingerly lowered herself and clutched her purse in her lap. No way was she going to touch that table.
"I'll be right back," he said. He exited the room, closing the door behind him. She heard the snick of a lock. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights. Waiting, wondering, she studied the room. Her palms grew wet and blood pounded in her ears.
No windows, no mirror. Four walls painted a pukey yellow-green. So nobody was watching. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling in search of a hidden camera, but there was absolutely nothing but acoustic tiles. That she could see, she reminded herself. She remembered a security specialist who had tried to sell her a state of the art system and the technology had been impressive. Too impressive for her meager budget, unfortunately, or maybe they'd have caught whoever had robbed her by now. She thought about calling Randy or Kovak, but was afraid someone was waiting for her to do exactly that. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then sought her safe zone, doing her breathing and visualization exercises. Or trying to, anyway.
Twenty minutes later, sweat dripped down her neck. She'd hung her sweater over the back of the chair, planning to have it dry-cleaned before she'd wear it again. Holding it in her lap added too much heat.
Finally, the door opened and Neville came back. Swiping his hand across his mouth, he plonked himself into the chair opposite her. He leaned forward and she smelled coffee on his breath.
He was not going to intimidate her. She lifted her chin. "All right, Officer. We're here. What do you want to know?"
Chapter Fifteen
Randy opened the desk drawer, hoping by some miracle that the phone slips had disappeared, or at least diminished in number. No such luck. He grabbed the stacks, trying to decide which to tackle first. Or maybe he'd alternate. But first, he'd check in with Kovak, fully admitting he was procrastinating.
"Hey, big guy," Kovak said. "I was about to leave. As long as they're watching my hours, I might as well take advantage of family time. Cammie's got her kiddie dance group tonight. They're doing a thing for the seniors at Saint Michael's. I think she's a butterfly."
Randy told him about the tox screen results. "You get anything back from ViCAP?"
"You didn't get it? I faxed or emailed everything I had related to the murder."
"No, but I haven't checked the fax room recently. It's crazy in there. Next time, call and let me know so I can stand there and grab them. What's your take?"
"There were a lot of shooting-carvings. If you narrow them down to the same kind of head shot and the same carving pattern, that should limit the field for starters."
"Well, let's hope our guy stuck to his signature and didn't start variations on the theme." He leaned back in his chair. The frame creaked ominously and he straightened. "Any leads on Sarah's case?" Damn, he should call her. No way he was going to get back in time for dinner.
"I've been beating the bushes for witnesses."
"Anything hot?"
"The usual helpful citizens of Pine Hills. Either saw nothing or saw strange people skulking. Everything from arsonists to jewel thieves. Mrs. Rosenbaum swears it's terrorists. As always, no two descriptions agree."
Randy fanned the corners of his message slips. "Yeah, well multiply that by at least ten and that's what it's like over here. I can send you the list of shops that sold the pottery before Sarah's. I was going to search for commonalities when we thought our vic was Garrigue. Guess it's more of a burglary lead now."
"I have a gut feeling these cases are related, though." Kovak paused. "Hey, you think Garrigue might be our murderer instead of the vic?"
"Whoa. That's a different approach. Garrigue as a serial killer? Did you have the clay in your ViCAP request?"
"No, when I sent it in, we didn't have the analysis. Does seem a stretch, but I could cross reference the pottery shops with the ViCAP reports. See if Garrigue had his stuff for sale where any of the other murders happened."
Randy pondered that. "Still a stretch. No reason Garrigue has to go to the shops. According to Sarah, he never came to Pine Hills. He shipped the stuff to her."
"If nothing else, maybe you can get more cooperation, better service if you're looking for Garrigue as a murder suspect instead of a missing person."
"I don't think anything will speed up the labs. Meanwhile, I'll roll that idea around, see if it gets me anywhere. Call if you have any other thoughts."
"I miss bouncing ideas off your head, big guy. Even if it's up in the clouds."
Randy smiled. He missed the brainstorming, too. "I tried to convince the chief we needed a collaboration meeting, but he's sticking to the bureaucratic line. Gotta go through channels."
"I'm not opposed to a few beers after work."
"Which assumes my 'after work' is at a decent hour. I have a feeling I'll be spending a good part of the night talking to hookers, drunks and druggies."
"You picking up OT?"
"I have no clue how overtime works here. County's supposed to be covering my salary while I'm working this case with them. Nobody ever seems to go home."
"Maybe we could change assignments," Kovak said with a terse laugh.
"Trust me, you'll be better off watching your kid be a butterfly."
A heavy silence. "You're right. And speaking of which, I'd better run." He hung up.
Randy revisited Kovak's pregnant pause. Something was bothering his partner. Once he had some breathing time, they'd definitely have to talk. Kovak had seen him through his meltdown when Sarah had been kidnapped, and they'd been partners longer than a lot of cop marriages. Kovak and Janie breaking up? Seemed impossible. He considered what had triggered Kovak's change i
n attitude. No overtime. Must be money, he surmised. Didn't take much to slide a tight budget downhill. Gram's death had given him her house, free and clear. Being single, he had few expenses. He'd rather have Gram back, though.
Crap, he was way in left field. Procrastinating was one thing, but this melancholy was pointless. He shifted mental gears and searched his email for Kovak's messages. Damn, he needed a printer hookup. He called Tech Support, then went on the prowl for the faxes.
The fax machine had been busy. He fished through the overflowing output tray, the wire basket and papers on the floor, searching for the Pine Hills Police's header on the pages. According to a cover sheet, there should have been fifteen. He counted twelve, looked through the stack again but couldn't find the missing three. He squared off the remaining faxes and placed them in the basket. On his way back to his desk, he called Kovak. Traffic noises in the background told him his partner was in the car.
"I'm missing three pages of faxes. It'd probably take a miracle for whoever picked them up to either find me or put them back in the fax room. Are your originals in the office?"
"Yeah, on my desk. You want me to fax them again? I could go back."
"Don't bother. I'll stop in on my way home and make copies. Say hi to Janie and the kids."
"You sure? I'm early."
"Not if it's going to cause a problem with Janie. I've got plenty to do."
An unsettling sensation fluttered through his belly. Going home to a wife and kids. He'd never given it much thought. He sat down, swiveled his chair so it faced away from the corridor and dialed Sarah's shop number. When he got the machine, he tried her at home with the same result. He glanced at his watch. She was probably in transit. Her cell kicked over into voice mail and the fluttering turned to concern.
He admonished himself for being too much the cop. Assuming the worst. She could be driving, or in the bathroom, or she forgot to charge her battery, or her phone was off. He left a message apologizing for having to work late again. "Call me. Anytime."
