Hidden Fire, Kobo

by Terry Odell

  Eldridge busied himself checking his cell phone and his PDA while sipping his drink. And watching the door. He was expecting someone. Randy repressed his desire to slide his chair around. His gut ached. What had happened to Sarah? He concentrated on listening to the numbers being called from behind the counter, watching customers get up and retrieve their food.

  More numbers blared from the loudspeaker. Eldridge stood. "That's us." He went to the counter and returned with a tray holding three platters. He set one in front of Randy and cast another glance toward the entrance. From the slight tip of his head and a flicker of the corner of Eldridge's mouth, Randy knew whoever he'd been expecting had arrived. He waited, eyes focused on his sandwich. This was Eldridge's game and Randy didn't want to play any more than he had to. Randy opened the bag of chips and tipped them onto his plate.

  He sensed the approach of someone. Male. Not too tall. He tilted his head and wondered why he wasn't more surprised.

  "Chief." He rose.

  "Sit," Laughlin said.

  There was that trained dog thing again. He sat. Laughlin pulled a chair from the nearest table and Eldridge scooted over to make room.

  "Be right back," Laughlin said.

  Randy followed him with his eyes as he stepped to the counter, paid for a drink and sauntered over to the dispensers to fill it. He returned and set the cup beside his plate, then sat down and placed his napkin on his lap.

  Randy's impatience grew as the two exchanged pleasantries, which seemed to revolve around comparing budget issues.

  "There's talk of privatizing the county jail system," Eldridge said. "That's going to mean finding new slots for an awful lot of deputies."

  "I hear you," the chief said. "In our case, there are rumors the entire police force will be cut and they'll outsource it to you guys. Maybe that's where your folks will end up."

  "Or your guys can go get jobs at the jail. I hate the politics." Eldridge frowned. "Why can't we catch bad guys? That's enough of a job."

  "Agreed."

  They glanced at Randy, as if only now remembering he was at the table. Tension as thick as the mustard on his sandwich hung in the air. He moved his chips around and waited. The couple at the table behind him got up and left.

  As if that were his cue to speak, the chief cleared his throat and leaned toward him. "You're a good cop, Randy." His tone was low, his voice even. "This is all going to be resolved quickly, but until it is, we can't afford the slightest tinge of favoritism or impropriety."

  Randy snapped a chip. How many days since he'd heard this speech? He'd already been kicked over to County. What more could they do? Had Neville come up with more crap? Suddenly, he was all too aware of his badge and his gun. He imagined the chief asking for them. That couldn't be the next step. Could it?

  The chief took a hearty bite of his sandwich. "Sorry," he said around a mouthful. "First chance I've had to eat all day." He chewed it slowly, swallowed, wiped his mouth and took a sip of his drink. Wiped his mouth again. Randy's gut felt like it was caught in a steel trap.

  "What do you know about diamond smuggling?" the chief asked. His tone was no different from before, but his penetrating gaze said he was watching Randy's reaction.

  Which, fortunately for him, was not to spew cola all over his two superiors, or choke on the sandwich he'd been unable to eat.

  "What? Where did that one come from?" he asked. He looked at Eldridge, to see if this was some kind of setup, even though he knew these men would never pull something like this, especially on the clock.

  "Long story," the chief said.

  "Well, I'm not going anywhere," Randy said. "Does this have something to do with our murder victim?"

  "We don't know yet," Eldridge said. "But it appears to have something to do with Sarah Tucker."

  This was going beyond bizarre. "Sarah? Involved in diamond smuggling? That's … impossible. Come on, Chief, you know her. You've known her for years. She doesn't even get parking tickets."

  Laughlin pointed to Randy's full plate. "Eat your lunch, Randy. We're here, not in an interrogation room, for a reason. I don't believe Sarah's into smuggling any more than I believe you're helping her." He took another bite of his sandwich.

  In deference to the chief's order, Randy drank some of his cola. The thought of food in his stomach—well, he didn't want to go there. He thought of his Tums, regrettably in his desk drawer. "Why would anyone think I'm helping Sarah smuggle diamonds?"

  Laughlin bobbed one of his fries back and forth in a puddle of ketchup on his plate. "We got a call from the Washington state cops," he said. "Cutting to the chase, they found evidence of smuggled diamonds in someone's hotel room. That someone happened to have a shipment of coffee mugs from a shop called That Special Something."

  "All that says is Sarah sold something to a probable crook," Randy said. "Which might be unfortunate, but nobody demands background checks on customers. Crooks are free to go shopping."

  "Chill, Randy," Eldridge said. "It's a little more complicated."

  Randy tried to watch both men at once, but he couldn't pick up the subtle nuances in facial expression on more than one at a time. "Meaning?" he said, concentrating on Eldridge.

  "Meaning the apparent method of smuggling the diamonds was inside the coffee mugs."

  * * * * *

  Sarah stood there, staring at the deupties, unable to speak. Her brain froze. Her mouth went desert dry. This wasn't about her business license. But what? "Why?"

  One of the deputies pulled out a piece of paper. "We have a warrant to search the premises, ma'am. You'll need to step outside."

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "No, ma'am. We have some questions for you. About some pottery you shipped to the Bellevue Hilton in Washington."

  "To Mr. Pemberton? Yes, I sent him a set of coffee mugs. What about them?"

  "Do you have any more?" he asked.

  She calmed enough to look at him more closely. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown, but tired. He smiled, but there was no matching warmth. Silver tinged his short brown hair at the temples. His shirt was pressed, his tie knotted neatly. Claussen, his badge said.

  "No, I don't. There was a burglary," she said, feeling a ridiculous burst of pride in knowing the difference between that and a robbery. What did they care?

  His partner said something into the radio at his shoulder.

  Within moments, a patrol car and a van pulled into the alley. Suddenly, there were half a dozen people in her shop and Claussen was keeping her out.

  "My purse is in there," she said.

  "We'll have someone bring it to you."

  Slowly, as if they were floating in gelatin, her thoughts began to come together. She examined the warrant, her knees wobbling at all the things they were going to look at. Or take, she imagined. Her computer. Her records. Any pottery. Randy's words came back. "If they don't let you walk away, don't say anything without a lawyer."

  She met Claussen's eyes. "May I leave?"

  She detected a glimpse of sadness when he answered. "I'm afraid not."

  "Then I want a lawyer," she said, wondering how the heck she was going to find one. Randy would know. Was all that stuff about one phone call true or a television gimmick? If she called Randy, would she be allowed to make another phone call to a lawyer?

  "Are you sure, ma'am?" Claussen asked. "That complicates things." One side of his mouth curled up. "Makes it look like you have something to hide. You ask for a lawyer, we have to take you to the station, book you, all sorts of legal hassles. It can take hours. Answer a few questions and it'll probably be over before our guys finish inside."

  Chapter Twenty

  Randy's ears buzzed as if a swarm of bees filled his head. "Inside the coffee mugs? You're trying to tell me you actually believe she packed diamonds inside these mugs and shipped them to someone in Washington?"

  "Not exactly," Eldridge said. "The diamonds were in kind of a secret compartment in the mugs, between the base and the mug itself. Apparen
tly put there when the mugs were made."

  "Then you need to be looking for Hugh Garrigue," Randy said. "Not Sarah. Garrigue's the one who made the mugs. Ask him."

  Eldridge narrowed his eyes. "You claim he's missing. Convenient if you don't want us to find him. You take over that part of the investigation, tell us he's gone, when maybe he's right where he belongs."

  Randy seethed. "I claim he's missing? Nobody knows where he is. According to Sarah, he's supposed to be with family somewhere. I've been busting my ass trying to solve a murder, as ordered. And why the fuck would I claim Garrigue is missing?" He paused, suddenly aware they were in a public place and the room had gone silent.

  "You know where he is?" Eldridge asked quietly. "Or did you simply take Mrs. Tucker's word for it that he's missing?"

  He struggled to keep his voice low. "Of course I took her word for it. Why wouldn't I? She was the one who told me he was called away, suggested him as our possible John Doe. But yes, I followed up with the University police. And no, I don't know where he is because I haven't been looking for him. I've put in a request to be alerted if anyone hears from him, but he's not my case." His mouth had gone dry and he took a sip of his cola.

  "All right, we'll leave Garrigue's whereabouts for now. Back to Sarah Tucker."

  "I said it before. There is no way on this earth that she would be involved in diamond smuggling. Or anything else illegal."

  Eldridge went on as if he hadn't heard. "It's a perfect cover. She receives the mugs with the hidden contraband, ships them to the customer and who would be the wiser? Sounds like a sweet setup."

  Randy looked to Laughlin. He couldn't possibly believe this. "Chief?"

  Laughlin held his hands up and shook his head. The buzzing in Randy's head grew louder.

  "She's got motive, means and opportunity," Eldridge said. He raised his thumb. "She's had a lot of business trouble. A little extra income would come in handy." His index finger lifted. "She ships and receives merchandise all the time." He added his third finger. "Big showcase of Garrigue's work means she can acquire the stuff, no one would give it a second thought."

  Randy opened his mouth, but the chief cut him off. "So we're going to conduct a thorough investigation. By the book, which means you can't be involved."

  "Why not?" Randy said. "Sarah's not related to me. She's not my wife. We're not engaged. Hell, I know half the people in town. If you pull cops off cases because we know the people involved, you'd have to hire an entire new force every month."

  "There's a difference between knowing and knowing," the chief said. "If you get my meaning. I think you and Sarah fall into the latter definition of the term."

  Randy pressed his hand against his flaming belly. He looked at Eldridge, then at the chief. "Even if I buy that, why is County involved? Sarah's shop is in Pine Hills. Kovak's investigating."

  "Kovak's been your partner for years. The decision was made to let the county handle the investigation," the chief said. "He's off the case as well. He's got enough work to do without this one."

  "Who made the decision?" Randy asked. "Seems a bit harsh."

  Laughlin scowled. "You're a detective. I'm an administrator. We answer to different people."

  "So, does this mean I'm back in Pine Hills? Or am I still here, working the murder investigation? Eldridge seemed to think I'm finished." He let his gaze move from one man to the other, but he wasn't seeing them. He blinked them back into focus.

  "Have you considered vacation time?" the chief said. "You barely made a dent in it the last time I suggested you use it."

  Because vacation time meant sitting around dwelling on things. Working kept him busy. The last thing he wanted was to be somewhere, trusting others to do right by Sarah. "What's the alternative?" he asked.

  "Administrative leave. Paid, once we clear up your involvement," the chief said.

  "Involvement? In what?" Randy demanded.

  "I'll take it," Eldridge said. He moved his empty plate aside and leaned his forearms on the table. "Our preliminary investigation shows that Mrs. Tucker shipped the stuff to Washington before it went on sale in her shop. Raises a few red flags. That, along with the prints, ties the murder to the pots and back to Mrs. Tucker."

  Randy felt like he'd studied the wrong chapter for the algebra test. "What prints? We haven't had a single hit from IAFIS."

  "Remember the key from the murder scene?" the chief said.

  Randy nodded. "Connor said he had a partial, but it didn't match anything in IAFIS. You got a new hit on it?"

  "Not like that. But Connor had enough to suspect it might match one he lifted at Sarah's shop. He sent them both to the experts for confirmation. The report came back as a positive match. Whoever's print is on that key has been in That Special Something. Which connects the two cases and ties Sarah in even more."

  "Shouldn't you ask her about it?" Randy said. "She'll explain everything."

  "We're working on that," Eldridge said, cutting his eyes to the chief before meeting Randy's. "But we've also discovered that you were in That Special Something with Mrs. Tucker on several occasions, during which you could have assisted her with any part of the operation."

  Randy looked at the chief. "Neville." He'd like to know what had shoved a stick up the man's ass.

  The chief inclined his head a fraction.

  "Eldridge," Randy said. "For some reason Officer Neville has a grudge against me." He turned his gaze to the chief. "Why would you take his word for anything?"

  "We don't," the chief said. "But the facts are there and if we don't follow through, we're not doing our job. We have only Sarah's word that all her Garrigue pots are missing. Neville has suggested she had ample opportunity to pack them up and get them out of her shop. And, hard as it might be for anyone who knows Sarah to believe, to any other law enforcement agency it's a viable lead."

  "Compounded by the fact that Neville places you on the scene as a possible accomplice," Eldridge added.

  "What about the burglary and vandalism? She couldn't have done that. She was with me."

  "Under the circumstances, I'm afraid you're not much of an alibi. And since nobody saw anything, what's to say she didn't do the damage herself? Or hire some punk to do it while she was with you, giving her that alibi?"

  "You didn't see her when she walked into her shop," Randy said. "Nobody's that good an actor. Ask Brody. Or Connor. They were there. They saw her reaction."

  "None of us is a perfect judge of character, Randy," Eldridge said. "And personal feelings make us blind."

  Randy rubbed his temples, tempted to walk out. But he reminded himself stomping out like a child having a temper tantrum would do nothing for his credibility. Instead, he got up, collected Eldridge's and the chief's empty plates and took them, along with his full one, to the trash receptacle.

  He had to think this one through. Logically, it was all wrong. But that assumed his and Sarah's innocence and although he knew that to be the truth, a police investigator assumed everyone was lying. Because they usually were.

  Even though he knew this line of investigation would be dropped eventually, how much time would be wasted? How much further away would the real bad guys get? How much longer before the ache in his belly wouldn't go away with a few Tums?

  He returned to the table.

  Eldridge stood, shook the chief's hand, then offered his to Randy. "Nothing personal, here, Detective. I'm all for a quick trip to the truth."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You want a ride back to the station?"

  "I'll take care of that," the chief said. "Randy and I are going to talk about his upcoming vacation."

  * * * * *

  Sarah, Maggie on her heels, entered her apartment and inhaled, calming herself. After what seemed like decades at the police station, she was home.

  "I wish you'd come home with me," Maggie said.

  Sarah shook her head. "I want to be in my own place."

  "I understand. But I'm going to make you some tea."
<
br />   And make her relive everything. She couldn't face it. Being in that interrogation room, alone for so long. Waiting. Finally meeting with a lawyer. She'd spent enough time in a police station this week to last her twelve lifetimes. "Maggie, I love you and I don't know what I'd have done without you tonight, but—"

  "But you want to be alone. And you will. In half an hour after I make you some tea. Have you had dinner?"

  Sarah shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

  Maggie eased Sarah's purse from her hand and set it, along with hers, on the kitchen counter. "Go sit. I'll brew."

  "I need a shower," Sarah said. Where she could hide the tears that she wasn't going to be able to control much longer.

  "Go ahead."

  Before she reached the bathroom, the doorbell rang. Someone knocked, then rang the doorbell again. "I'll take care of it," Maggie said.

  "No, I will. It's my home." Sarah wiped her eyes and went to the door. If it was another cop, she'd scream. Or throw something. She stared through the peephole. For an instant, she didn't want to make an exception for Randy. He knocked again and she reluctantly opened the door.

  "God, Sarah, how are you? I've been going crazy." He grabbed her in his arms and carried her to the couch, sitting her on his lap as if she were a child, clutching her to his chest, then holding her away, studying her as if he couldn't believe she was real. He caressed her cheek with a forefinger. "Did they do anything, anything at all that wasn't appropriate? So help me, if they so much as looked at you cross-eyed, I'll—"

  "I'm fine, Randy. Honest. I did what you said. I called Maggie and she called the Women's Center and got me a lawyer. It was awful, but I'm fine. Maggie's making tea." She squirmed off his lap and went to the kitchen. With the counter as a barrier, she studied Randy's worried face. It was too hard to be strong when he held her, and until she was alone, she needed to be strong.

  He jumped to his feet. "Maggie. I'm sorry. I didn't see you." He crossed to the kitchen and gave her neighbor a hug that seemed as urgent as the one he'd given her. "Thank you."