Hidden Fire, Kobo

by Terry Odell

Sarah dropped the flash drive into Randy's waiting palm.

  "I thought the cops took your computer files," he said.

  "They did. This was in the pocket of my sweatshirt in the laundry. I forgot I put it there when I was working in the shop." Heat rose to her face. Randy smiled, then plugged the drive into a port on his laptop.

  "All right, Sarah. What am I looking for?"

  She moved around to the chair next to his. He pushed his plate out of the way and slid the laptop to her. His empty plate, she noticed.

  Stop it. He's a grown man and if he wants a bellyache, that's his business.

  "Why don't you have a regular mouse?" she grumbled as she struggled with the touchpad. After a few moments to get comfortable with it, she opened the right file. "Here," she said. "It's not complete, though. I started my marketing spreadsheet before the cops took the rest of my files."

  Randy leaned over to look. Close enough for her to feel the warmth he radiated. "It's not much, but maybe it'll trigger something." She stared at the names, trying to place each with a transaction, but failed miserably. It had been so busy and she'd barely had time to get familiar with the stock. She highlighted a few names. "I waited on these and I know they bought Garrigues, but there were a lot more."

  Kovak grinned. "That's what we do. Take way too much information and narrow it down. We can split the list. Why don't you try to eliminate your regular customers."

  "I thought you looked at everyone," she said, darting her eyes at Randy.

  "We do," he said. "But we prioritize, too. One question. Were all the Garrigue mugs like the ones we saw?"

  "No. He sent several different shapes and sizes. If these were going to be part of my regular stock, I'd have codes for everything. But it was last-minute and we were swamped." She felt like she was letting Randy—and the entire police force—down. "I'm sorry."

  "That's all right. There aren't that many names here. If the three of us split the list, we should be able to run them through the DMV for starters. I'll take the first ten." He jotted the names on his tablet and passed the computer to Chief Laughlin.

  "Nice to be playing detective," the chief said. He scribbled on his tablet and handed the laptop off to Kovak. "Makes a good change from pencil-pushing and bean-counting."

  "Am I allowed to watch?" Sarah asked as Randy entered names into a database.

  "For now, yes," he said. "We're trying to match names to people. If you recognize any of them, that'll help."

  He clicked, waited and the screen displayed a picture. She looked at it, frowned and shook her head. "Can't remember. Jennifer waited on so many customers."

  He brought up a few more pictures. "The problem is without anything to narrow the search, we're looking at everyone with each name and some of these names are common enough to have multiple results." He displayed another picture. She shook her head. Randy tried again. And again.

  "No. No. Not him," she said as he brought up a series of bad driver's license pictures.

  "Wait," Kovak said. "This name rings a bell." He turned the screen toward her. "Walter Young was on your guestbook list. Do you recognize this picture?"

  She studied the image on the monitor. An older man, creases and wrinkles surrounding hollow cheeks, lanky dark hair. "No. And I think I'd remember if I saw this guy. Of course, he could have come and gone while I was in the back."

  "Hang on." Kovak pulled his briefcase from the floor and opened it, searching through file folders. "Here we go. Right. Walter Young. One of the people who used the bank's ATM." He handed it to Sarah. "You mentioned he'd been in your shop. That's why the name was familiar."

  "Do you have the picture?" Chief Laughlin asked.

  "Getting there." Kovak rummaged around a bit and handed her a stack of photos.

  She leafed through them, looking for the one she remembered. "This guy." She handed the picture to Kovak. "But he's not the man in the driver's license picture."

  "Walter Young's a common enough name. I'll look for more of them." He passed the picture around the table. "At least with this picture, we can narrow the search. I'd say he's twenty to thirty years old."

  Randy nodded. "But take it out five years either way, to be safe."

  Kovak starting working on his computer again.

  Sarah searched her memory, pleased when it finally came though. "I remember now. Whatever his name is, I spoke to him, but Jennifer handled the sale. He was waiting on a special piece. If your theory is right, that might make him a suspect."

  Randy's phone rang. "Detweiler." His eyes widened as he listened. "Yes. Yes. Wait. Hang on." Sarah watched him fill a page with cryptic notes. After several interminable minutes, he snapped the phone shut and kept writing.

  She quelled her curiosity and waited. If the police chief wasn't going to interrupt, it certainly wasn't her place.

  What seemed like hours later, he looked up. "Charlotte Russell, the county M.E. Apparently she either doesn't know I'm supposed to be out of the loop, or she doesn't care. Anyway, she gave me the gist of her autopsy findings."

  Autopsy. Sarah's stomach wobbled at the word.

  "Anything helpful?" Chief Laughlin asked.

  Randy faced him, an expression somewhere between smug and perplexed on his face. "Our killer seems to be a copycat."

  "Tell us more," Kovak said.

  Randy pulled some papers out of his briefcase. "Our victim was killed by a right-hander. The cuts on every other victim were precise. They're willing to say the same knife was used on all of them." He flipped pages and selected a few, tossing them on the table. Pictures. Of a dead body. She saw enough to make her glad she hadn't eaten more than toast and berries. She went back to the other side of the table and let the two of them work. When they started discussing the depth and patterns of cuts on the body, she pushed her chair away.

  "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to freshen up."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Randy raised his eyebrows. "You okay?" Sarah's freckles stood out against her pale skin.

  "Yeah, fine. But I think this would be a good time to take a quick break and leave you to your cop stuff. Autopsies and killer signatures aren't exactly my area of expertise."

  She walked away. Steady, he noted with relief. He should have thought before tossing those pictures around.

  The chief waited until she'd rounded the corner, then spoke. "I didn't want to say anything in front of her, but I think one of our questions is answered. The rat I've been smelling might have come to light."

  Both men leaned forward.

  "You've heard the rumors about the jail going private, right?"

  "Yes," Randy and Kovak said, almost in unison.

  "It's true. And it turns out that one of our esteemed town council members is not only involved, but stands to reap a small fortune if the deal goes through. One of the stumbling blocks was that they can't fire the deputies who work the jail."

  "So you and Eldridge actually got it right the other day," Randy said. "Pine Hills dissolves its force, contracts with County and the displaced jail deputies have new assignments in Pine Hills."

  "In a nutshell, yes," the chief said. "However, I think it's going to hit the fan when the personal gain angle is mentioned." He smirked. "Sometimes the media can work in our favor. I think little Miss Penny might have some fun with this story."

  "You going to tell us who the backstabber is?" Kovak asked.

  "My money's on Neville's sister," Randy said.

  "No comment," the chief said with a shit-eating grin. He reached for his pen. "Back to work, gentlemen. Where were we?"

  A mixture of satisfaction and relief painted Kovak's expression. "Killer is a copycat."

  "Good news is it means we don't have to connect with those other five killings that nobody has been able to solve," Randy said. "Bad news is it means we don't have any leads."

  "What about Christopher Westmoreland?" Laughlin asked. "Any chance he's connected. He had a thing for Sarah."

  "Nope. I checked.
His visitors in prison have all been family."

  Kovak looked up from his laptop. "That's not the only way to get information in and out of prison. Email, phone calls, letters."

  "Agreed, but nothing in any of these cases connects to anything he's ever done. Not his style." Randy thumbed through his notes. "What about the prints on the key? The ones that matched prints from her shop?"

  "Without knowing which database to search, it's not going to be easy. Nothing in IAFIS. For now, they're examplars," the chief said.

  The lack of anything more concrete dumped more acid into Randy's already complaining stomach.

  "Dental records?" the chief asked, thumbing through notes. "Anything there?"

  "Definite maybe on that one," Randy said. "I found a dentist who thought it rang a bell. It didn't match anything in his current patient records, but he bought his practice about six years ago and he said it could have been done by the guy before him."

  "But?" Kovak said.

  "But that guy retired to Mexico to run fishing cruises. The records are all in storage with the new dentist, who might be able to get to them in a few weeks. Last I heard, County was working on a warrant. However, if we step in, red flags will go up."

  The chief tapped his pen on the table. "Unless we can get to the retired dentist first. See if he remembers the patient. Who knows what makes a patient memorable." He looked at Randy. "You have any contact information?"

  Randy searched his notes. "Ingraham. Albert."

  "You have anything more helpful than Mexico?" Kovak asked.

  "Nope." Randy grinned. "But you gotta figure it'll be near the water."

  "Great." Kovak muttered unintelligible sounds and addressed his keyboard. "Mexico. Fishing charters. Water."

  Randy's phone rang again. The chief nodded, went back to his computer.

  "Detweiler."

  "Randy? Is this a bad time? I know it's early but—"

  "It's fine, Maggie. What do you need?" He shoved his hair out of his eyes and turned to another page of his tablet, doodling Xs.

  "I saw two more of those mugs, like the ones Sarah's been selling. At Saint Michael's. I volunteer there, you know, and Sarah said they might be a clue."

  He straightened, giving the call his full attention. "Go on, Maggie." He drew a line under his row of Xs.

  "One of the residents. Mrs. Voorhees. I saw them in her room. She said her nephew gave them to her for her birthday and she gave two to the nursing staff because she didn't need four."

  "I don't suppose you know where he got them?" He held his breath in anticipation, but didn't expect much.

  "That's the thing. Her nephew is a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. He likes to bring her presents, but most of the time they're secondhand. Used books. Thrift store stuff. Garage sales. She said she wouldn't put it past him to dip into Dumpsters or trash. She tosses most of what he gives her, but these mugs were nice. She could tell they'd been repaired, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings and ask where he got them."

  "Thanks, Maggie. What's Mrs. Voorhees' first name?"

  "Valerie. Valerie Voorhees. Her monogram looks like a W."

  "Do you know the nephew's name?" he asked before she went off on that tangent.

  "Oh, sorry. Freddie. That's what she calls him. Actually, she calls him her penny-pinching, drug-dealing nephew Freddie. But I think she's joking about the drugs part. He visits every couple of months and brings her tacky presents. Except for those mugs, I guess, which would have been expensive. I think he lives in Portland."

  "His last name?" Randy squeezed the question in while Maggie stopped for breath.

  "Oh, I didn't think about that. I assumed he was a Voorhees, too, but there's no reason to assume that, is there? He could be anything. Would you like me to ask? I can think up some kind of a reason so she doesn't think I'm snooping. Then again, she doesn't remember things for very long, so even if she did wonder why I'm asking, she—"

  "Maggie. Whatever you decide will be fine." He rubbed his forehead which now throbbed in counterpoint to his belly. "Do you know when he gave his aunt the mugs?"

  "Yes, that I know. They have a celebration every month for the residents who have birthdays and I baked a chocolate cake. The party was July fifteenth." She paused. "Although that doesn't mean he came for the party, does it? Only that he probably brought them some time in July."

  "Do visitors sign in, Maggie?"

  "Oh, of course. That's right. I didn't think about that, because I'm there all the time as a volunteer, not a visitor. But there should be a record. I could sneak a peek at the books. Staff is so busy, they're always glad for help and I could, you know—"

  "I get it, Maggie. Thanks for doing this."

  "Always glad to help our police department. Are you enjoying your vacation?"

  Yeah, right. "Yes, I am."

  "Oh, my. I'm probably interrupting you. Tell Sarah I said hello. Bye."

  "Goodbye, Maggie." He disconnected and lowered his head to his hands.

  "Got something? Kovak said.

  He groaned. "Freddie. Maybe Voorhees. Maybe he lives in Portland. He brought the mugs to Saint Michael's. Maggie said Mrs. Voohees refers to him as her penny-pinching, drug-dealing nephew."

  "Drugs?" Kovak's eyebrows lifted. "I'll run some databases." He cracked his knuckles and bowed his head over the keyboard again.

  "Maggie Cooper," the chief said. "Big heart. A bit on the talkative side."

  Randy laughed. "A bit. But she did give us another name to check." He scrolled through Sarah's customer records, not expecting to find anything. Unlikely a drug dealer would be using his own name.

  "Damn, I'm good," Kovak exclaimed.

  "You found nephew Freddie?" Randy asked. "That was fast."

  "Not yet. Haven't started that one. But someone else is going to be buying the beer for at least the next month." He glanced at Laughlin. "Except you, Chief. Of course we'll pick up your tab."

  "Tell me what you have and I'll decide," Laughlin said.

  Kovak scribbled something on his notepad. "Ta da. Ingraham's Panga Fishing. Puerto Peñasco, Mexico."

  "Which is where?" Randy asked. "Enlighten the geographically challenged."

  "Sea of Cortez." Kovak studied the screen. "Would you look at that. Al Capone used to go there."

  "Stick to the here and now, Kovak," Laughlin said.

  "You think I should go down there and question this guy? Janie and the kids would love to come along." He grinned. "It fits with my 'gone fishing' alibi for today."

  "In your dreams, Kovak," Laughlin said. "You've got a phone. Use it."

  Kovak shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He scribbled something and pulled out his cell.

  * * * * *

  Sarah shook out her hair and smiled as she approached the table. She prepared herself to deal with whatever the men were doing. They were pictures. She wouldn't think about the real person behind them. Only telling herself not to think about it made her think about it. Like someone saying not to think of an elephant. She turned her thoughts to her peaceful beach and took a chair across from Randy, leaving an empty between herself and Kovak. All three men were working at their computers and jotting down notes.

  "Still busy, I see," she said.

  Randy looked up from his laptop and smiled, then gathered the papers spread over the table into a stack and turned them face down. "Maggie says hello," he said.

  Sarah grinned. "I'll bet she said more than hello."

  "Actually, she did. Have you ever run into a Mrs. Voorhees at Saint Michael's? Valerie?"

  "Staff or resident?" she asked.

  "Resident," Randy said.

  Sarah tried to place the name. "I don't think so. Not in my ceramics class, anyway and I don't meet too many others." Kovak and Chief Laughlin seemed totally involved in their computers. She leaned sideways, trying to peek onto Kovak's screen to see what doing real police work looked like. He must have sensed her prying eyes, because he looked up and smiled. Her face
heated. "Sorry. Sometimes I'm too curious for my own good. If those are secret databases, I apologize."

  He chuckled and pushed the computer toward her. "We do have our own law enforcement sources, but sometimes it's faster to start with Google."

  She saw the familiar search engine logo at the top of his screen and laughed. "So, have you found anything useful?"

  Randy explained about the mugs and the nephew, Freddie. "I was checking your sales records to see if you had anyone named Voorhees." He twisted the laptop. "If you want, you can do it."

  "How far back should I look?" she asked.

  He shrugged. Looked at his colleagues. "Two months?"

  A nod and a grunt seemed to mean they agreed.

  His chair scraped against the floor and he rose. "Be right back," he said, rubbing his stomach. And avoiding her eyes.

  "He's a big boy," Kovak said after Randy left. "But not always smart."

  "Sometimes you have to let people learn for themselves," she said. "A little pain can be an excellent teacher."

  He seemed as adept at reading her face as Randy. "But you don't like it when people you care about hurt, do you?"

  She bit her lip, not pleased at the direction the conversation was moving. "Can I ask you something personal?"

  "Ask away," he said. "If I can, I'll answer."

  "Why does Janie call you Peek?" Good grief what a way to change the subject. "I'm sorry. That was probably too personal. Forget it."

  His ears reddened, but he laughed. Chief Laughlin's head was hidden behind his laptop. "It's my initials," Kovak said. "P. E. K."

  "I'll accept that," she said, knowing she'd go crazy trying to figure out what the P and the E stood for. Obviously not something ordinary, or people would use his first name.

  "Might as well tell her," Chief Laughlin said. "Considering how helpful she's being."

  "No, that's not necessary," she said.

  "You've earned the right to know," Kovak said. "But it doesn't leave this room."

  She mimed zipping her lips. "Never."

  He took a sheet of paper, scribbled something on it, folded it and handed to her. She raised her eyebrows and unfolded it. "Oh. Yeah, I can see why."