by Terry Odell
“Just ask, Sarah.”
“Can you look at David’s accident? I mean, you’re a cop and you must have access to stuff regular people, even a private investigator, wouldn’t. I know it wasn’t suicide.”
Her heart sank when he stiffened and pulled away. His lips formed a straight line and his eyebrows came together. She blinked back her embarrassment. “I understand if you don’t want to.”
“It’s just—are you sure you really want to know? Could you deal with it if it was suicide?”
“I’ve dealt with it every day since he died. The not knowing is worse. I’ll live with the truth.”
Randy took her hands in his. “I’ll see. There’s only so much digging I can do. It’s not a Pine Hills case, it’s closed, and real life cops can’t work like they do on television. Our hours are accounted for. And some of the databases require my name and a case number, and they’re audited randomly. It’s supposed to make sure we don’t start poking around for personal reasons. I’ve kind of pushed the envelope already looking for stuff that’s not tied to your robbery.”
She felt a flush rise to her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
He pulled her toward him and she buried her face in his chest. The citrus scent of his aftershave and the beating of his heart calmed her.
“I’ll see what I can do on my own time. Things aren’t too busy now, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Thanks.”
“We should be going.”
“Right.” She reached for the grab bar. His hand at her elbow made her feel safe. He closed the door, and she watched him walk around to the driver’s side. His eyes never left hers, even though she doubted he could see her in the dark cab. The light came on when he opened his door and she couldn’t keep a smile from rising to her lips as he eased himself behind the wheel.
Randy slid the key into the ignition but made no move to start the engine. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her. Sarah returned the kiss, butterflies replaced by an entirely different sort of fluttering. His tongue probed, his breathing accelerated. She enjoyed one long, coffee-flavored moment before she forced herself to break the connection.
“Please. Let’s go. We both know this isn’t right.”
Chapter Fourteen
When he awoke the next morning, Randy found himself in bed, fully clothed, with no recollection of how he got there. The last thing he remembered was driving back from Sarah’s and collapsing on the couch. A long, hot shower and a steamy cup of black coffee returned the soul to his body, and he was able to think clearly.
Sarah had been right to break things off last night. She was using her brain and he was using something a lot lower down. Yet there was something about the way she invaded his thoughts when he least expected it. This must be what Gram had meant all those times she’d said, “You’ll know when it’s right. You can’t explain it, but you’ll know.”
Randy popped two waffles into the toaster, ate them while he waited for two more to finish heating to eat on the road, and left for work. He had a good feeling about the day.
At his desk, he twirled his Rolodex and found the number for Matt Dobrovsky.
“Long time no hear, Detweiler. What’s up?” Dobrovsky’s gravelly voice spoke of too many cigars and too much Johnny Walker, but the retired cop knew what he was doing.
“You remember the Tucker case? Suicide about fifteen months ago?”
“Yeah. Too bad. She was a basket case, but the pieces seemed to fit—nothing I could refute.”
“Talk to me. O’Farrell’s at six?”
“You buying?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be there.”
That good feeling evaporated when Laughlin caught him in the break room before Randy had finished pouring his coffee. “My office.”
Randy followed him down the hall and took a seat. Laughlin settled in behind his desk.
“How’s your little investigation coming?” Laughlin asked. “Anything more concrete?”
“Still trying to find out who Brandt and Adams might be.”
“It’ll have to wait. We had five break-ins last night. Kovak’s got the reports. He’ll fill you in.”
Randy’s stomach sank, but he knew he’d been lucky to have as much time for Sarah’s case as he’d had. “Yes, Chief. I’m on it.”
He found his younger colleague at his desk in their shared workspace, file folders strewn over its surface. “Welcome back, partner. How was San Diego?”
“A lot warmer than here. Looks like I got back from vacation just in time.” He gathered the folders and handed them to Randy.
Randy took the files to his desk, perching on its edge. “Didn’t I tell you about fair skin and sunscreen? You look like a boiled lobster. And your nose is peeling.”
“Who thinks about sunscreen when you go to a theme park? It’s not like I was at the beach.”
Randy waggled the folders. “You think these are all related?”
“Doesn’t look like it. What’s your load like?” Kovak pulled the folders from Randy’s hand.
“Lots of phone and paperwork and no court for a change. They caught Gertie in Woodford, by the way.”
“That’s great, but too bad it wasn’t your collar.”
“Turns out one of the Gertie robberies was a copycat. I’m back to square one with that one, but I have a couple of leads. I’ve got to interview some of the local merchants.”
“Tell you what,” Kovak said, separating the folders. “I’ll take these three. They seem totally unrelated and they’re all over town. He handed Randy two folders. “These are close by. Sherman and Zimmer. Seem connected. Malicious mischief. My guess it’s the work of kids. You could be back by noon.”
“I owe you one. No, I owe you two.” Randy sat at his desk for a few minutes, reviewing the files. Entry made via broken windows in the back of two houses a few blocks apart. Kitchens were trashed, nothing obvious stolen. The owners were trying to verify what, if anything, was missing.
As he drove to the Zimmers’, he ran through a myriad possibilities. Could this be related to Sarah’s case? Maybe kids were getting bolder. Had they started with subtle vandalism at Sarah’s, and maybe another merchant or two, then decided that wasn’t good enough? That they wanted to be noticed? But why move from a business to a residence?
When he arrived, Mrs. Zimmer stood on her front porch, hands on hips, cigarette hanging from her lips. She wore a red bandanna around her head, a plaid flannel shirt open over a faded black turtleneck and dingy jeans. Randy reached into his pocket for his badge as he adjusted his strides to match the paving stones laid in the front yard.
“It’s about time you got here,” Mrs. Zimmer said. She whirled and went into the house, flicking her cigarette into the bushes. Randy took the porch steps three at a time and barely avoided being slammed in the face by the screen door.
“I’m still dealing with the mess,” she said. “But I can tell you the crooks took my CD player and our CD collection.”
Randy took out his notebook. “I understand the Shermans had some vandalism as well. Do you know them?”
She shrugged. “Casually, I’d say. We sat with them at the PTA meeting at the elementary school, but we don’t socialize. Our older kids probably know each other better. They’re at the high school.”
Randy groaned inwardly at the thought of questioning kids. He forced a supportive smile to his face and turned to Mrs. Zimmer. “I’ve got a few more questions, if you don’t mind. This looks like some sort of prank, especially since you and the Shermans were both out. Who would have known you were at the meeting?”
“I suppose anyone who knew we have kids at the elementary school. It’s the annual meeting. Almost everyone shows up. If you don’t, they stick you with some lousy job to do.”
This didn’t look like the work of fourth graders. Randy tried another approach. “What about your older daughter? Do you think I could speak
to her?”
“I hope you’re not insinuating that Rachel would have had anything to do with this.”
“No, ma’am. I’m just trying to find whoever did this. Any connections between the two break-ins might help.”
Mrs. Zimmer kept insisting that the solution had to lie elsewhere, and why didn’t he get out there and find it. Randy resorted to his ‘pulling teeth’ line of questioning, phrasing his questions so that all she needed to do was answer “yes” or “no,” and tried not to sound as exasperated as he felt. After fifteen minutes, he had extracted permission to speak to Rachel at school, and been accused of everything from incompetence to police brutality. Mrs. Zimmer didn’t know how close she’d come to being right on that last one. He gritted his teeth and left, hoping Mrs. Sherman would be more cooperative, while his mind ran through all possibilities this could be related to Sarah’s vandalism. What he’d seen didn’t indicate any connection to what had happened at Sarah’s shop, but he’d see if he could get more information when he talked to the kids.
He pulled up to the Shermans’, and Mrs. Sherman gave him a warm welcome. Her brunette hair had strands of gold running through it, most likely placed there by a hairdresser rather than the sun. She wore a pastel plaid suit, the skirt ending a tasteful distance above her knees, and high heels to accentuate what the skirt revealed.
“I am so glad to see you, Detective. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
Randy felt better already. Mrs. Sherman looked like the cooperative type. Maybe he’d wrap this up after all. “Thank you. Water would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. She turned away and raised her voice. “Esmeralda! Can you please bring the policeman a glass of water.” She faced Randy. “I’m sure she’ll have it out for you in just a moment. She’s rather busy, what with all the mess in the kitchen, as I’m sure you can understand. Now, let’s go sit down and you can ask me whatever it is police detectives ask after incidents like this.” She walked toward the living room with the stride of someone who routinely wore three inch heels.
Randy followed, some of his good feelings leaving him. Mrs. Sherman motioned him to an antique ivory upholstered armchair, and he sat down, hoping it would support his weight. He pulled out his notebook.
Mrs. Sherman leaned forward from her seat on the couch. “Oh, you really do have those little books. I thought they might just be for television. You know, so the actors wouldn’t have to remember all those lines. How exciting.”
Randy had no idea how to respond to that. “Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me if you have any idea who might have wanted to do this?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you think either of your children might know anything? This looks like the work of juveniles.”
“I agree, and I can’t begin to tell you how discouraging it is, to see the way our children behave nowadays. Of course, my Catherine and Susannah would never do anything like this, and I’m sure Mrs. Zimmer’s children are above such pettiness, but some parents just don’t seem to care what their children are doing. A shame.”
Randy gave a noncommittal grunt. “Have you confirmed what was stolen?”
“Yes, our CD player—and it was the deluxe model, I’ll have you know, and dozens of CDs. We have an extensive collection.”
“Same as the Zimmers. I’d like to explore areas where your two families overlapped. Can you help me out? Jobs, social circles, community activities?” He looked up, poising his pen over his notebook for her benefit. Maybe it would get her talking.
Esmeralda came in with a large glass of ice water on a silver tray. She held it out toward him, a look of tired boredom on her face. Her hair, mostly gray, was pulling its way out of its bun, and there were assorted splotches covering much of her white apron. She’d probably been tackling the kitchen mess for several hours.
“Thank you,” he said. He took a sip of water and smiled at her. She bobbed and went back to the kitchen.
Mrs. Sherman was as voluble as Mrs. Zimmer had been reticent. No, the two families didn’t socialize. The younger children were in different classes; she had no idea if Rachel and Susannah shared any classes or activities. She thought Susannah was in the drama club, but children did change their interests so frequently at that age, who could keep up? Randy gave up on directing her remarks and sat back listening to her expounding on everything from teenage dating to how much homework teachers were giving, making notes whenever she hit upon something useful. Finally, he stood. “Thank you very much. You’ve been most helpful. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Susannah. If you would call the school principal, I can be over there in a few minutes.”
“Oh dear. I’m not sure I would like you going there. I mean, being pulled out of class in the middle of the day by a policeman? What would people think?”
“Mrs. Sherman, I assure you, that unless Susannah tells anyone I’m a police detective, there’s no reason for anyone else to know. I’m not in uniform, after all. Time is of the essence in cases like this. I will be speaking with Rachel as well. Of course, you’re welcome to be present, if you’d like to come along.” He looked at her and waited.
She checked her watch. “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I must be at my Junior League meeting. You’re sure it can be handled … discreetly?”
“Absolutely.”
Reluctantly, Randy headed for the high school, almost certain he wasn’t going to be able to tie this case to Sarah’s.
Do your damn job. The Shermans and the Zimmers are victims, too.
* * * * *
It was after four when Randy staggered into his office. He pulled back his chair and sank onto it, leaning his elbows on his desk and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. His head throbbed, and he’d missed lunch again.
“Just getting back?” came Kovak’s voice from the next desk.
Randy glared at him. “If you’re finished with those other three cases, I don’t want to hear it. I no longer owe you anything. What a mess.”
“Hey, how was I supposed to know? I’ve got someone in custody for the smash and grab at the hardware store. The real estate office turned out to be someone trying to get even with her ex for selling the house below market value and I’m following up a pretty good lead with the insurance company.”
Randy wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at his smirking partner. “Shut up. The parents were useless, so I spent the afternoon at the high school. God, you need permission from the tooth fairy to talk to those kids. And rude. Shit, I’d have been grounded for a month if I’d talked to an adult that way.” He massaged his temples, trying to rub away the pounding.
Randy shook three aspirin out of the bottle he kept in his desk and headed for the break room, stopping on the way at the water fountain to swallow the pills. He poured a cup of muddy coffee, stuck some coins into the vending machine and extracted a bag of peanuts. He wasn’t going to be good for much until the aspirin kicked in, but he was determined to make time for Sarah’s case before he went home.
Randy scanned his messages and stared at the one from Dr. Lee. With clammy hands, he punched in her number, his pulse racing as he waited to be connected.
“I’m sorry I missed your call,” Randy said. “Did you find the poison?”
“You were right about the mouse toy. It was stuffed with catnip and the stuffing was saturated with the toxin. It wouldn’t take much, I’m afraid.”
He envisioned Starsky and Hutch in catnip-induced rapture. Took a shaky breath. “They love their catnip. Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate the trouble you went to.”
“No trouble at all. And I’ll certainly call you if I see any more cases.”
“Thanks, but I don’t expect you will.” Randy paused before asking his question. “How are Starsky and Hutch?”
“No change, but that’s not a bad thing at this point. The next couple of days should tell.”
Randy thanked her and hung up the phone to
notice Kovak had stopped his typing and was staring at him.
“Couldn’t help but overhear. Starsky and Hutch? Someone poisoned them? That sucks.”
“They’re hanging on,” Randy said.
“Damn, I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
“Thanks, but I’m on it. Checked with neighbors. Nobody saw anything unusual. But I’m going to get the bastard, don’t worry about that.”
“If you want me to cover any of your caseload, or help put this guy away, let me know.”
“Thanks. I’ve got things under control for the moment.” Randy reached for the pink slips again, looking to see if Med-Tekke might have returned his call as well. Nothing. He glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. He could still reach someone. He was about to place the call when a buzzing in the back of his mind reached the surface. The Sherman-Zimmer case didn’t seem related to Sarah’s, but maybe one of Kovak’s was.
“Kovak? The break-in at the insurance company. Which one?”
“Oregon Trust.”
The buzzing got louder. Oregon Trust. Sarah’s insurance company. But it was probably the insurance company of half the businesses in town. Another coincidence?
“What happened?”
“Someone came in through a bathroom window, vandalized the copy machine, spray-painted the walls, trashed most of the computers, ransacked files. Big mess.”
“And you said you have leads?”
“One or two. Couple of big claims were denied recently. I’m looking to see if someone’s getting even. Hey, at least these guys ought to have insurance, right?” He laughed. “And besides, all their records are backed up at the main office in Portland, so it’s not like anyone is going to be without proof of insurance or anything.” Kovak walked to the door and picked up his sport coat. “I’m out of here for tonight.”
Maybe he’d offer to trade cases with Kovak. He thought again. Better to let Kovak investigate. If there was a connection to Sarah’s troubles, Kovak would be the visible one. Trusting Kovak to stay on top of things, Randy picked up the phone and called Mr. Yamaguchi at Med-Tekke.
