Chapter 21
Welcome Home
After kissing Skye goodbye in the parking lot and promising to be home by six, Wally walked toward the police station, swearing under his breath about filthy liars as he entered the building. He’d held it together in front of his wife, but this was one of those days when the supply of pseudo cusswords was insufficient to meet his needs and he just had to bring out the actual expletives.
With the possible exception of Earl Doozier—which was mind-boggling on its own account—every single person associated with Jerita’s murder and the missing person case had either outright lied or hidden an important fact.
And it was no consolation that despite Krissy Ficher’s blatant deception they’d been able to find Edie Baker, because now that he knew her whereabouts, he wasn’t sure what to do about that knowledge. Both the no-longer-missing woman and Pru had begged him not to reveal Edie’s location to her husband, but Wally hadn’t been able to make any promises.
Edie was well over twenty-one and at least seemed to be in her right mind, but she had been reported missing by her legal husband. Did that give Baker the right to know what had really happened? Wally didn’t think so, but would have to check with the city attorney to be sure.
Neither Mrs. nor Mr. Baker had done anything illegal. There was no theft; she’d had permission to borrow the golf cart from her neighbor. And there was no filing a false police report; Baker had genuinely thought his wife suffered from dementia and had wandered off on her own.
Thankful that at least he didn’t have to worry about arresting either of them, Wally stomped down the hallway, climbed the stairs, and flung open his office door.
Mulling over the list of calls he needed to make to untangle all the lies he’d been told, Wally marched into his office. Then when he glanced toward his desk, he nearly had a heart attack.
Shouting “What the fu…dge!” he shot back into the corridor.
Then as Wally stared at it, the huge black dog occupying his chair raised its furry head from where it had been resting on the desktop. It had a long black beard and hairy eyebrows, making it look like Homer Knapik and Grizzly Adams had had a love child.
Wally slammed the door closed and jumped as a voice behind him said, “I see you met Arnold.”
Wally turned, saw Martinez, and after his heart stopped racing, asked, “Arnold?”
“As in Schwarzenegger,” she explained. “Mayor Leofanti dropped him off about an hour ago. He’s our new K-9 officer.” The young woman looked over her shoulder in the direction of Hizzoner’s office and whispered, “But I don’t think Arnold’s had much training.”
“Of course he hasn’t.” Wally rolled his eyes, then edged past Martinez. “Please remove the dog from my office while I speak to the mayor.”
It wasn’t that Wally disliked dogs, but he’d had a bad experience as a child. Afterward, he’d never been exposed to them again so he hadn’t had a chance to warm up to animals of the canine persuasion. But even if he had, he wouldn’t want a dog sitting behind his desk. What if the creature ate an important report or peed on his perfectly broken-in chair?
When Wally entered the mayor’s lair, Dante scowled and snarled, “What now?”
“We never agreed on the dog.” Wally crossed his arms. “My staff said they’d take the bonuses versus raises in salary along with the increased uniform allowances and the removal of the part-timer’s hour cap, but we were still discussing the K-9 officer.”
“I had to strike while the dog shit was hot.” Dante mirrored Wally and crossed his arms too. “My friend is going out of business, and if I didn’t take Arnold, we’d have lost our chance.”
Wally argued, “Officer Martinez tells me that the dog isn’t trained.”
“That isn’t true. While his training isn’t completed, we got him cheap to make up the difference.” Dante beamed. “These animals go for up to twenty thousand dollars. Arnold was only a tenth of that.”
“You spent two thousand bucks on a partially trained dog that we have nowhere to house?” Wally shot Hizzoner a death glare. “Send him back.”
“No returns.” Dante picked up the phone. “Close the door on the way out.”
“I’m dropping the dog off at your place,” Wally threatened. “I hope your wife is okay with a large, hairy guest for Thanksgiving.”
Wally stomped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him. Rolling his eyes, he nearly ran into Martinez. She had the dog on a leash and was squatting in front of it, cooing into its floppy ear.
Leaping up, she said, “I…uh…overheard what you said to the mayor and I’d be glad to take Arnold home.” She took a breath, then in a rush continued, “I’ve been planning to get a dog, so I have all the stuff he’ll need, even some food.”
“That would be great.” Wally gave her a stern look. “But this isn’t permanent, so don’t get attached. He only stays until we figure out how to send him back to the guy who scammed the mayor.”
“The thing is”—Martinez bit her lip—“I’d love to have the opportunity to take whatever class is necessary to complete his and my training.”
Wally considered her words. He had nothing against using a K-9 officer, and in reality they probably were stuck with the animal. If it could be trained, it would be a useful addition to their police force.
Martinez and the dog both turned dark pleading eyes up at Wally and he gave the animal a pat on the head before asking, “What breed is this guy anyway? I thought police dogs were German shepherds or Doberman pincers.”
“He’s a giant schnauzer.” Martinez scratched the dog behind his ears and he wagged his tail. “Schnauzers are intelligent, reliable, brave, loyal, bold, and easy to train. Plus they hardly shed at all.”
Wally had never seen Martinez so excited or so confident. He liked her self-assurance and it was clear her enthusiasm would be an asset in learning to handle the dog.
Hoping he could squeeze some money out of the police budget, he said, “If we can find the finances for the training, I’ll give it a chance. Any idea what it would cost?”
“Thank you, sir.” Martinez hugged the dog. “I think the course is three weeks and the fee is about six thousand dollars. Maybe if we don’t have the resources, I could do a fundraiser or something.”
“We’ll talk about it more after the holiday,” Wally said. He wouldn’t mind just paying for it out of his own pocket, but then Dante would expect him to pick up the slack anytime the department ran short.
“Yes, sir.” Martinez kept a hand on the dog’s collar.
Remembering Skye telling him he was rude, before he headed to his office Wally added, “Have a good Thanksgiving.”
“You too, sir.” Martinez’s voice followed him down the hall.
Taking a seat behind his desk, Wally scrubbed his face. It had been a doozy of a day, and before he could go home he needed to talk to the city attorney, which was never a quick call. Wally sighed and picked up the telephone.
After a lengthy discussion, Wally translated the legalese that the lawyer had spouted to mean that Gerald Baker had no right to know where his wife was located. If Wally wanted to be a nice guy, he could let the man know she was safe and had left him on her own accord, but was in no way to reveal where she was living.
Another long conversation with the attorney resulted in the man confirming that he’d be able to get a warrant to track Jerita’s cell phone. But due to the holiday, it wouldn’t be issued until Friday.
In an ideal world, Wally would drive out to Bord du Lac and give Baker the news about his wife in person. But in this reality, it was five thirty the day before Thanksgiving, and investigating a murder trumped Wally’s more compassionate inclinations. He soothed his conscience by telling himself that Baker’s reaction would more likely be anger rather than sorrow.
Dialing the man’s number, Wally fought off a feel
ing that he was being selfish. Although he’d vowed to work more reasonable hours and put his family first, sometimes it was tough to find a balance between his responsibility to the job and his commitment to Skye and the twins. But in the end, his wife and kids had to come first.
“Mr. Baker,” Wally said as soon as the man answered. “This is Chief Boyd and I’m happy to tell you that your wife is alive and well.”
“Where is she?” Gerald demanded. “Are you bringing her home?”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Baker doesn’t wish to return.” Wally steeled himself for the man’s outrage, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“You know as well as I do that she isn’t mentally fit!” Gerald shouted. “She can’t make those types of choices.”
“Do you have a power of health attorney or guardianship?” Wally asked. Edie had said he didn’t, but the city attorney had told Wally to make sure of that fact. “If so, I’ll need to see the paperwork.”
“She’s my wife and I don’t need some document to make you tell me her location,” Gerald sputtered. “I have a right to know.”
“I’m afraid you don’t.” Wally’s voice was sympathetic. “But I can assure you that Mrs. Baker is in a safe place. It appears her dementia may have been exaggerated to mislead you, but she is fine.”
Gerald ranted for several minutes, threatening to sue the police, the city, and Wally, then in a flurry of cursing hung up.
Wally’s next call was to the crime lab to ask if they had the ability to track Jerita Quinn’s cell phone to find out its location. The techs had already left for the day, but the receptionist promised to have someone contact him first thing Friday morning.
During the holiday, the techs were on call only for emergencies. Wally assured the woman that was fine since he wouldn’t have a warrant until then anyway.
The clock was rapidly ticking toward six and Wally searched his mind for anything else that needed to be done today. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, this was probably his last chance to reach anyone still working and even that was a long shot.
He pulled a legal pad toward him, picked up a pen, and considered what he’d learned from the interviews he and Skye had conducted throughout the afternoon. An important question was whether Homer was telling the truth. It was possible that he’d concocted that whole extravagant story to cover up murdering Jerita Quinn.
What did they know for sure? One, Jerita was murdered in the backyard with a knife from her own kitchen. Had the murderer forced his or her way in with a gun or had Jerita invited him or her inside? But if the killer had a weapon, why use a knife?
Two, how did Jerita end up outside? Again, had she been forced or had she been showing the killer the elaborate playhouse?
Homer wasn’t the brightest bulb, but was he stupid enough to clean his prints from the knife and then leave evidence like his pumpkin seed hulls behind? And why wipe off the weapon if he was wearing gloves? Unless of course he killed her, then put his gloves on to search the house. Still, neither scenario sounded like a man who would forget the pumpkin seed hulls.
Okay. Homer wasn’t in the clear, but how about Beilin? Was he lying about why they left the city? And had he really just noticed his wife’s cell phone was missing or had he destroyed it because it held something that incriminated him?
Wally thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. He should have confiscated the vic’s phone the day she was murdered. He couldn’t believe that he’d made such a rookie mistake.
In his defense, he’d thought the crime scene techs had taken it, but that wasn’t a good excuse. It was his job to make sure of the details.
Clearly, the lack of sleep was getting to him. It would be so much better once they moved into the house and the twins could be in their own rooms. As it was, they were inches from his and Skye’s bed, and every time they whimpered or turned over, he and Skye both bolted awake, which wasn’t good for either of them.
Yawning, Wally scrubbed his eyes and groaned when he remembered that they had to wait until Friday to search the vic’s house. The delay gave Beilin ample time to destroy anything he didn’t want the police to find. An image of the big bonfires that the contractor used to get rid of trash that accumulated as the new house was being built popped into Wally’s mind and his shoulders slumped.
He supposed he could have insisted Beilin let him examine the place immediately, but that would have involved attempting to secure a warrant. And Wally wasn’t at all sure the city attorney could get one since they really didn’t have much to show probable cause. Unfortunately, Skye’s conviction that Beilin was lying wasn’t exactly hard evidence.
Wally growled in frustration. What he really needed was more information. Information he couldn’t get until after Thanksgiving. Although he normally loved living in a rural area, the fact that there was no judge or crime scene tech available until Friday was aggravating. But in such a small county, there just weren’t enough personnel to staff either the courthouse or the lab 24/7.
Sure, there were people on call, but his situation didn’t qualify as an emergency. And insisting that it was vital would only make enemies he didn’t need. The Scumble River PD depended on the county resources too much to burn those kinds of bridges.
Wally glanced at his watch. It was quarter to six and he was out of ideas. Sighing, he closed up the Quinn file and got to his feet.
Coming to an abrupt halt on his way to the door, he went back and picked up the phone. There was one more call he wanted to make. Krissy Ficher had lied to him, which was obstruction of justice. And while he had no intention of having her prosecuted for the crime, he did intend to threaten her with arrest for actively impeding an investigation. A good scare might stop her from doing something like that again.
Smacking the desk when her cell went directly to voicemail, Wally blew out a frustrated breath and left a message for her to be at the PD Monday at ten thirty sharp. He wanted to convey the consequence of her actions to her directly rather than via a voicemail message.
Exasperated, Wally headed downstairs, stopping in the front office to alert the dispatcher that he was going home.
Lonny, the guy subbing for May while she was on vacation, looked up from the computer and said, “Through for the day, Chief?”
“Yep.” Wally nodded. “I’ll be off radio, so call my cell if there’s an emergency.”
“Will do.” Lonny gave him a half salute, then answered the ringing phone.
As Wally started to leave, the dispatcher held up a finger, indicating he should wait.
Lonny listened for a few more seconds, then said, “It’s the medical examiner.”
The dispatcher handed over the receiver and Wally asked, “Dr. Norris, did you find something?”
His heart leaped with the hope that she had a lead for him to follow. Whatever she had to say must be important because her shift would have ended an hour ago.
“Unfortunately nothing more than I already told you.” Dr. Norris chuckled. “Sorry to get you all excited, but I wanted to give you a heads-up that my complete report will be popping into your email anytime now.”
“So a little light reading for the holiday,” Wally joked to mask his disappointment. “Why are you still at the morgue this late the day before Thanksgiving?”
“Under the best of circumstances, I’m a bit of a workaholic, and since I don’t have family in the area it’s even worse.” Dr. Norris’s tone was light, but Wally could hear the underlying loneliness.
“Well, if you don’t have any other plans, why don’t you come to my in-laws for dinner?” he asked.
He knew that May wouldn’t mind his impromptu invitation. She always invited anyone who would be alone for the holiday to join them and she’d be happy to set another plate at one of her many tables.
“I couldn’t impose on your family like that,” Dr. Norris protested.
“My mo
ther-in-law would insist.”
“Well…” Dr. Norris hesitated, then said, “I was dreading the thought of eating a frozen dinner in front of the television set.”
“No need for that, Dr. Norris.” Wally gave her May’s address.
“Since I’m joining your family for dinner, you better call me Doris Ann.”
“Terrific.” Wally added, “See you at one p.m. tomorrow and don’t even think of bringing any food. My mother-in-law would not appreciate it.”
“Is a bottle of wine safe?” Doris Ann chuckled. “One of my many talents is that I drink well with others.”
“Wine is fine, but beer would be better,” Wally teased.
“My kind of people. And I know the perfect brand. Pine Belt Pale Ale. I brought a supply back from my last trip home to Texas.”
“Perfect.” Wally hung up the phone grinning.
He’d looked up Dr. Norris after his first contact with her. She was widowed and in her late fifties. With her bringing his dad’s favorite beer, maybe she’d lure Carson away from Bunny Reid. He had to be getting tired of the ditsy redhead by now.
Whistling, Wally headed out of the station. Maybe something was finally going right.
Chapter 22
Home for the Holidays
Skye was not a fan of snow. Unlike her mother, who adored the stuff, she thought a white Christmas was vastly overrated. And a white Thanksgiving was just ridiculous. Especially in Illinois, where there was a good chance there would also be a white Easter.
She had always thought of snow not as a winter wonderland, but as a substance that made driving dangerous and ruined her expensive shoes. Although, she’d never really understood what a pain in the butt it was until she attempted to carry a baby down icy metal steps while being pelted from every direction.
Granted, before Skye attempted her descent, Wally had sprinkled the stairs with salt, but she was still afraid that she’d fall. And evidently Eva did not enjoy her first experience with the winter’s unwanted gift either because she was screaming her head off.
Come Homicide or High Water Page 21
