Hidden Fire, Kobo Page 13

  "I know, I know," she said and she spouted off his usual grumble before he had a chance. "If you'd keep some of your things here, yada yada yada." She tried, ineffectively, she knew, to match his no-nonsense cop tone. "I'm not moving in with you."

  "I never asked you to. But if you had a change of clothes and basic essentials, we could have a little more spontaneity. Or at least less driving in the wee hours."

  "Well, I need more than a clean shirt and underwear. And even if I had some of my clothes here, I'd be home and need something that was here, or here and need something from home." She smiled. "Like my pills."

  He gave her an evil grin. "Which happen to be in your purse."

  "You—"

  "I put them in there this morning."

  She was torn between laughing and smacking him upside the head. "Don't tell me you put clean underwear in there, too."

  "Didn't need to. You left some here before I went to San Francisco. And a t-shirt. Socks. All washed and folded."

  She remembered that night and tried to glower, but failed. "I'll still have to get up at the crack of dawn if you're going to be at work at six."

  "But it'll be worth it, I promise. Come on. You're not going to be open for business tomorrow. Jeans are fine." He tweaked her nose and she slapped his hand away.

  "Give me a better reason."

  "I'm upset about tomorrow? I need you to keep me from freaking out?"

  "Like you ever freak out." But she remembered his nightmare the other night. And her own and how they rarely bothered her if Randy slept beside her. "Worth it, you said? Prove it, mister."

  * * * * *

  Despite the early hour, Randy arrived well-rested fifteen minutes early for his command appearance in Chief Laughlin's office. Last night's talk with Sarah had lifted an unconscious burden he'd been carrying. And after their talk—he smiled at the memory.

  He paced the empty outer office. The chief's secretary didn't come in until eight, but there was a light on in the inner office. After five minutes, he tapped on the chief's door.

  "Come in, Detweiler."

  Long ago, he'd wondered how the chief knew it was him until he realized he was the tallest man on the force by several inches and his silhouette behind the frosted glass pane was distinctive. Still, it unnerved him. Drawing a lungful of air, he shoved back the hair hanging in his forehead, turned the knob and stepped inside. He took the three strides to the chief's desk and stood at attention.

  "You wanted to see me, sir?"

  "Sit down. You'll give me a stiff neck."

  The man's tone was friendly, but definitely that of a superior officer. Randy sat. Hands on his thighs, he waited.

  "You have trouble with the concept of no overtime?" the chief asked.

  Is that all this was about? "No, sir. I took the weekend off."

  "Neville says he saw you at a crime scene late Saturday night. Said you undermined his authority in front of a citizen."

  The chief's dead-serious gaze quashed Randy's expletive-prefaced retort. He took a moment, calmed himself. "Sir, I was with the victim of that crime when she was notified of an act of vandalism at her shop. I provided transportation to the scene and because I was—or should have been—on call, I coordinated the investigation and interviewed the victim. However, at that time Officer Neville was in no way involved."

  "Go on. I want the whole story."

  Randy knew the chief would have read the reports. Why was he grilling him?

  "Given that we were already together, I took her statement at the station rather than wait until Monday. I had no intention of logging the hours, as I am fully aware of the new policy, but since there were no other ranking officers on duty, I made the decision to get the work done while everything was fresh in everyone's minds."

  As he replayed the events, the chief's original statement registered. Neville had nothing to do with the break-in call. Why was his nose out of joint?

  "Continue," the chief said.

  "There's not a lot more to say. I got a call from Dispatch later that night that lights had been reported on in the shop and that Neville was responding. I arrived later and since there was a legitimate reason for the lights, I told Neville I'd take responsibility and he could get back to his regular patrol duties."

  "Okay." Laughlin cleaned his reading glasses, then set them on his desk. "Now, can the formal report language and tell me what happened."

  "Is there a problem? I already said I wasn't going to clock the hours. What did you want me to do? Wait in the truck after I dropped the victim off at the scene? Sit at home and ignore the report that Sarah's car was parked behind her shop at midnight? That she might have been in danger? It was personal, sir and I was there as a private citizen."

  "Calm down, Detweiler. Your name's on the police report filed on the initial break-in, which was Saturday night and you were off-duty. Since there was nothing other than property damage, the town council's not looking favorably at a detective being called in after hours. Neville's getting his nose out of joint on the call-back exacerbated the problem. Are you aware his sister sits on the town council and she thinks her big brother can do no wrong?"

  Great. Politics. "No, sir, I wasn't aware of that. But it's not like I wrote the man up. All I did was—"

  "Was well within reason. I'm not questioning that. However portions of your conversation were broadcast over the radio and he had issues with your tone. Thinks you put him down in front of his peers."

  Clenching his teeth, Randy counted to ten. "Would you like me to apologize, sir?"

  "That won't be necessary. I'll tell the council you were acting on your own time in the best interest of the citizens of Pine Hills." He twirled his glasses by an earpiece. "But I'm not going to enjoy it. How's the murder investigation going?"

  Randy reported that Sarah had given him a lead on the victim, which seemed to brighten Laughlin's mood. "Sir, it's possible both the murder and the vandalism are related. I think we might make better use of our resources if I work on that angle and let County handle the murder."

  "I've got enough trouble with the town council, Detweiler. Let's not add conflict of interest to the mix. Your relationship with Sarah Tucker isn't exactly a secret and we've been down this road before. I'm assigning the vandalism case to Kovak. See what you can do to help close the murder while I try to juggle manpower hours and keep the council off my neck. You get your ass to the Sheriff's Office." He fanned a stack of spreadsheets and put on his glasses.

  * * * * *

  By seven, Randy's ass was in a chair in Eldridge's office.

  "You think the two crimes are related?" the lieutenant said. "And," he consulted his notes, "Hugh Garrigue is the key?"

  "The pottery angle seems to connect them," Randy said. "Clay under the vic's fingernails and someone apparently stole Garrigue's pottery, going to great pains to make it look like vandalism. We don't get a lot of heavy crime and it seems too much of a coincidence. Kovak's working the Pine Hills side of the case."

  Eldridge picked up a sheaf of notes. "You have good people skills, Detweiler. See if you can use them on the right people at Humboldt State and sweet-talk them into providing us with Hugh Garrigue's fingerprints. The university system must require it somewhere down the line. We haven't had any luck with IAFIS."

  IAFIS, not the Western Identification Network. So, the fingerprint search had gone from local to nationwide. "Will do. What about the cops in Arcata?"

  "Whatever it takes. If they're half as busy as we are, I know they won't mind handing off some of the workload. Anything you can do to give us the whereabouts of Hugh Garrigue, dead or alive, will help." Eldridge scratched his head and referred to his notes again. He leafed through several sheets of paper, stopped and perused one, then looked up. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it would be a big help if you'd play central clearing house. That crime scene was a bitch. Reports aren't getting to the people who need them. CSI is backlogged and they have a tendency to put distributing reports on th
e back burner. The detective assigned to the case is Ken Hannibal, but he's got twelve other active ones. I've informed him you're available."

  Glorified gopher. But he'd get first look at the reports, maybe find the linking clue. "No problem."

  Eldridge gave him an understanding smile. "If you weren't assigned here, what would you be doing?"

  "Finding anything that connects the burglary to the murder. Start at that end, work from that angle."

  "Advantages of small-town departments. Here, everything is compartmentalized. Crimes Against Persons are separate from Property. Another place where communication can break down. But since you're not one of ours, I don't see why you can't work both angles, as long as you keep the murder priority one."

  "Understood. Where should I set up?"

  Eldridge showed him to a cubicle, its desk stacked with file folders. He frowned. "You've got a phone here, but no computer."

  Randy indicated his briefcase. "I've got my laptop."

  "Good deal. You know where everything is, right? Break room, johns?"

  Randy nodded.

  "Faxes come in over there." Eldridge pointed to a closed door in the far wall. "Good idea to have someone call and tell you when they're going to fax something over, so you can wait for it, or it'll get lost."

  He nodded again.

  "All right," Eldridge said. "Sheriff has called another one of his dumb-ass meetings. Media coverage, so we have to stand there looking supportive while he talks nonsense about privatizing the county jail, tries to explain why we don't use Tasers instead of bullets—like the bad guys aren't armed with assault rifles, for God's sake—and why we're not closing cases like they do on television. What a waste of my time. On top of that, I've got sixteen deputies to cover, but call me if anything breaks, or if you need me. Hannibal should be checking in."

  Randy moved piles of file folders to the floor beside the desk and plugged in his computer before using his cell to call Sarah. From the sultry way she answered, he knew she'd checked her caller ID. And that she was alone.

  But he wasn't. Deputies walked back and forth along the corridor between cubicles. Damn, this was why he kept work separate from his personal life. He cleared his throat. "If it's not too much trouble, I could use that list of customers."

  "I'll fax it to you. It's first on my list."

  "Let me check the number." He walked down to the door Eldridge had indicated and went inside. Not much more than a closet with a table, a phone and a fax machine. Papers had already accumulated in the incoming tray. There was a wire basket next to the machine, but apparently nobody bothered moving the faxes. He stepped closer and gave Sarah the phone number taped to the front of the machine. "Call me when you send it so it doesn't get lost."

  "Okay. Probably within half an hour."

  "Thanks." He went back to the cubicle he'd been assigned and settled behind the desk. "And if you have anything else, call Kovak at the station. He's officially on your case now."

  "Is that what the chief called you in about?"

  "More or less. Neville wasn't happy with my attitude."

  She snorted. "Your attitude? Are you in trouble? I could tell your chief a few things about Neville's attitude."

  "No, it was a formality." No need to bother her with the town council connection. Not until it was official, anyway.

  "I'll let you get to work," she said. "If you want to talk tonight, call me."

  "Will do. I might not be on your case officially, but Eldridge's given me the green light to find a connection between the burglary and the murder, so you're not totally off limits."

  "Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that."

  He chuckled. "Professionally. Nobody's said anything about what I do and who I see on my own time."

  A plainclothes officer walked by, pausing as he reached Randy's desk. Reflexively, Randy's shoulders straightened. "Thank you very much, ma'am," he said in his best cop voice. "I appreciate it. You have the department fax number."

  Sarah giggled. "Someone's there?"

  "Yes, ma'am, that's correct."

  "Well then, detective, I will get right on it." She'd turned up her bedroom voice five notches. "Of course, there's something else I might like to get on, but I guess that will have to wait."

  He fought the grin. "Thank you." He ended the call and looked up at the hovering man, a bear of a redhead with biceps straining his shirtsleeves. "Can I help you with something?"

  The man extended his hand. "Ken Hannibal. You're working with us now?"

  He returned the handshake. "Randy Detweiler. Randy's fine. I'm supposed to be coordinating with Pine Hills PD."

  Hannibal loosened his tie. "Glad you're aboard. Understand you think some California potter might be our John Doe."

  "Hugh Garrigue," he said. "It's a possibility, yes."

  "Great. You can start with that."

  "Can I get an internet connection here?" Randy asked. "Or a phone book? I want to see what the cops in Arcata can tell me."

  "You'll have to get Tech Support to give you a login and password if you want access to the law enforcement databases. I'll approve it. If you're just web surfing, there should be an ethernet cable," Hannibal leaned down, "right about here. Yep. Here you go." He dangled the wire toward Randy.

  Randy clicked the cable into the side of his laptop. "Thanks."

  "Okay, Randy. I'm swamped. Check with the lab and see if you can expedite the reports. Talk to Lorinda. She's civilian and gets a bit huffy if she thinks you're implying she's not doing her job. All that does is slow her down more, so play nice." He dropped a sheaf of papers on the desk. "These are all the calls that came in with possible leads on the victim. If it's not your Garrigue fellow, you can follow up."

  "Thanks." Randy picked up the slips and glanced through them.

  Eldridge dropped another stack. "And these are from our helpful citizens who think they have leads on the killer. I've marked the ones from some of the frequent guests of the county penal system. They're probably making stuff up to earn a few Brownie points, but they have to be checked out. Never know when one of them actually saw something useful. Up to you if you want to save them for last or get them out of the way first."

  Randy swallowed. They'd had about fifteen calls in Pine Hills, already eliminated. There had to be at least fifty in each stack.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Randy stared at the piles of message slips Hannibal had dumped on him and immediately phoned Human Resources at Humboldt State University instead. If they could verify Garrigue's prints, he might eliminate one stack.

  The receptionist who took his call admitted to having prints on file for all faculty members, but was reluctant to turn them over without a warrant. Moving up the food chain didn't help, although he did get the number for campus police. He gave another polite thank you and called them.

  After four transfers and altogether too many waits on interminable hold, he found someone willing to talk to him. Randy clicked his pen, poised over a legal tablet with the names of everyone he'd already spoken to, each with a line drawn through it. He printed the woman's name at the bottom of his list as he introduced himself—again—and went into his spiel.

  "Sergeant Michaelis. Rachel. Help me out here. We've got an unidentified victim. You know as well as I do, the longer the case sits around, the less likely we are to solve it. Step one is to identify the victim. We have a witness who thinks it might be a member of your faculty. We have prints. A comparison would either identify him or eliminate him. It's a win-win for you. He died in Oregon, so it's not going to fall into your laps. If you send me the prints, we can see if they match."

  "Who?" Concern filled her voice.

  "Hugh Garrigue." Why hadn't anyone checked with the locals? Dumb question. Because he'd reported it on a weekend and this was only one of who knew how many cases Eldridge supervised.

  As if she'd read his thoughts, Rachel continued, "Wait a minute." Papers rustled. "Weekend shift did a Check on Wellbeing of Hugh Gar
rigue. Someone went by his campus office this morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same for his studio. Nobody there, but no signs of foul play. He comes and goes."

  "Have you talked to anyone who's seen him?"

  "Sorry. No missing persons report was filed with us. What makes you think your victim is Garrigue?" Rachel asked.

  Randy gave her the abbreviated version.

  "The man travels a lot, but I'll see if I can find an emergency contact or next of kin in his files."

  "Thanks," Randy said. "Human Resources has been pretty evasive."

  "Yeah, privacy reigns. And you're an outsider."

  "One more thing. Do you happen to know who Hugh Garrigue's dentist is? Aside from the prints, we have a piece of bridgework."

  "No, sorry," she said. "I knew the man to say hello to, but we never got that personal."

  "I understand."

  "There aren't many dentists in Arcata. If you strike out, I suggest you include Eureka in your search."

  "Will do."

  There was a pause that told Randy she was working out a mental compromise.

  "Tell you what," she finally said. "Why don't you send your prints to me instead? Bypass the whole warrant issue."

  "You have print experts on campus?" he asked, immediately regretting the surprise he let through in his tone.

  She didn't seem to notice. "One of our guys was a latent print examiner in Michigan. He retired and left the state. Works for us part-time. He's good. I'll have him take a look when he comes in."

  "Excellent." He gave her his contact information and hung up. Next, he found County's print examiner's office. After extracting a promise from the tech to get a scan of the victim's prints to the Humboldt State campus cops ASAP, he wandered through the maze of cubicles, most filled with deputies intent on phone calls or computers. How many more deputies were out on patrol or traffic duty? Or investigating crimes? Quite a contrast to the relative quiet of the Pine Hills police station. If they disbanded the force, would he consider working here?

  He shoved his hair back and wound his way to his desk. The stack of message slips hadn't shrunk. He found a big clip and gathered them into a neatly fastened pile which he slid into the drawer, where he hoped they'd never be needed.