“See, the thing I couldn’t figure is how you of all people could be cowed by Bonolo into going along with that lame plan to drum Hemmer out of Willow Whisper. The other members of the property alterations committee have families to protect. Jobs to protect. But you? You don’t have either. Fear alone wouldn’t make you roll over. Not you. The thing about gain, though . . . wait.” Claudia paused, feigning growing comprehension. “Wait, wait, wait. Is he the one who actually keeps you? He is, isn’t he. That’s how he manipulates you. That’s how you gain. I never would’ve—”
“That pig does not ‘keep me’ and he does not manipulate me! I’m in control! I manipulate him.”
“You’re telling me the harassment campaign was yours? It was you calling the shots?”
“No! I . . . you’re twisting things around.”
Claudia pounced. “Then untwist them, because you can’t have it both ways. Either Bonolo came up with the plan and he manipulated you into going along, or you concocted it and made him fall in line. Make a call, because unless there’s some phantom mastermind yanking both your chains, it’s got to be one or the other.”
Addison blanched. She reached for her wine glass, then remembered it was empty. Finally she looked at Claudia. The flash was gone from her eyes, though, and when she said “screw you,” her voice trembled. She yanked her foot from the pedicurist’s hands and twisted free of her chair.
The pedicurist looked alarmed. “Lady! Not done!”
Addison shot her a look. “Shut up.” She slipped on the tile while fumbling for her sandals, but managed to struggle into them without falling. She didn’t look at Claudia again. She didn’t look at anyone. In seconds, she was gone.
Chapter 16
Ordinarily, the Indian Run bowling alley did a good business on Wednesday afternoons with daytime leagues, but the lanes had been closed all week for resurfacing and general maintenance, an annual ritual that made bowlers howl and threaten to take their business elsewhere. They never did. The next closest alley was fifteen miles away and anyway, the grill and bar here stayed open. Diehard bowlers could still get a hot dog and tell lies about their scores.
Claudia walked into the bar and looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. An officer had run her from the salon to Earl’s Rentals, where she chose a battered 1990 Imperial to ferry her around while the Cavalier was repaired—if it ever was. Remarkably, the Imperial’s power windows operated flawlessly, though the air conditioning didn’t work and the interior smelled like something died in it. Still, it had managed to get her to the bowling alley, which suggested it was better transportation than a backhoe or pogo stick, Earl’s only other rentals at the moment.
Suggs sat with Moody, Carella and Booey at a cluster of cocktail tables in the rear, where Sally had told her she would find them. The chief’s back was to her, but Booey spotted her instantly and gave a spirited wave. He sprang up and shuffled chairs, making room for her. Suggs shared none of his nephew’s enthusiasm. He didn’t look at her until she sat down. She braced for his wrath, but all he said was that they’d already finished eating and if she was hungry, she should go ahead and order.
She looked at him, wary. His expression was unreadable, and his tone seemed artificially modulated. Was she imagining that, or was something up? Hungry as she was, she took a pass on ordering.
Suggs shrugged. “Suit yourself, but today’s special is a meatloaf sandwich good enough to make the day worth rising for.”
“Maybe later,” said Claudia.
“All right. You’re missin’ out on a good deal, though. Fries come free with it.”
Claudia glanced around the table, looking for a cue to the chief’s uncharacteristic behavior. Booey lived in a world oblivious to nuance; he beamed at her. Carella and Moody kept their eyes down, studying their discarded napkins and empty plates.
“If you’re not gonna eat, then you might as well get yourself some coffee,” Suggs said next. “We’re gonna be here a while.”
Something was definitely up. Whatever it was, the chief clearly wouldn’t be rushed. Claudia nodded, and went to the snack bar. She got a cup of coffee and ordered the meatloaf sandwich. When she returned, it didn’t look like anyone had so much as twitched.
Suggs fooled with the wedding band on his finger, then sighed. “Everybody’s restless to compare notes on where we are with the Hemmer case. My original idea was to do that over lunch, and then catch you up if you surfaced before we were done. But just before I walked out the door to come over here, I got hung up on a phone call and it changes everything. I told the fellas to go on over and save me a seat. We’ve been doin’ nothin’ but chit-chat since I joined them. That’s because the call involves you and overrides everythin’ else.” He paused. “I need to tell you about it face to face, but I kept the others here because it impacts them, too.”
Claudia took a sip of coffee, trying to steady herself.
“The call was from the mayor. I couldn’t stay out of the his line of fire anymore.” Suggs looked up grimly. “There’s no nice way to say this, so I’ll put it to you straight. What Lane said . . . he ordered me to . . .” The chief shook his head. “Aw, hell, I’m sorry, Claudia, but he told me to terminate you the minute you got back to your desk, and it’s for serious.”
Everybody gasped, but nobody moved. Claudia could feel them watching her, waiting for a reaction. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, how to react. Her pulse thundered in her ears; she couldn’t get past the idea that Suggs had called her by her first name. He never did that.
“He threatened all of this before—you know, right after you got in his face at his birthday party. I kissed ass and it passed, or I thought it did, but that’s exactly the reason he gave me. Insubordination. He said it’s all about a ‘general attitude’ you got. Called you unprofessional. Called you a loose cannon. Said you were burnt out, past your prime. And that was the nicest he got.”
“That’s bullshit,” Carella hissed.
“I know, I know,” Suggs said quietly. “Only now Lane says he’s gettin’ complaints from private citizens. Says he can’t turn a blind eye to everybody else just to buff our egos.”
Moody stroked his mustache. “What’s the chance he’ll rethink his position? He’s clearly overreacting and—”
“Hell, yeah, he’s overreacting!” Suggs said. “He’s an excitable little prick with big ambitions. He takes anything negative about the town personally because he’s petrified it’ll tarnish his image and get in the way of his political goals. You think he’s keen on growth here because he believes his own crap about bringing jobs and commerce to Indian Run? Uh-uh. That’s just a convenient way to get attention so he can move onto something bigger, and never mind what he leaves behind.”
The chief’s eyes darkened. He was passionate about two things: fishing and “leaving Florida the hell alone.” Lane didn’t fish, and he didn’t leave Florida alone. There was nothing in him for Suggs to like. There was much for him to hate.
“When you got a guy like Lane,” he continued, “you don’t need a crystal ball to see your future in gutted farms, crowded schools, congested roads—Bob’s Barricades no matter where you turn. You know how many trees he knocked down to let Willow Whisper build here? A bedroom community like that is his biggest wet dream. You watch. There’ll be more.”
Booey fidgeted with his earlobe, as if seeking the earring he ordinarily wore. “Uncle Mac, there’s got to be some way you can fix this.”
“You think I didn’t try?” Suggs’s voice caught in his throat. “I said I was committed to seein’ the Hemmer case through and . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “Truth is, I’m out of my element with this. Lane had a play I didn’t see comin.’ He said if I don’t go along I’m out of a job, too. I could live with that—I told you all that I could—but when I put it direct to Lane, he one-upped me. He said fine, go. But what gave him the trump card? He said with me and Hershey both gone, it would free him up entirely to gut the whole d
epartment and sign over services to the sheriff’s office. He said they already do half our job anyway and—”
“That’s not true,” said Moody.
“I know, I know, but Lane said he’s got the support to totally disband us, and do it fast. I don’t know if that’s true, but I can’t risk the entire department for two of us. I got people dependin’ on me for their livelihoods. Hell, I got a whole town to watch out for.”
He paused when the grill cook slid a plate in front of Claudia. “Here you go. On a scale of one to ten, our meatloaf is an eleven.” His grin faded when no one responded. “What’s with you guys? Somebody die?”
Suggs impatiently waved him off. When the cook was out of earshot he said, “I didn’t think things would come to this, but it’s where I have to draw the line. I’m out of options.”
A gloomy silence descended. Except for an old man nursing a beer and a middle-aged couple lingering over lunch, the bar had emptied. The only sound was the whir of machinery on the lanes.
Carella leaned back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t see how Lane can get away with this. It’s outrageous.”
“What he told me,” said Suggs, “is that I serve at his pleasure, and he is not pleased. He said if I don’t like it I can always run against him when his term expires next March.”
And then they were all talking at once, making their owns threats, talking about mass resignation, looking for ways to get back. Suggs halfheartedly shushed them once—the middle-aged couple was turning to check out the commotion—but he didn’t tell them to stop, nor could they. One of their own had been wounded.
Claudia sat back and half listened. The initial jolt had felt seismic, but when it passed she felt a calm settle in and with it a surge of appetite that surprised her. She loved that Suggs had used her first name and she loved the blunder he’d presented her. Together, they were inducement enough to pull on the thread Addison had given her, because in the end, getting canned was leverage. The meatloaf sandwich looked good, and the fries were hot and crispy. She asked Suggs to pass the ketchup.
Everyone had just about forgotten she was there, but they shut up now.
“Claudia?” the chief said, “you all right?”
Again! He’d used her first name again.
“I’m fine, but I want to eat before this gets cold.”
He handed her the bottle.
“Thanks.” She shook some ketchup on her plate and dipped a fry. “Not exactly a power lunch, but it’ll do.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
She swallowed. “Of course I did, and my answer is no.”
“Your answer is ‘no’? What do you mean?”
“I’m saying no, I won’t be fired.”
Suggs pushed a hand through his hair. “Look, I know this is tough, but it’s real. I’m up against a wall and—”
“Nor will I resign, voluntarily or otherwise.” She bit into the sandwich. “The cook’s right. This is good. I’d give it a twelve, easy.”
“You’re in shock.”
Claudia held up a finger until she finished chewing, then dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Number one, and this is a technicality, but number one, I haven’t been back to my desk yet.”
“Which means Uncle Mac hasn’t officially seen you yet!” said Booey. “He can’t—”
“Number two, a question, Chief. How many officers have you fired since I’ve been here?”
“Say what?”
“Humor me.”
“I . . . well, let’s see. I fired Lester Fry when he started poundin’ on a suspect right under my nose. That was—”
“You backed me up, but you didn’t fire him. I did.”
“Oh, right.”
“Who else?”
“Well, this was a couple years before your time here, but I once let a fella go when I caught him foolin’ with a woman who wasn’t his wife. He was puttin’ it to her right there in his patrol car. I caught him myself.”
“Anyone else?”
“I’d have to look way back into my records. I’m not big on lettin’ people go. Mostly I try to . . . where’s this headed, Hershey?”
Claudia smiled. He was back to Hershey. “So you’ve never fired a female officer before?”
“Hell, up until you, I never had a female officer to fire.”
“So I’d be the first.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And the only one.”
Moody laughed out loud. “It’s beautiful.”
“The only one to be fired,” Claudia continued, “and in front of other people. That can’t be policy.”
Suggs sat upright. “Are you takin’ this where I think you’re takin’ it?”
“I don’t know all the governing bodies, but—”
“I do,” Moody said swiftly. “It’s been a while since law school, but a few of them stick with me, like the Equal Opportunity Commission, the U.S. Department of Labor, the National Labor Relations Board, the—”
“I get it, Moody, I get it,” said Suggs.
“And that’s just sex discrimination.” Moody ticked off possibilities on a finger. “Firing her in front of us—and look, you got Booey here; he’s just a private citizen—well, that raises the whole ugly specter of pain and suffering.”
“Damage to reputation,” Carella added. “There’s another.”
Claudia took another bite of her sandwich. Damn, but Moody was good.
Suggs abruptly stood. He stretched his neck a few times, then began pacing. “Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he muttered. The middle-aged couple had left, but the beer drinker watched openly. Suggs scowled at him. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he demanded. The man wrapped a soggy napkin around his glass and hurried away. Suggs turned to Claudia. “You’d do this? You’d file some kinda action?”
She popped the last of the French fries into her mouth. “It’ll never get that far. The threat will give the mayor pause. While he’s brooding over the impact on his career that a public dogfight would bring, we’ll be peeling back another layer on the Hemmer case.”
Suggs regarded her doubtfully. “I don’t know, Hershey. There’s a lot to risk. How can you be so sure?”
Her coffee was cold. She swallowed the rest of it, anyway. “Because I realized today that we’ve been asking the wrong questions. This whole thing isn’t about what anyone wanted. It’s about what someone didn’t want.”
Suggs grunted. “Someone’s blowin’ smoke at us?”
“It’s starting to look that way to me.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to share your theory with us?”
“Only if I’m not fired.”
The chief took his seat again. A half-smile creased his lips. “You think I’d do that to my only female officer? In front of people? Especially when I can’t even find her at her desk?”
Claudia returned the half smile. They weren’t out of business yet.
Chapter 17
For another hour and a half, they hammered at the Hemmer case. They wanted what detectives always want—irrefutable, in-your-face evidence that prosecutors could turn into a slam-dunk conviction impossible to overturn on appeal. Barring that, motive would be nice. On a good day, with a brilliant prosecutor and the right jury, motive could make for a circumstantial case when all else failed.
Suggs furiously chewed on ice from his beverage glass while they took turns laying out what they’d learned. Booey went first, too eager to wait, and anyway, no one wanted him to. He wasn’t a police officer. He was a civilian, and not yet even nineteen. The less he knew of the case, the better.
“Mr. Hemmer’s computers?” he said. “Documents were deleted from two out of three of them late Sunday.”
“Damn,” said Suggs. “Two days after Hemmer was killed.”
Claudia nodded, unsurprised.
“The third, the laptop, nothing was on it. Mr. Hemmer bought it through one of those online auctions. He just got it a week ago. It didn’t look lik
e he’d loaded anything on it yet. But the desktop computers—one of them had his life on it. His work records. Databases. Spreadsheets. E-mail. From what I can tell, he was using the other one strictly to fine-tune the coding on a software program he apparently developed himself. Based on some of the work records on his first PC, I’m pretty sure he was implementing the program on a freelance basis at some local businesses.”
“Wait a minute,” said Moody. “How do you know all this if the files were deleted?”
Booey lit up, thrilled at the opportunity for geek speak. His knee thrummed against the table while he described the password protection Hemmer had on both PCs, then the process of ferreting out deleted files.
“I lost forty minutes breaking his log-in password,” Booey said. He gave a small shake of his head, apparently peeved with himself for taking so long. “Mr. Hemmer used the last four digits of his phone number, his daughter’s initials, and then transposed the first two digits of his home address. That’s not as sophisticated as he’d have on a network computer in a big corporation, but for home use it’s impressive.”
“So whoever broke into his computers must’ve known the password or risked a lot of time to figure it out,” said Suggs.
“Maybe, but more likely is that Mr. Hemmer’s computers were in a sleep mode when they were accessed. The monitor screens would look like they were off and the computers would be so powered down that you might not even hear their fans. Touch a key, though, and they’d wake right up. Does anyone know if Mr. Hemmer shut down before he, you know . . . took hostages?”
No one could say with certainty. Police officers had made a cursory check of the upstairs after the house had been secured, but there would’ve been little reason to dwell there. The horror had been confined to Hemmer’s family room.
“Well, then, see? You almost have to conclude that the computers were in sleep,” Booey said confidently. He tapped the table with a narrow finger. “I say that because whoever it was? The person obviously wasn’t computer savvy enough to do more than delete files directly to the trash bin—which doesn’t make them truly deleted—and that’s even though Mr. Hemmer had a good scouring program right on his machines, and in plain sight!”
The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries Page 61