by V. B. Tenery
“Did the bomb techs identify the kind of explosive used?” Lucy asked.
Rubbing his chin for a moment, the guard shook his head. “They suspect a plastique explosive, but they’ll test it to make sure. Something small, designed to kill, maim, or frighten, not to destroy the building. Unless, of course, you have some nutcase who made it off Internet data and got it wrong.”
Matt and Lucy exchanged a glance, and he said, “Let’s get back to the missing security data. How could that happen?”
A flicker of hardness, almost bitter humor crossed, Tompkins’ face. “I know the discs are important.” He shook his head. “They apparently disappeared in all the excitement after the explosion. Only the Thursday and Friday discs are missing. They’re kept here in the office.” Tompkins pointed to the metal file cabinet in the corner. “This office is locked, but the cabinets aren’t.”
Matt gazed at him for a long moment. “Convenient for someone. How many people have keys?”
“My partner and I, the maintenance supervisor, as well as almost everyone on the executive staff. Management is anyone at the director level or above. They have master keys that open most doors, including this office.”
A red flush crept up Tompkins’ face, probably embarrassed about the lax security. He pulled the after-hour entry list from the file, made copies, and handed one to Matt and one to Lucy.
One name stood out. “Does Sam Pryor work here?”
Tompkins nodded. “He’s in charge of MIS, management information systems.”
“Anything else we should know about the list?” Matt asked.
“Some of the names on there no longer work here.”
“Does that mean ex-employees can enter the building after hours?”
“As far as I know, the codes are active until they’re removed from the system. Terminated employees turn in their keycard when they leave, and we would know if an ex-employee entered. His or her code would show up on the report.”
“Do you review the overnight information every day?” Matt asked.
“Either me or Ben. My boss in Human Resources also receives a copy. I went over the printout today. No unauthorized personnel codes on Thursday or Friday.”
“What is Ben’s last name?” Lucy asked.
“Miller, Ben Miller,” Tompkins replied.
“How old is he,” Lucy asked.
“Twenty-three. Birthdays in March.” Tompkins knew what they were after.
Cole wrote the information in his notebook. He would run a background check on both guards.
Matt gave Tompkins a look that said what he thought of their security system. “It’s just a suggestion. But you might tell your boss security measures around here could use some tightening before somebody gets killed.”
CHAPTER 7
Twin Falls Police Station
Lucy Turner left Global and followed Matt Foley to the station. She felt drained, upset, angry and friendless.
She’d been out of line with Matt. How will you feel, Luc, when he busts you to patrol duty, she asked herself. It was her own fault, but sometimes she couldn’t hide her hostility. The Lord knew she couldn’t afford a demotion. Her salary barely covered living expenses now.
The part-time security job she’d started in June, to buy school clothes for her two boys, left her on edge and tired. The long hours sapped her energy and left no time to spend with Charlie and Mack. She shook her head and heaved a long breath. Christmas was coming and she would still need the extra money.
Stopped at a red light, she read the bumper sticker on the car in front her. Honk if you know someone who is alive only because you can’t afford a hit man. She thought of her ex-husband and gave the horn a long blast.
Cole shot her a dirty look.
Her animosity towards Matt Foley was irrational, she knew, but she resented him for his charmed life, his wealth, his good looks, and his intelligence. Just the sound of his voice grated like an unspoken reprimand.
It wasn’t his fault she’d married an abusive heel like Hank Turner and made a mess of her life. But Matt’s presence reminded her of the bad choices she’d made.
Leaving Oklahoma had been her chance for a new beginning, but she hadn’t anticipated the financial strains and the desperate loneliness of living away from her family.
Whenever Matt asked her a question, it was as if he challenged her competence. Would he have asked if she were a man? Fighting chauvinism had been part of the job since she’d decided to become a cop.
Suck it up, Luc, if you want to keep this position, she told herself. Keep your mouth shut. Do the job.
At the station, she stomped back to her desk and slammed her purse into the bottom drawer, then picked up the phone and called the bomb tech at Fort Hood.
****
Matt headed down the hall to the break room. Detective Miles Davis stood at the bulletin board, coffee in hand. Matt tapped his shoulder. “When you finish here, find Hunter, then meet me upstairs in the conference room.”
“He’s calling the church office to check on their old records,” Davis said. “I’ll get him. We’ll join you in five.”
The conference room lay just off the homicide bureau. Matt took the first chair by the entrance and waited. He rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. He’d leave the Global explosion with Lucy and Cole. For now, he had to focus on the Bay Harbor case.
He hated opaque cases. No viable crime scene, no evidence, and few clues. Finding a killer after almost three decades added a dimension he didn’t even want to consider. And this one had huge political overtones.
Thanks in part, to Dale McCulloch, and the state-of-the-art CSU facility, Twin Falls solved-cases stats ran over ninety percent. He’d lobbied hard for the crime lab but despite the fact that Twin Falls was an affluent town, the budget office turned him down. When Mary had offered to foot the bill for the extra space and equipment, the city council rolled over.
With an in-house CSU facility, tests took a matter of hours or days instead of weeks or months.
What one of his professors in college had told him proved to be true. Old-fashioned legwork solved crimes, but forensics got the convictions.
This case was different. Past success would mean nothing if they didn’t solve this one.
At least the timing on the Pryor case would be good for him. The diversion would absorb his attention. Something to keep him away from home. The emptiness there still closed in on him. Wouldn’t be the first night he’d spent on his office sofa, and Rowdy wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.
He rose to fill a mug from the conference room coffee bar when Chris Hunter entered. The detective carried Archie, the station mascot, a yellow tabby trying for the Guinness World Records book for most obese cat. Hunter, not to be outdone by Archie, stood five-six with a paunch that hung over his belt.
Hunter set the cat on the floor, then pulled out a chair. “You wanted to see us, Chief?” He nodded towards the door. “Miles is behind me. Had to make a pit stop. Probably needed to comb his hair.”
Davis strode through the doorway and gave his partner a pointed look as he smoothed his perfectly trimmed hair with both hands. “I heard that.”
The two made a good team, despite their different personalities. Laid back and easygoing, Hunter was the opposite of his partner, who was high energy, introspective, and often moody. Somehow, the conflicting personas blended into a cohesive team of investigators.
Matt placed a yellow pad on the table. “Anything new turn up at the crime scene after I left?”
Davis shook his head. “No, but I’m not surprised.”
It didn’t surprise Matt, either, not with a crime scene that old. “The fact the body was Governor Ferrell’s niece hasn’t hit the news yet, but it won’t be long.”
“Don’t I know it. We’ll be knee deep in reporters.” Davis’ face scrunched into a frown. “I can’t wait.”
Hordes of reporters blinding them with flashbulbs and sticking microphones in their faces
made a difficult job harder. Matt brought the conversation back to the job at hand. “You guys know your business, but I wouldn’t wait for forensics. Check out the old neighborhood, see if anyone remembers anything new about that night. All the reports from the first investigation are in the casebook.” He shrugged. “Which I guess is now the murder book. Did you get anything yet from Sam Pryor?”
Davis shook his head. “Overtime on this, Chief?”
“Whatever you need,” Matt said. “McCulloch is trying to track down the sleeping bag, but it’s probably too early to expect answers.” Matt picked up the casebook and stood. “I’ll return this later. We’ll meet here for a daily update at 0930. The mayor, city council, and my boss will be breathing down my neck until this case is closed.”
Back in his office, Matt called the morgue. Lisa Martinez answered.
“Just FYI, Hunter and Davis will be there for the Pryor autopsy when it’s scheduled. It has taken on some political importance. Anything yet?”
“No. I do have other cases ahead of that one. Tell Davis I’ll schedule the exam for tomorrow morning at eight. Don’t let them show up early. All I need are those two underfoot, pressuring me.”
“Lisa, they won’t come by until you begin the autopsy. You control that. Just let them know when you’re ready. I only called to give you a heads-up. The case is going to get a lot of media attention, so you might want to rearrange your priorities.”
“Don’t tell me how to run my department. I’ll call you when I have answers. But not today.”
The line went dead.
He stared at the phone in his hand. Unbelievable. He must have said something to set her off. After replaying their conversation in his head, he still couldn’t see it. Perhaps he should tell Davis to take her a new broom when he went for the autopsy.
County Morgue
Lisa Martinez slammed the receiver back on the hook. The man made her crazy. Dense was the only word to describe Matt Foley.
Why did she have so much trouble with relationships? First Paul’s father, now Matt Foley?
Matt found her attractive. She hadn’t imagined the appreciation in his eyes. Too many men had cast that look her way for her to miss it. But for some reason, he avoided her attempts to get close to him. His wife had been dead for two years. He should be over that by now.
Why couldn’t she fall for a nice, solid guy like Joe Wilson? He would be a good husband and a great father for Paul.
She shook her head. Who could explain the laws of physical attraction? Maybe it was time to listen to her head. Following her heart hadn’t worked out too well. Anyway, it was too soon to be shopping for a husband.
All this introspection made her crave a cigarette. She didn’t have time for a smoke break outside. Stupid rules. The people she worked with could hardly complain about secondhand smoke. But there was always the possibility she could set off an inferno with all the lab chemicals.
Lisa pushed through the double metal doors into the autopsy lab. Removing a clipboard from a hook, she scanned the log sheet—a busy week. They had six bodies, besides the one from Bay Harbor. Four from an accident, two from local nursing homes, and Joe Wilson had just called to say another body was on its way.
Tired, she pulled on a Tyvek apron and sleeves over her scrubs, added a hair cover, facemask, protective eyewear, and latex gloves. She gave the gloves an angry snap and made her way to the steel exam table.
Microphone in place, she stated the victim’s name and started the cut on one of the women from the nursing home, recording her findings as the autopsy progressed. Most senior care patients died from loneliness and a broken heart, but she couldn’t put that on a death certificate. This one suffered from malnutrition. Common in nursing home deaths. Not always because they were mistreated. Mostly, the patients just gave up and stopped eating.
As she finished with the woman, Joe Wilson’s big hulk pushed through the swinging doors. She placed her hands on her hips. “You personally delivering bodies these days, Joe?”
His face flushed a dusty pink under his tan. “No. Things are just a little slow, so I decided to come along. You’re here kinda late.”
“Paul’s with his dad.” She waved at the chart on the wall. “Good thing I came in.”
Joe turned to assist the ambulance driver with the gurney.
“Who is it?” Lisa asked.
Joe handed a copy of his report to a nearby tech. “Robert Cook. All the information is here. He lived out on FM10. Apparently, died of natural causes, but that’ll be your call. A neighbor found him.”
Joe slid his hands into his pockets with a wistful grin. “You have time for coffee?”
Lisa switched off the microphone and turned away from her table “Sure, Joe, I have time. Give me a minute to wash up.”
At the sink, she removed her lab gear and added a generous dollop of anti-bacterial soap, working it over her hands and arms. Joe’s profile reflected in the mirror above the sink. She studied his face. Handsome, yes, but he didn’t have the animal magnetism of Matt Foley.
Lisa dried her hands and joined him at the morgue entrance.
Joe crossed the break room to the coffee maker in the corner. “We’re in luck,” Joe called over his shoulder. “Someone made a fresh pot.”
He pulled two foam cups from the plastic sleeve. “You still take it with one cream and two sugars?”
She joined him at the counter. “Yeah. It’s sweet that you remembered.”
He grinned down at her. “I’m a sweet guy.”
“And modest, too.” She laughed, then lit a cigarette as she took a seat in the booth.
He slid in across from her. “How’s Paul doing?”
Lisa smiled. Paul was her favorite subject. “He’s good. He’s a bright kid, but he likes fishing and baseball way better than school.”
“That makes him normal. He’s a fisherman?”
“Oh yeah. My dad takes him when he feels like going. Dad has emphysema, so he’s not up to fishing very often.”
Joe pointed at her cigarette. “Think those could have anything to do with your dad’s illness?”
Her brow knitted into a scowl. “Don’t you start on me. I get enough of that from Paul.”
He held up both hands. “Subject closed. You like to fish?”
Fishing expeditions with her father flashed information from the past. The tranquility of the water, the quiet, cool mornings, eating breakfast burritos filled with sausage, eggs, potatoes, and hot sauce. Good times. “I haven’t been since I was a kid, but I loved it.”
“I go every weekend I’m off duty.” He took the last sip of coffee in the cup. “You and Paul want to join me next time?”
She lowered her gaze and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Then flashed a flirty smile. “Give me a call. I’ll bring the burritos.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to work.”
In the morgue, she picked up the phone and dialed Miles Davis’s number. “If you and Hunter can get here in thirty minutes, I’ll do the Pryor exam tonight.”
“We’re on our way,” he said.
If Matt wanted a fast turnaround, he could pay his detectives overtime.
By the time she finished setting up, Davis and Hunter were climbing into the paper smocks, booties and masks. They joined her at the table that held the small skeleton. A lab tech had x-rayed the remains earlier. The films hung on a clip above the table.
She switched on the microphone and began. The date Penny disappeared wasn’t necessarily the date she died. Lisa accepted she might never be able to nail that down, but a hands-on examination could help determine the cause of death.
With efficient fingers, she inspected the neck’s fragile bones, speaking into the mic as she progressed. The vertebrae leading to the skull’s right side were shattered. Most likely the cause of death. The x-rays showed massive head and neck injuries. She detailed her findings into the recording―careful to note the heavy equipment at the gravesite may have caused some of the f
ractures, though she didn’t buy it. With heavy equipment, the damage would have been more extensive and not isolated to one area.
Matt had emailed her a copy of the missing persons report on the Pryor girl and the parents identified the personal effects. Could she rely on their memory after such a span of time? Probably. She would remember every detail if something happened to Paul.
Lisa laid the small skull back in place. A vision of her son’s dimpled smile nudged its way into her mind. She missed him already. She couldn’t bear the thought of something like this happening to Paul. His mental image reminded her that this little girl had also been cherished by her parents.
Lisa shivered. At times like these, she wished she’d chosen another field. Pediatrics maybe. Healing had to be more rewarding than this.
She turned to the two detectives. “You guys have what you need?”
Davis still had his notebook out. “Any idea what caused the blow to the head?”
She shrugged. “Something big.”
“How big?” he asked.
She leaned back against the table. “Hard to say without the tissue. Smaller than a tree, bigger than a fist.”
Hunter shook his head. “Or as it’s known in our profession, the unidentified blunt object.”
“Great,” Davis said. “That narrows it down to a few million possibilities.”
City Manager’s Office
Douglas Anderson sat at his desk, scanning the file labeled Matthew Foley. City Councilman Terrance Randall Hall was on his way to discuss a case under investigation.
The pompous little man made Doug’s blood boil, but Hall had political connections, so Doug had to tread softly. But then, Matt Foley also had a few political heavyweights in his corner.
He flicked the file open to review the sheets that comprised Foley’s personnel file. Already familiar with most of it, he wanted to refresh his memory in case Hall tried to con him.
The top sheet reflected Matt’s military career. Six years in the U.S. Army 75th Brigade, a Ranger special mission unit sharpshooter. He spent his last two years of service in Afghanistan in the second Gulf War. After leaving the Army, he attended Texas A&M at Kileen, graduating in the top ten percent with a degree in Criminal Justice. Pursued by large police departments across the country, Matt applied for the Twin Falls position when the old chief retired. Doug snapped him up. One of his better personnel decisions.