Long Time Gone: Konigsburg, Book 4

by Meg Benjamin

  “He arrested five of our guests!” Pittman’s voice rose. “No one ever got arrested at the rally before. How do you explain that, Toleffson?”

  Erik looked back toward the council members. “When Brody was chief, a lot of violations never got prosecuted during the rally—public drunkenness, for example. Some fights. Nobody got arrested because Brody didn’t pursue the people who were at fault.”

  “Drunk as skunks, most of them,” Craven growled. “Had to hire some people to clean up my parking lot after they left.”

  Portia Grandview nodded. She owned a hardware store on the other end of Main. “Took us a day to sweep up all the beer cans and broken glass in the city park.”

  Erik turned back to Pittman. “It turned out Brody had an arrangement with the biker organization. He told them if they paid their fines in advance, he wouldn’t pick them up.” He glanced back down the council table. Rankin snorted. Even Arthur Craven, the original hometown booster, looked grim.

  “As you might guess, the bikers thought this was a great deal. They kicked in around a hundred bucks per member in ‘pre-paid fines’ and Brody left them alone. This year the arrangement was no longer in force, so there were more arrests.”

  Horace turned back to Pittman. “Did you know about all this, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Of course I didn’t,” Pittman snarled. “I’m not a crook.”

  “Arresting drunks doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Craven mused. “Most of the merchants would be in favor of it—keeps the other tourists happy.”

  Grandview didn’t look entirely convinced. “Still, the mayor has a point here, Arthur. We do want tourists to come back. Arresting them should be a last resort.”

  Erik managed a half-smile in her direction. “Yes, ma’am. I’d say that’s our general philosophy.”

  Grandview narrowed her eyes slightly, then turned back to Pittman. “So Joe Powell and Margaret Hastings complained and the chief arrested some drunk tourists. Any other problems, Mr. Mayor?”

  Pittman stared at her, tight-lipped. Then he reached into the briefcase at his side, pulling out some photocopied sheets. He tossed them on the table in front of the council members. “There, Portia. There’s your problem.” He turned toward Horace. “Try explaining that one away.”

  Horace picked up a sheet and scanned it carefully. The others followed suit. After a moment, Horace glanced up at Erik. He reached into the pile and handed him a copy of his own.

  Erik didn’t need to look at it—he’d seen it before. It was the page of his personnel record from Davenport that included his suspension.

  After he finished reading, Horace looked up at him again. “Well, son, you want to tell us what happened here?”

  Erik shrugged. “We were taking a prisoner in and he got loose. He attacked my partner. I subdued him.”

  “What did you do?” Grandview’s eyes were wide.

  Erik managed a very thin smile. “I hit him. More than once.”

  “You sent him to the hospital with a concussion and numerous contusions.” Pittman looked a lot more confident all of sudden. He was back to addressing the Supreme Court. “The other officers had to pull you off him.”

  Horace leaned back in his chair. “What happened to your partner?”

  “She went to the hospital too. Skull fracture.”

  Grandview shook her head. “How do you explain this, Chief?”

  “Basically, I screwed up.” Erik blew out a breath. “The guy was out of control. I should have called for backup, but I didn’t. I was afraid my partner was dead.”

  Pittman narrowed his eyes. “Nobody’s arguing the man you beat up was a saint. But the examining board in Iowa ruled the force used was excessive. Somehow this suspension didn’t get mentioned when we hired Toleffson.” He gave Horace a fierce look.

  Horace shrugged. “Friesenhahn reviewed the records. He didn’t think it was important.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think it was important because he didn’t feel Konigsburg is important. Or maybe he just wanted to have his own man in charge here, in spite of the possible consequences.” Pittman shuffled his papers, glancing at the council. “Can we take the risk with Toleffson? He’s already dragged tourists off to jail. Can we afford it if he ‘screws up’ again?”

  Albaniz licked his lips. “What do you mean?”

  Pittman’s lips spread in a very unpleasant smile. “I understand Terrell Biedermeier was taken to the hospital after his arrest. Care to explain that, Chief?”

  In the silence, Erik could hear the clicking of Doralee’s keyboard. More records. Just what he needed.

  “Biedermeier took a hostage before we arrested him. He had to be restrained. After his arrest, I sent him to the hospital with Officer Avrogado to make sure his injuries weren’t serious. They weren’t. He spent the night in jail.”

  “Sedated, as I understand it.” Pittman’s voice had dropped to basso again.

  “He was given painkillers for his bruises.” Erik gritted his teeth. Apparently, Linklatter’s report to Pittman had been thorough.

  The silence in the council chamber seemed almost to echo.

  “The man in Iowa sued the police department, didn’t he, Chief?” Pittman’s voice was almost a purr.

  “Yes, sir. He did.” Erik’s hands fisted.

  “I repeat.” Pittman’s voice was soft. “We need to replace Toleffson as chief. Immediately.”

  The council members stared down the table at Erik, eyes wide.

  Horace began polishing his glasses, furiously. “I’m going to move that we table this decision for a couple of days to give us a better chance to study this information. We’ll call a special session Friday night.”

  “Wait a minute,” Pittman sputtered. “I object!”

  “You got no room to object to a council decision. Do I hear a second?”

  “Second,” Albaniz muttered.

  “Any dissent?” Horace narrowed his eyes at Pittman. “Other than the mayor, that is?”

  The council members shook their heads.

  “Then we’ll take this up again on Friday. Now we got other business to take care of. You can take off, Chief, unless you’ve got something else you want to bring up.”

  Erik stood, settling his hat on his head. He nodded at Horace and the rest of the council members then turned toward the door, managing to get there without having to look again at Pittman’s triumphant smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Morgan stumbled into the tasting room at around seven thirty the next morning still trying to wake up—not surprising since she hadn’t slept for more than a few hours the night before. She figured she might as well put in her time selling wine rather than lying in bed thinking about Erik Toleffson.

  When she’d gone to the Dew Drop yesterday afternoon, Erik wasn’t there. She’d driven by the station on her way back to Cedar Creek, but his truck was gone. Morgan tried not to consider the very real possibility that Chief Erik Toleffson was now packing to leave Konigsburg, while Ham Linklatter prepared to take over the police department and the town prepared to go to hell.

  He hadn’t called her. She hadn’t exactly expected him to. But still, after their last night together she’d sort of…wanted him to.

  Morgan sighed. Her day was already threatening to stretch to fourteen hours since they needed to get ready for the wine festival Saturday.

  Maybe because of all the preparations they needed to do, Kit was there early too, helping Esteban load Cedar Creek Winery glasses into cardboard boxes. She yawned as she passed a box to Esteban. “Is this festival as big a deal as I think it is?”

  “Pretty much.” Morgan took another box from Esteban and began loading glasses herself. “Usually they pull in several hundred people. It’s a great place to pick up some new customers.”

  “Are we taking all the wines?” Kit pulled several more glasses from beneath the counter and began shoving them into another box.

  “Maybe. What’s the final decision?” She raised an ey
ebrow at Esteban.

  He grinned. “We’re pouring five wines. Sangiovese, viognier, Creekside Red and Creekside White, and Bored Ducks.”

  “Bored Ducks?” Kit frowned. “We have a wine called Bored Ducks? I never heard of it.”

  “We do now—or anyway, we might.” Morgan pulled the flaps of the cardboard box closed. “We did the labeling last night. Was Ciro okay with putting it in the festival rotation?”

  Esteban nodded. “Dad said the festival would show how interested people might be in a wine like that.”

  There was a cold weight in the pit of Morgan’s stomach. If the wine sold well, maybe her father would believe she could do the marketing. If it didn’t… She took a deep breath. No wimping out. Bored Ducks was going to sell like hotcakes, damn it! Or like mango sherbet, given the temperature.

  Mango sherbet. Morgan closed her eyes. She was not going to think about Erik Toleffson.

  The door to the tasting room swung open and Nando strode in, winking at Kit. He paused as his brother pushed past him with a load of boxes. “Whoa! Looks like work going on here.” He glanced around the room, grinning. “Always great to see other people doing stuff.”

  Morgan chewed her lower lip, trying to decide how to ask him about Erik. Casual, play it casual. “How are things down at the station?”

  Nando shrugged. “Same as always, I guess. Except for the thing with Toleffson.”

  Morgan felt as if someone had grabbed her heart and given it a quick squeeze. “What about him?”

  Nando’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know? Geez, Morg, I’m sorry. I thought you and Toleffson… I mean, I thought he would have told you.”

  She worked hard on keeping her expression bland. “Told me what?”

  “Pittman tried to get him fired at the council meeting last night, but the council tabled the vote until Friday.” Nando shrugged again. “I hope they’ll tell Pittman to stuff it, but with politicians, who knows?”

  Morgan’s stomach tied another knot. So he still didn’t know whether he got to keep his job. She wished he’d called her anyway. Not that she could be much help under the circumstances. Still, she would have gone back into town and tried to do something. Maybe that was why he hadn’t called her—he didn’t want her to try.

  She picked up a bottle of sangiovese and thrust it into a box as the winery door swung open.

  “Morning, baby,” her mother called. “Mercy, you all look busy today.”

  Morgan turned to see her father limping in the door after her mother. He squinted around the room. “Everything ready for the Wine and Food Festival?”

  Morgan nodded. “We’re working on it.”

  “Good.” Her father propped himself against the tasting room bar. “We’ll stay over a couple of days. Always a big day. I need to see how that Bored Ducks stuff pans out.”

  Morgan closed her eyes for a moment. Terrific timing, Dad. “Great. You’ll be pleased, believe me.”

  “I hope so, honey.” Her father reached out to pat her shoulder awkwardly.

  Morgan decided Erik Toleffson could wait. She put an arm around her father and rested her head on his shoulder. “It’ll work, Daddy,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  “Cliff, this is all wonderful, but I’ve got clients.” Her mother’s voice sounded slightly choked as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Much as I’d like to, I can’t stay.”

  “Call them.” Her father grinned, watching the bustle around them. “Take a day off, Leila. Let’s see what happens. I want to know how this is going to turn out.”

  Morgan sighed. I do too, Dad, I do too.

  Erik managed to get to the Coffee Corral by seven thirty the next morning. He hoped he’d be awake enough for an early meeting. He stopped at the counter for a cup of coffee and some breakfast from Al before heading to the table.

  Al gave him a half-smile as he plated a chorizo-and-egg taco and a side of home fries. “I tried to go to that meeting last night, Chief, but Pittman’s stooge said I couldn’t stay. I guess they talked about Kent.”

  Erik shrugged. “It was okay. I kept his name out of it.”

  “I heard. We’ll be watching that asshole, believe me. Pittman’s days as mayor are numbered.”

  Erik wasn’t sure watching Pittman would do any good, but he thanked Al anyway. He found a booth near the window and sat to wait. Pete arrived five minutes later and slid in opposite him with a cup of coffee. “What’s up?”

  Erik took a deep breath. He’d spent half the night trying to figure out how to tell the family, but he still hadn’t come up with a good way. He just knew it needed to be done. Maybe if he did it fast, it would hurt less. Like tearing off a bandage. “There’s a good chance I’m going to be fired on Friday. I wanted to give you all a heads-up before it happened.”

  Pete stared at him, then placed his coffee cup carefully on the table in front of him. “What’s going on?”

  “Pittman took a longer look at my record than Friesenhahn did. When I was in Davenport, I got in trouble for unnecessary force. I drew a month’s suspension. It was in my record and that was part of my application for chief, but either Friesenhahn didn’t notice, or more likely he decided not to point it out to the council.”

  Pete stared at him, eyes dark. His expression flattened. “How did it happen?”

  “My partner and I were bringing a guy in. He was high on something, probably crystal meth. The handcuffs must not have been fastened entirely—anyway, he got loose. He hit my partner in the back of the head with the handcuffs and she went down. He went on hitting her before I could get to him. He lacerated her scalp and there was a lot of blood. I grabbed hold of him and…” He took another long breath, but he didn’t look away from Pete’s icy gaze. “I lost it. A couple of the other guys had to pull me off him. He ended up in the hospital. So did my partner. Both of them made it, but it was a close thing with her. He fractured her skull.”

  Pete nodded slowly, his mouth a thin line. Erik had the feeling he was taking mental notes. “What happened afterward?”

  “My boss went with the suspension instead of firing me, since Paula was hurt bad and the guy was out of control. He told me he might have reacted the same way under the circumstances, but that it was still a boneheaded thing to do. I had to agree with him on that.”

  Pete’s face was still blank. After a moment, he shrugged. “You really think they’ll fire you for that? You didn’t try to conceal it—they just didn’t notice.”

  “It’s not just that. I took a swing at Biedermeier when he had Morgan in a hammer lock. He had a black eye and some bruises. And Pittman’s still got a hair up his ass about the bikers I arrested. And then Margaret Hastings is claiming I’m soft on underage drinking.” Erik managed a half-smile. “I think I’m in the clear on that one, though.”

  Pete leaned back in the booth, eyes narrowed. “How long have you known about this?”

  “The hearing was last night.”

  “But you knew it was coming.”

  Erik shrugged. “I had an idea that it was, yeah.”

  Pete’s jaw was rigid. “Why didn’t you tell me it was coming—hell, tell all of us?”

  “You couldn’t have done anything.” Erik let himself look down at his breakfast, spearing a piece of chorizo. “It wasn’t something I wanted to share with anybody, particularly. It was my screwup. My problem. Another one of my problems.”

  He glanced up. Pete was staring out the window at the street.

  “Anyway.” He shrugged. “Horace tabled the vote until Friday. But I don’t know which way it’s going to go. I figured you needed to know before the news got around.”

  “Before the news got around to us.” Pete looked back, his mouth a thin line. “Jesus, Erik.”

  He shrugged again. “I’d say I’m sorry, but we both know how little good that would do. It didn’t help that much in the past either. You’ll tell everybody else, though, right?”

  Pete stared at him for a long moment, eyes burning. Then he grima
ced. “Yeah. For what it’s worth, I’ll tell everybody else.”

  At the station, Erik hunted for the Wine and Food Festival paperwork. It wasn’t on his desk where he’d left it, nor was it on Helen’s desk where it might legitimately have ended up. Helen made a cursory check of the filing cabinets, glowering. “Goddamn Linklatter,” she muttered.

  Erik sighed. “What about him?”

  “When I came in, that Brinkman was here. The mayor’s assistant. He and Ham were talking together about something. Ham looked like he’d just had a good meal or gotten laid. With Ham, I’d say the meal’s more likely.”

  “Brinkman took the paperwork?”

  Helen shrugged. “It ain’t here. And Linklatter was the only one in the station last night.”

  “Okay. Let’s keep going and assume we’re policing it until we hear otherwise.” Or until the mayor decided to try taking over the police department and running it himself, which might be imminent. Erik wondered who’d be in charge of the festival if they fired him. He sighed. Please don’t let it be Linklatter.

  At noon, Erik walked around the city park, taking in the bustle of preparations for the Festival. The central pavilion was full of booths, with banners floating from the ceiling, each with a different winery name. Alamosa, Texas Hills, Spicewood, Flat Creek, Crossroads, Lone Oak, the names reeled on as he peered down the length of the room. Near the middle on the left he saw Cedar Creek.

  Morgan was stacking boxes at the back of the booth.

  Erik took a breath. Guts up, Chief. She’s not even in your weight class. He headed toward her, wiping his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. He should have called her.

  Morgan glanced up at him as he neared the booth, her eyes suddenly wary. “Hi, Chief.”

  He nodded. And then he was stuck. I meant to call but I didn’t want to talk about it. That sounded like he didn’t want to talk to her, which wasn’t exactly true. I meant to call, but I didn’t know what to say. Closer, but it made him sound like a moron. I meant to call, but I was afraid of how it would sound to you. Oh yeah, that was a real winner.