by Terry Odell
The chief's words ricocheted around his brain. Keep the Pine Hills PD visible for the town council. He called Kovak. "Morning, partner. Have a good weekend?"
"I did indeed. However, judging from the emails and messages I found this morning, for someone who was supposed to be taking the weekend off, you were busy. You should have called."
"No way. You're hell to be around when Janie's mad. Besides, no need to get us both in hot water. Chief reamed me a new one this morning for working on my day off even though I didn't report the hours."
When Kovak didn't respond right away, Randy waited. Kovak filled the silence. "So, they keeping you busy over there? Got any leads?" His tone shifted from jovial to pure business and Randy made a mental note of the way his partner had turned the conversation away from the local red tape.
"You get the weekend reports?" Randy asked. "Possible ID on our John Doe?"
"Hugh Garrigue, potter, Arcata, California. Humboldt State. Yes."
"I've got the campus cops trying to expedite matching his prints. You can try tracking down dentists in Arcata and Eureka. The chief wants a Pine Hills presence in the murder investigation, but Eldridge has me looking into the burglary angle as a possible connection, so we can keep working together."
"Works for me. I'm going to try to follow up with Sarah's customer list. See if anyone heard or saw anything helpful. We've still got the key to identify, but that seems tied to the murder, so I guess your end will be handling that. Did you get the update?"
The key. In the turmoil of the vandalism, he'd forgotten. "What update?"
"Charlie called first thing this morning. He thinks some hotels use those keys for safe deposit boxes, too."
"Great. Nothing like expanding the search instead of narrowing it." He felt the beginnings of a tension headache joining his heartburn. "All right, I'll start with the banks, then move to hotels. I'll talk to Ken Hannibal, the county's lead on the case. Maybe he has some ideas about division of labor. Meanwhile, Sarah's faxing me her customer list. I'm going to cross reference them with customers of the other places Garrigue sold his pottery. If any of them are Pine Hills locals, I'll let you know."
"Works for me." There was another period of silence. "Look, can we get together and hash this out? Something's going on around here. The chief's been popping in, checking up, looking like he's ready to spit nails. Lunch?"
Maybe by the end of the day, the chief would have informed the force about the town council's rumors, if only to put his own spin on them. Until then, he'd abide by the chief's request to keep things quiet. He dug around in his briefcase for his Tums. "Let me get back to you. Maybe a quick drink after work would be better. It'll be tough to spare the time for a round trip in the middle of the day."
The silence on the line inched into an uncomfortable length before Kovak replied. "Get back to me, then. I'll have to see if I'm clear this evening." The line disconnected before Randy could respond.
He popped two Tums. Might as well see what he could find out about Hugh Garrigue. The potter's website provided a picture of the man, but only a head shot. Right. The guy had his head shot, all right.
He explored the site, comparing the pottery to what he'd seen at Sarah's shop, finding a list of all the stores where Garrigue's pottery had been exhibited or sold for the past five years. He clicked the print icon and got an error message telling him he wasn't connected to a printer. Something else he'd have to look into. Meanwhile, he flipped to a clean sheet on his legal tablet.
He clicked through sites, taking notes, trying to get an impression of who Hugh Garrigue was. Not a lot of biographical information, but it looked like the man had quite a following for his wares, down to a reservations list for pieces he hadn't even made yet. Randy made a note to follow up with those, once he could reach someone at Garrigue's studio. He hadn't made it past the answering machine yet. His stomach growled. Maybe he'd grab some lunch.
He was debating vending machines versus a local eatery when his cell rang. "Detweiler."
"Rachel Michaelis. Humboldt State Campus Police."
Had she found something? "What can I do for you?"
"It's more like what I can do for you. We got the prints and compared them to ours."
"Already?" Randy looked at his watch. It hadn't been two hours since he'd talked to her. "That was fast."
"High-profile case, folks take interest. Besides, it was pretty obvious even to me that the prints didn't match. I had it confirmed with our expert, but your dead guy isn't Hugh Garrigue."
* * * * *
Sarah scanned the crowded café in Cottonwood and found Janie Kovak at a small table toward the back. She smiled and joined her. "Sorry I'm late. The insurance adjuster had a million questions."
"No problem." Janie sipped her iced tea. "I hope this isn't too out of your way."
Sarah shook her head as she draped her purse over the back of the wooden chair. "The shop's closed and I was going cross-eyed with the inventory spreadsheets. The drive over gave me some mind-clearing time."
"I heard what happened. That's got to suck big-time, especially after … your other problems."
"I'm all right—for now, anyway. I'm afraid to think what my next insurance premium is going to be, if they'll even renew my policy. Bob kept doing that horrible tsk tsk thing."
"Will the settlement cover the losses?" Janie asked.
Sarah thought about her hours with the spreadsheets. "Barely. It could have been worse. Most of the merchandise I lost was mine to sell, not on consignment, so there are only a couple of artists I'll have to pay in full. Not that there's going to be a lot left over to build up an inventory."
"You'll bounce back." Janie patted her arm. "You're a survivor."
Their waitress came by and took their orders. Sarah waited until she'd gone, then leaned forward. "Okay, not to change the subject—but to change the subject. How was your anniversary? Did the dessert thing work?"
Janie flushed pink. "Oh, yeah. And the kids were in Tillamook with relatives. Everyone had a great time."
"I'm so glad."
A flash of sympathy crossed Janie's face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so cheerful. Your weekend must have been rough."
Sarah pondered that one. "The vandalism, yes. But I think my personal life might have turned a corner."
"Randy?"
"That's part of why I invited you to lunch," Sarah confessed. "How do you deal with being married to a cop? The hours, the interruptions—and you've got kids. And that doesn't begin to address the danger factor. There are crazy people out there and when cops hear gunfire, they run toward it. Aren't you scared all the time?"
Janie sipped her tea. "Not as much as I used to be. When he first strapped on his gun, I admit it hit me hard. My knees shook, literally, every time he left for work for the first six months. But he knows his job, doesn't take unnecessary risks and there's not much violent crime in Pine Hills. If we lived in New York City, or Chicago—I might feel differently, but I know he's happy doing what he does and I couldn't make him give it up. It's tough being married to a cop, but I think our marriage would fall apart if I asked him to stop."
"I know the divorce rate is high."
"True. And we've had areas of disagreement," Janie said. "But we were so young when we got married, we practically grew up together. We didn't know anything different, so we took whatever came at us."
"Does he talk about his job?"
"Not confidential stuff, but yes, we share what we can." Janie looked at her as if she could read her thoughts. Heck, she probably could. Sarah ducked her head and released the silverware rolled up in her napkin, placing each utensil in its proper spot on the tabletop.
"I've known Randy a long time," Janie said. "He builds walls. Peek and I have always talked. Or we'll go camping in the mountains. I think having kids helped, too. A couple of toddlers greet you at the door, smiling, laughing and grab you around the knees. 'Hi, Daddy' kind of keeps things in perspective."
"You don't mi
nd that he gets called out in the middle of the night?"
She laughed. "Those are the good call-outs. I can go back to sleep. The ones I hated were the Sunday afternoons in the middle of a birthday party for one of the kids and I'd be stuck with a houseful of four-year-olds. But as a detective, his hours are more regular."
Janie looked thoughtful. "He and Randy have always been good about covering shifts. I'll admit, Randy's put in more than his share of weekend duty so we could have family time." She smiled. "Like tonight. Cammie's in the Youth Dance Club and they're putting on a show at Saint Michael's. Peek's promised to be home in time."
Saint Michael's. That's right, it was Monday. "Good grief, I almost forgot. I volunteered to help out. Thanks for reminding me. Guess I'll see you there."
"I'll look for you. Cammie's a dragonfly. The purple one."
"Can't wait."
The waitress returned with their sandwiches and coffee for Sarah. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Sarah wiped her mouth and set her napkin beside her plate. "Can I ask something personal?"
Janie's eyebrows lifted. "You can ask, yes. I can't promise I'll answer."
Sarah chose her words carefully. "Is it hard to live on a cop's salary? I mean, my shop might not be in the black for a while now and I wondered …"
Janie gave a wry laugh. "Well, if you don't mind shopping at the discount stores or driving a twelve-year-old car, it's not bad."
"Believe me, I'm an expert at squeezing thirty cents out of a quarter."
"Why are you asking? Wait. Did Randy ask—are you planning to—"
Sarah cut her off. "No, nothing like that. Yet. But I've been thinking about it." She laughed. "Thinking's probably not a good thing. It's just that life with Randy would be so different. I don't want to rush into anything I might regret. Money shouldn't matter. David and I started with nothing and I was right back there after he died." She poured more coffee from the carafe on the table. "And, I'm almost there again. That's probably why I'm thinking about it." She shook her head as if Janie had already asked a question. "I'm not getting into a relationship because money's tight. I can manage on my own."
Janie smiled. "I think you're already in a relationship."
Sarah felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Well, you know what I mean. Not one based on financial security. Must be a combination of the vandalism added to the new no-overtime rule that triggered all these thoughts."
Janie's face paled. "What … what no-overtime rule? For cops? When?" The ice clinked in her glass as she picked it up.
Had she mentioned something she wasn't supposed to? Randy hadn't said it was confidential. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Randy told me yesterday."
Janie set her glass down without drinking. "We didn't talk much this weekend. But Peek was … really attentive. He probably didn't want to spoil our anniversary celebration." She wiped the condensation on the table with her napkin, then wadded it up into a damp ball. "Maybe I take back everything I said before. A cop's salary is lousy, but the overtime made it doable. You start taking it for granted. And of course, the timing sucks."
Sarah hesitated, but Janie seemed to need to talk. "Problems?"
"The usual. Car repairs. House needs a new heating system. Cammie needs braces. And then—"
Sarah waited. Janie stared into space. There was more, but Sarah couldn't bring herself to press. "Maybe the new rule is temporary," she said.
"Maybe." Janie rubbed her temples. "All sorts of things to think about. I guess I should get started." She put her purse on the table and unzipped it. Her hands trembled.
"I'll take care of the check," Sarah said. "I invited you, remember."
Janie gave a weak smile. "Thanks. Next time will be on me." She plucked her cell phone from her purse and pressed a button. Phone to her ear, she rushed out of the café.
Chapter Fourteen
Randy gripped the phone to keep from dropping it. "You're positive?" Silence. "Sorry. Of course you are. I didn't mean to imply you didn't know your job. But I was convinced Garrigue was our vic."
"Sorry it didn't turn out the way you expected. He's got a reputation as a temperamental artist, but he's respected. Would be a shame if he was dead, especially like that."
"Of course. Occupational hazard. Too much forest, not enough trees."
"If I see Garrigue, I'll let you know," Rachel said.
"Thanks again. I'll see what the county sheriffs have to say."
The Humboldt County Sheriff's Office passed him from pillar to post, offering him many opportunities to leave voice mails, but eventually he found a live deputy who took the time to search the reports.
"Nothing on record. How long's he been gone?"
Randy let his mind go back through time. Sarah had tried to reach Garrigue on Thursday, he thought. "I don't know exactly. An associate said he'd gone to visit family, but she didn't speak to him directly."
"And why would you think he's not where he said he'd be?"
"No reason anymore. But there was a burglary in one of the shops where Garrigue's work was for sale and we're trying to track him down to ask him a few questions."
"Without a missing persons report, there's nothing we can do for you, Detective. Sorry. A burglary in Oregon isn't exactly a biggie here."
"I understand." Which he did, but he didn't have to like it. "Wait," he said to the deputy. "Do you have a missing persons report with any relation to pottery or craft shops or art galleries where they sell pottery? Anything. We've got a victim, male, about six feet, two hundred pounds, with potter's clay under his nails. No identifying marks, no hits on his prints. Shot. Blew his face off. I'm trying to follow any leads while we're waiting to hear from CODIS, ViCAP and the rest of the alphabet."
"I'll let you know."
Randy thanked him, hung up and unscrewed the cap of his Tums bottle. Nothing like the helpless feeling of waiting on so many agencies—busy agencies—to keep the acid flowing. He popped a couple in his mouth and crunched as he opened the desk drawer and stared at the pile of message slips. Not yet. Might as well see what he could do about the CSI reports. He shoved the drawer closed and made another list. Time to visit Lorinda.
He ripped the sheet from the tablet, folded it and stuck it in his jacket pocket, then changed his mind, cramming it into a back pocket of his trousers along with his Pine Hills badge case. He loosened his tie and slipped it off, hung his sport coat on the back of his chair and rolled up his shirtsleeves before heading for the lab. He stopped at a vending machine and bought a pack of gum. Chewing two sticks, he sauntered to the lab. A plump woman, in her twenties Randy estimated, sat at a desk.
"Like, hi," she said, flashing a wide smile when he approached.
"Like, hi," he echoed, leaning onto the counter. "Lorinda?" Up close, he added five years to her age.
She nodded.
"I'm Randy. I'm new here. Just moved from Portland."
"ID?"
He looked down at his shirt in mock surprise. Patted his pockets. "Crap. I must have left it upstairs." He gave her a pleading look. "If I go back up there empty-handed, I'm toast."
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Don't forget it again."
"Thanks. The suits want some reports." He pulled his list out of his pocket and made a show of reading it. "John Doe on the city-county line. Wednesday night." He snapped his gum. "Like, if I don't get them upstairs like yesterday, my ass is fried, you know? Because they're sworn and I'm a civilian, they all think they can give orders. No different from Portland. But after ten years, I know the drill."
He offered her his pack of gum and she took a stick, wiggling it in the air in front of him. "I hear you. Everyone needs their stuff. No regard for the paperwork, but if something goes missing, who gets the blame?" She unwrapped the gum and popped it into her mouth. "Let me see what we have."
Randy waited while she studied her computer, keeping a smile on his face.
"Got it," she said. "Okay, that's Case 070824376. We've got shoe prints, tire t
racks, autopsy, lots of trace. Most of it went to the state for analysis."
"Any of it come back yet? Keep the guys upstairs off my case?"
She looked some more. "Give me a minute." She flashed a smile. "Shoe prints and tire tracks are processed here. You can go back and talk to Dave or Cyndi if you want. Room five. By the time you're done, I should have more for you."
"You might have saved my job, Lorinda. Thanks." He glanced over his shoulder as he walked down the hallway, giving her a thumbs up. She smiled again and went back to the computer. Once her attention was occupied, he tore a scrap of paper from his list and wrapped the gum in it, rolled down his shirtsleeves and adjusted his collar. He clipped his badge case back on his belt and found a door numbered five. He tapped gently, then walked in.
Two techs, one male, one female, both in black cargo pants and gray uniform polo shirts, looked up from a central counter.
"Randy Detweiler, Pine Hills Police," he said, gesturing to his badge. "Working on Wednesday night's John Doe. Lieutenant Eldridge sent me down."
The woman, who Randy assumed was Cyndi, sighed. "What do you need?"
"Anything," Randy said. "We haven't got an ID, so any trace that could point us either to him or his killer would be greatly appreciated. I worked the scene for a while and I know it was a challenge."
"Ya' think? Over two hundred samples collected. And that's one crime scene. It's not like your John Doe was the only person involved in a crime last week."
Randy held his hands up in submission. "I know, I know. Everyone's overworked."
"And underpaid," the man said. "But we do what we can. I'm Dave. Don't mind Cyndi. She's a whiz at technology but she's been stuck in the lab too long."
"Hey, I'm not looking for favors." Randy grinned. "Okay, so maybe I am. But I've got people breathing down my neck, too. All I know is the vic had some kind of clay under his nails. We're guessing he has something to do with ceramics."