When Elizabeth continued to stare at him, Squeaky asked, "What were they selling?"
"I have no idea. I always figure some of that goes on at the college, but unless it spills into town, I don't focus on it."
Without saying goodbye, Elizabeth turned and walked into the bone-chilling cold. Knowing about the baggies three days ago could have helped them at least target suspicion on drug sales. Could mean nothing, could mean Louella Belle saw a sale in progress and was killed to keep her mouth shut. What a waste.
She turned on the heater in the Crown Vic and pulled her phone from a pocket. She knew one person who could know what drugs were sold on campus.
Wally Kermit picked up immediately. "I was going to call you, Chief. What's a good time Christmas Eve?"
For a second, Elizabeth didn't associate his question with her earlier invitation to stop by the station that afternoon. "Oh, uh, any time after perhaps two. I have a different topic. You can't blab about it."
She described what she had just learned, with minimal detail. Let him think it was one baggie one time. Or maybe it was only one day.
After silence of several seconds, Wally said, "We don't see as much of that as you might at a larger school. Or one in a big city. At Sweathog, usually it's pot, far as I know."
"But what color, what image, would be stamped on the baggies?"
"Pigs, of course. Usually pink. Sometimes red."
"What's the difference?" Elizabeth asked. "Kind of drugs?"
"What I hear is colors mean who provides the stuff. But like I said, I haven't seen the baggies but two or three times. Homecoming weekend twice. Oh, and last week of school last year. But never more than a couple. And near trash cans. I kinda figured they blew out."
"In the same place each time?"
"Nah. I don't know if it means there's not a lot of drug stuff, or if people know how to clean up after themselves."
Elizabeth began to say goodbye, but Wally interrupted her. “Were there any prints on that bike, Chief?”
“It takes a few days, but I promise we’ll let you know.” She hung up and called to Hammer. He came in, cup of coffee in hand. "What's up, Chief?"
"Squeaky says he's only seen one bag and it was on the stoop by the alley. Good old Wally says there's not much activity on campus. He thinks it's all pot."
He sat across from her desk. "So, doesn't tell us much, I guess."
"Wally did say that what Squeaky thought were paint smudges of pink or red were likely of pigs, and the colors designate who's selling what."
"Sure, same as gangs in the cities." He grinned. "Bet the ones at Sweathog are the only ones with pigs on them."
"No doubt. Start a list. Our buddies Herbie and Just Juice. Clancy. And…Blake Wessley acts like he really cleaned up his act, but maybe not."
"Could be anyone who used the laundromat," Hammer said.
Elizabeth remembered the two men who'd been in the diner. "Did you find out who those two men were? From the diner, when Skelly and I had lunch."
He pulled a small notebook from the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. "Yeah, I asked Nick. Sorry, found out late yesterday, and then Buttons happened." He flipped a few pages. "You were right about the packing plant. Ted Nelson and Randy Judd."
"We've never arrested them?"
"Nope. They were witnesses to a fight at that grungy bar near the railroad tracks. 'Stop By Here,' it's called."
"Incidents elsewhere?"
He shrugged. "Not what you'd call big stuff. The kinds of things people on the margins get into. Couple shoplifting charges in Peoria for one, bar fight in Decatur for the other."
"So, people you wouldn't want for next-door neighbors, but nothing serious."
"And no guns used, ever. Neither has a concealed carry permit."
Elizabeth blew out air. "But unless they're felons or convicted of domestic violence, they could probably both get one."
"If they take the safety class," Hammer said.
She nodded. "They probably never crossed paths with Louella Belle or Stanley. They don't deserve to be on our radar just because they look rough. As we talk to more people about the laundromat, ask them to describe some of the customers they don't know."
Hammer swallowed the last of his coffee. "They could have gun owners' permits. I'll check the state Firearm Owners Identification registry."
When he left, Elizabeth stared at her phone without really seeing it. Her instinct said they were looking for an aggressor who wouldn't appear on any lists for past behavior or weapons ownership. Killers who flew under the radar could hide in plain sight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THOUGH HAMMER SAID MARTI had called the station a couple of times to see if they'd arrested anyone, Elizabeth hadn't talked to her in depth since Monday evening.
She headed for the Bully Pulpit before the Thursday lunch rush. Maybe a calmer Marti, or at least one a few days past her discovery of Louella Belle, would remember more if Elizabeth prodded her a little.
As she opened the door to enter the diner, Elizabeth absorbed that in the three days since the murder, the Bully Pulpit had exploded in Christmas colors and – no other word for it – tacky decorations. She unzipped her jacket and headed for a booth midway into the diner. What could Marti and Nick have possibly been thinking?
Marti's voice carried in from the kitchen and moved closer. "So, I think if we went to the hardware store they'd probably just give us some of the leftover live garland. Don't you think it would smell really good?"
Nick's response was muffled.
The swinging door that led to the kitchen opened and Marti rounded the corner, coffee pot in hand. Elizabeth hadn't seen other patrons, but figured they must be around the corner, in the longer end of the L shape.
Marti stopped when she saw Elizabeth and her eyebrows went up. "Chief! Do you know anything?"
She shook her head. "Learning more all the time, but we haven't identified anyone yet."
Marti's shoulders sagged. "That would be a great Christmas present. Then I wouldn't have to worry anymore."
"What are you…?"
"Chief, let me take this coffee to Gordon Beals. He's around the corner there.""
Elizabeth nodded. The insurance actuary had just returned from a long visit to an older sister in Phoenix. He referred to it as his winter solace.
She opened a menu and a doily that had been colored as a Christmas wreath fell out. Nick peered around the cash register, which sat on the counter in front of the swinging door. He placed a finger to his lips and gestured that Elizabeth should come to the counter.
Marti's loud laugh said she was still busy with Beals, so Elizabeth walked to Nick. "What is it?"
"You have to get her to stop this."
"Stop what?" she asked.
He pointed to the diner's ceiling, from which hung a bunch of small, homemade mobiles, each telling part of either the Nativity story or Santa's workshop. "She can't stop doing crafts and stuff. Two days ago she asked every patron to bring her art stuff so she could decorate."
"Ah. It is, uh, overwhelming."
In a harsh whisper, Nick said, "No kidding!"
Marti's rapid footsteps approached, and Elizabeth turned. "I was just asking Nick who had made all these wonderful decorations. They look new."
Marti stopped at the counter and placed the coffee pot on it. "I'm so excited about Christmas. I've stayed up until after three the last two mornings. I have so many ideas."
Nick's grin was feeble. "I gotta stir the chile." He turned and entered the kitchen.
Softly, Elizabeth said, "It's all beautiful. But don't wear yourself out. Don't you cook a special lunch on Christmas Eve?"
"Oh, right." Marti took her menu pad from an apron pocket. "I keep forgetting what I want to buy."
Elizabeth tilted her head toward the booth where she'd left her jacket. "Take a break and sit with me for a second."
Marti's shoulders sagged. "Do we have to talk about…it?"
Elizabe
th shook her head, firmly. "No. I thought we'd chat for a minute. I'd love to hear what you're doing for Christmas." Or whether I should suggest a rest and valium.
Marti slid into the booth across from Elizabeth, back to the kitchen, worry lines forming in her face. "Do you think the person will come after me?"
For someone who didn't want to talk about Louella Belle's murder, Marti had gotten to it quickly. Elizabeth shook her head. "You saw nothing. No doubt the killer was gone quite some time before you walked over to the laundromat."
She leaned back in the booth. "Nick keeps telling me that." He eyes swept the portion of the diner in front of her. "I wish I could believe it."
"If you could help your mind unwind, I think you'd feel safer. You'd know the person doesn't want anything to do with you."
Marti's eyes filled. "Every time I shut my eyes I see Louella Belle."
Elizabeth reached across the table and placed one hand over Marti's. "That's natural. You had a terrible shock in a place you thought was safe."
Marti leaned across the table. "Yes! Yes! That's why it bothers me so much." She lay her head on folded arms on the booth's tabletop and began to sob.
A man's voice from behind them said, "Oh, crap."
Elizabeth kept her hand on Marti's, and looked over her shoulder at Gordon Beals. "She'll be okay, Gordon."
Every inch of his six-foot plus frame said he didn't want to offer to help. "Marti, kiddo, can I do something for you?"
Without lifting her head, she said, "No, thank you." Big sniff. "No charge for the coffee."
Gordon smiled slightly at Elizabeth. "I left you a Christmas tip on my table."
Marti lifted her head."Th..thank you."
Apparently alarmed by her blotchy face and tear-stained cheeks, Gordon said, "Merry Christmas." He hurried out the diner's door into the cold.
Marti grabbed a wad of napkins from the holder on the table. "Gordon'll never come back."
"Sure he will. He likes you. I bet he left a big tip."
She sniffed loudly. "He and Ben were good friends."
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "And even though Ben is gone, he still comes to the Bully Pulpit."
Marti took another napkin and blotted her eyes.
"It doesn't look really busy, Marti. I saw you guys put a recliner in the large food pantry in the back of the kitchen. Why don't you take a nap?"
"Oh, I don't know…" She glanced behind her, toward the kitchen.
"Nick won't mind."
She slid to the edge of the booth bench. "He won't. He's been saying I should go home." She stood and looked down at Elizabeth. "Thanks, Chief. I feel better."
As she walked into the kitchen, Nick called to her. "Marti, you want me to go get some garland?"
Her voice carried into the seating area. "No, I think we have enough decorations."
Elizabeth slipped back into her jacket and stood. No more information from Marti.
BEFORE GOING BACK TO THE station, Elizabeth stopped by the hardware store. It always amused her that the best window decorations in town were done by the same people who sold smelly fertilizer in the spring.
This year an almost life-sized elf sat in the middle of a large table, with a train in constant, encircling motion. When she looked more closely at the town that had sprung up around the train just this year, she noted that most of the businesses were those of Logland.
She entered the store and glanced around for the owner to tell him she liked the display.
From behind her, Mike O’Halloran called, “So Chief, you over here to cause trouble?”
She faced him and grinned. “Depends. Is that train out there maintaining proper speed for rural tracks?”
He laughed, which made his perpetually red cheeks turn crimson. “I think we forgot to put up crossing signals. How can I help you?”
“Hammer said he called to see if you had any refurbished bikes. We have to keep one in storage in case we need it as evidence.”
He waved toward the back of the store. “One of the guys told me about that. He pulled out two for you to look at.” O’Halloran lowered his voice as they walked. “Good of you to do buy one for the Clancy fellow.”
Elizabeth noted the two aisles of Christmas trees and decorations still had half-stocked shelves. She could use a wreath for her door. It could take the focus off the hard plastic Mahan had used to replace her broken glass.
“We are hanging onto his main form of transportation for evidence.”
O’Halloran pushed open the swinging door that led to the huge storage area behind the main store. “One of these is new. It got scratched when someone test drove it, and hasn’t sold. I can give it to you for whatever Hammer said you collected.”
“That’s very generous of you.” She followed the direction of O’Halloran’s outstretched hand and took in the man’s bike with its black fenders and slim seat. She knew nothing about buying bicycles. This one looked fine. “Sold.”
“I won’t offer to gift-wrap, but we’ll double check tire pressure. Tell Mr. Clancy to stop by. We’re open until three o’clock Christmas Eve.”
Elizabeth bought a wreath and then drove back to the station. She thought about Stanley Buttons. His son hadn't stopped by the station yet. She wished she could report progress.
ELIZABETH ATE LUNCH AT her desk Thursday as she went over notes on every interview. When she was done, she reviewed digital video from the apartment's entrances. Because of the cameras' positions, most showed people from the neck up. No camera showed the parking lot.
Genevieve did indeed stick out her tongue at the cameras. A woman in a pale blue, angora wool stocking cap didn't look at the camera, but did show it her middle finger every time she entered. She looks like a fun neighbor.
Just before one PM Steven Buttons came to the station. He had maintained his seething disposition. "Chief, why is there crime scene tape on my father's apartment door?"
Elizabeth gestured to a chair across from her desk. "I want to have one of my officers accompany you to go through it. There could be something that mentions a recent appointment or who knows what that could tell us something relevant."
"What if I don't want you to be in there?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Take me a couple hours to get a warrant. Seems like a waste of time, but if you prefer it, we can get one."
Steven Buttons' six-foot frame sagged in the chair. "It seems like the ultimate violation, going through his things."
"We'll be careful and, as I said, you can be there."
Buttons spread his hands, as if in resignation. "What are you looking for?"
"If he kept a calendar, there could be something that's not routine. I'm not interested in his finances, per se, but if he had recently written a few checks to someone you don't know, maybe a scam artist had been bilking him. Anything out of the ordinary."
Buttons frame was as thin as his father's, and he didn't fill half of the chair. "You don't think it relates to the woman's murder?"
Elizabeth nodded. "I would be surprised if it isn't related to Ms. Simpson's death – in some way. But I'm not going to limit our inquiries to that."
"What way?" Steven asked.
"I wish I knew. I wonder if he saw something, maybe not something that meant anything to him, but that the killer wanted your father to forget. Permanently."
"Will you be the one to go through the apartment with me?"
"I'd like to designate Sergeant Hammer, whom you met when you came in. He's very detail-oriented, and he knows this town well. I'm relatively new. Something might jump out at him that I wouldn't see as significant."
When Steven said nothing, Elizabeth asked, "You have any more thoughts about low-lifes your father might have been referring to?"
He slowly shook his head. "I should have paid more attention to him."
SKELLY CALLED JUST BEFORE TWO PM to say the autopsy revealed little. "Have you talked to his son yet?"
"Just did. Stanley hadn't talked about any problems. Hammer's go
ing over to Stanley's apartment with him to see if anything jumps out at them."
"How about his health?"
Elizabeth frowned. "Besides the knife holes?"
"Jeez. No. I wondered if his son knew that Stanley had pretty advanced prostate cancer?"
"He certainly didn't mention it. Is that why he was so thin?"
"I think he was naturally thin, but he had a gaunt look about him. I don't see obvious signs of treatment, but I'm no expert on all aspects of radiation treatment. I wanted a sense of how the son would react when he sees that in the autopsy report."
"My guess is it'll be a surprise. He," Elizabeth hesitated, "would have died in the next year or so?"
"Maybe sooner. Not that it's much comfort at this point, but could be some. I swabbed his fingernails. Probably skin under them, but no blood. If he scratched someone it's likely a faint scratch."
"You're just full of good news, Mr. Medical Examiner."
"What are you cooking Christmas Eve?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Now I'm cooking?"
"Sure. Tell me what and I'll know what kind of wine and catnip to bring."
As Elizabeth hung up the phone, Mahan stuck his head in her office. "Finn Clancy's here. I called him and he picked up the bike. I think he wants to thank you."
"I'll come out there." She followed Mahan and almost laughed when she saw that Clancy had brought the bike into the station."
He wore a heavy jacket in what Elizabeth thought of as hunters' colors, and a smile. "Chief. You got me a bike."
"A bunch of people kicked in. Actually, City Clerk Dingle collected a lot at City Hall." Elizabeth hoped Clancy would feel obliged to bother Dingle.
"I rode it over here from the hardware store. Rides perfect." He grinned. "I bought me a bike lock, too."
"Good idea. My guess is that your old bike will have aged out of service by the time we can get it back to you."
"And then some," Mahan said.
"Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. And I'm sorry I was kinda grouchy with you about keeping the old one."
"No worries. Merry Christmas," Elizabeth said.
Clancy trundled the bike out the entrance to the station, managing to bump the door jamb only once.
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