I shoot Hurley a look and say, “What you heard is true. But I’d rather not discuss it in front of Matthew.”
At the sound of his name, Matthew looks up from his plate of spaghetti, half of which he is wearing, and smiles. “Me,” he says.
“That’s right,” I say with a return smile. “You are Matthew.”
Hurley reaches over and picks several strands of spaghetti off Matthew’s shirt and then plucks one hanging from his hair. Then he chucks Matthew beneath his chin with a finger.
“Dada,” Matthew says, flinging out his fork-holding hand and pointing it at Hurley. Unfortunately, the fork is full of spaghetti, half of which is now on Hurley’s shirt. Matthew laughs hysterically, and this makes Hurley chuckle.
“Don’t laugh, you’ll just encourage him,” I say, struggling to refrain from doing so myself. Emily is biting back a smile, too, and Matthew, seeing he has a rapt and appreciative audience, promptly scoops more spaghetti onto his fork and flings it at his father.
“Matthew!” Hurley says, trying to sound stern, but our kid isn’t buying it.
Matthew laughs so hard he drops his fork on the floor. Hoover makes quick work of the lingering spaghetti on the utensil—one nice thing about Hoover is I rarely have to clean food off the floor—and Matthew giggles for a moment and then points to his dropped fork. “Up,” he says. When no one responds quickly enough, he turns and gives me a pleading look. “Up!” he says more adamantly.
I shake my head at him, get up and grab a clean fork—though the kid is using his hands more than anything else to eat the spaghetti—and hand it to him. Matthew promptly throws the clean fork aside, points to the one on the floor, and repeats his demand.
“Use this one, Matthew,” I say, handing him the clean fork again. Not only does he refuse to take it, he starts kicking and screaming. “Up!” he cries, pointing to the floor. “UP!”
It amazes me how the kid can go from laughing hysterically to a complete meltdown in less than thirty seconds. We all stare at him as his tantrum builds. His arms and legs flail, and he’s crying so hard you’d think someone was torturing him.
I give Hurley a tired smile. “I think he’s done. Do you want to take him upstairs or should I?”
“Let me,” Hurley says, setting down his fork. “I need to clean up and change anyway.”
Hurley drags Matthew, kicking and screaming, out of his chair. Then he tucks him under one arm like a football and hauls him upstairs. I look at Emily with a wan smile. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I think we’re seeing the start of the terrible twos.”
“He’ll be fine,” she says. “I’ll be fine. He doesn’t seem to throw his tantrums with me.”
This is true. I’ve noticed Matthew will do anything for his big sister, Memmy. It’s ironic when I remember how I once thought his presence was the source of all of Emily’s problems. It turned out I was the bigger problem.
“How are the wedding plans going?” Emily asks.
“I think we may have to put things on hold for a bit. With what happened to Hal, I’m going to have to work full-time for a while. And with Izzy’s heart attack, things are bound to be more hectic than usual in the office.”
As if my words could be heard miles and miles away, my cell phone rings and I see from the caller ID that it’s Izzy.
“Speak of the devil,” I say, showing Emily the caller ID. As I answer the call, she gets up from the table and heads upstairs to help her father. It’s probably a good thing, because I can hear Matthew still screaming.
“Izzy, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Or at least I will be when I can get out of this place. I just heard about Hal on the news. What the hell is going on?”
I fill him in on the details of Hal’s and Tina’s deaths. “Otto had someone come in from Madison to assist with the autopsies, and Hurley and I are going to be looking into the case tonight.”
“I should be there,” Izzy says.
“No, you should be home with your feet up, letting Dom wait on you. Did he tell you he blames himself for your heart attack?”
“Yeah, he said something along those lines last night when he got here. It’s a bunch of bull, and I told him so. He seems to think Juliana’s presence has added too much stress to my life.”
“Has it?”
“Hell no. That little girl is what kept me going the past twenty-four hours. Has her presence in our lives complicated things? Yeah, I can’t deny that. But she’s wormed her way into my heart and I can’t imagine life without her.”
I smile, wondering if I should warn him now about the terrible twos or wait and let him find out on his own. I decide to wait. Chances are, he’ll get to see a display of what’s in store for him one of these days when I drop by for a visit with Matthew.
“We have things under control at the office,” I tell him. “Otto seems quite capable and he said he can stay on as long as we need him. You rest, get better, and spend some time with that little girl of yours. And with Dom. That man loves you so much, Izzy. You’re lucky to have him, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I could say the same thing about you with Hurley.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I repeat. And then, with a laugh, I add, “He’s lucky to have me.”
The sound of Izzy’s chuckle does my heart good.
“You scared the crap out of me, Izzy,” I say, sobering. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”
“I’m tougher than you think.”
“Oh, I know you are. That’s part of the problem. You need to learn to let stuff out more often, not hold it in.”
“If I do that, I’ll turn into my mother.”
“Well, she’s what . . . eighty-six? And still going strong. Maybe she’s onto something.”
“I think she’s just too ornery to die.”
I’m inclined to agree with him, but don’t want to accede my point, so I change the subject. “You’re going to have to make some dietary changes, too, you know. Start eating healthy stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you’ll be trying to drag me off to the gym with you and Richmond.”
“I haven’t been to the gym in months,” I admit.
“Uh-oh,” Izzy says. “Nurse Ratched just came into the room. I need to go so I can fend her off.”
“Okay, good night, Izzy.”
“Good night, Mattie.”
As I disconnect the call, I say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deities are keeping Izzy safe and alive. He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve had for the past decade. My real father deserted my mother and me when I was four, and though I suspect he may soon resurface, it will most likely be behind bars.
CHAPTER 15
With Matthew once again returned to the sweet, loving child I know he can be, now that he’s in Emily’s care, Hurley and I head out for the police station.
“I’ve got some guys going through Hal’s house,” Hurley tells me when we’re settled in the car. “And I’m working on trying to get into Tina’s house, but we haven’t found any trace of a purse or keys on her person or on the boat.”
“Have you notified any next of kin yet?”
“I called the state patrol in Illinois and had some guys notify Hal’s parents right before I came home for dinner. I don’t want to notify any of Tina’s family until we have a definite ID. Doc Morton was able to get her fingerprints, but they’re not in AFIS. So he has to try to get the dental records. He said he isn’t going to do her autopsy until the morning.”
It’s probably smart to wait, I think, though I wonder if it is. The worst thing would be for the family to hear about Tina’s death on the news before any official notification is made.
“Tina had no keys?” I say to Hurley. “That seems odd. Have you checked in Hal’s truck?”
Hurley shakes his head. “Not yet. We only just found it. We scoured all the marinas, starting with the ones closest to where Hal lives, but struck out. Then we got a phone call an hour
ago from some guy named Ted Washburn, because a friend of his who stores his boat at his house went out earlier today and hasn’t returned. Washburn heard there were cops out on the lake swarming over a boat, so he called the state patrol. They called us when Washburn told them his friend was Harold Dawson. We arranged to have the truck towed to the police garage, but I don’t know if Jonas has had a chance to look it over yet.”
As soon as we arrive at the station, we head straight down to the basement, where the evidence locker, police garage, and Jonas’s work area are located. We find Jonas in the garage standing alongside a blue Chevy pickup, which I recognize as Hal’s. The driver’s-side door is ajar and Jonas is standing next to it, jotting something down on a clipboard. I see several small evidence packages laid out on a nearby table, each one sealed and labeled. Also on the table is a woman’s purse.
“Hey, guys,” Jonas says when he hears us enter. “Good timing. I was just about to go through that purse over there.” He nods toward the table. “I found it tucked under the front passenger seat, so I’m guessing it belonged to Hal’s lady friend.”
“Find anything else of interest in the truck?” Hurley asks.
“Maybe,” Jonas says. “But before I get into that, I wanted to let you know I finished going through Carolyn Abernathy’s cell phone. That Lundberg guy did text and call her several times over the weekend, but there was no response from her. I looked into his phone number and it belongs to a pay-as-you-go burner phone, a pretty basic one.”
“So nothing of much help,” Hurley says. “Any luck with that trash from the motel?”
“Haven’t finished with it yet,” he says. “I got pulled into this thing with Hal.”
Hurley nods. “I understand making Hal a priority,” he says. “But let’s not forget the other case. If you need some help, get some of the uniformed guys to come in and sift through that trash. With three deaths to investigate, I’m certain the chief will okay the overtime.”
“Got it,” Jonas says. “On to Hal’s case.” He waves a hand over the items on the table. “This is the stuff I found in his truck. Ordinary for the most part, but there are a couple of interesting things. The lip balm might prove helpful if we can get DNA from someone other than Hal or Tina off it, but given where I found it in the center console, I’d be surprised if that happens.”
He then points to a clear plastic evidence bag containing a necklace. It’s a thick gold chain with a round gold disc on it. Engraved on the disc is the profile of a woman, similar to what one might see on a cameo. I pick up the bag and stare at the necklace. Something about it seems very familiar, giving me a strong sense of déjà vu.
“This is an interesting find,” Jonas says. “It appears to be a piece of old Gypsy jewelry. I dated a girl years ago who collected old jewelry, and I did some research on it. The Gypsies always used real gold in their jewelry, and the profile on this pendant is a typical engraving you might see on a Gypsy piece. It’s probably close to a century old, a family heirloom most likely. I found it underneath the passenger seat, so it might have belonged to someone other than Harold, probably Tina, though I’ve never seen her wear jewelry of any kind. On the off chance that it’s not hers, I swabbed the chain. With any luck, we might be able to find some skin cells in it and get a DNA profile.”
I keep staring at the piece, wracking my brain, certain I’ve seen it somewhere before. A flash of memory comes to me—a vision of a dark, hairy chest—and for a split second, I think I can smell pipe tobacco. I raise the bag to my nose and sniff it.
Hurley gives me an amused look. “What are you doing?”
“I thought I smelled something.” I look over at Jonas. “Did you notice any smells on it when you bagged it?”
He shakes his head.
I shake mine, too, more to rid myself of a growing suspicion than anything, and set the bag down. Then I take out my phone and snap a picture of it. “Any smells you noticed inside the truck?”
Jonas shrugs. “There’s a pine-tree-scented thing hanging from the rearview mirror, and the seats are leather. Other than that, not really.”
“What’s with the smell fixation?” Hurley asks, looking at me strangely.
“I don’t know. I thought I smelled something on the bag with the pendant, but it must have been some weird brain trick.”
“What was it you think you smelled?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “It was there and gone, kind of vague. I think it must have been a figment of my imagination, or some kind of subconscious memory association.” I shrug and smile. “Maybe it will come to me later.”
Jonas moves on to some other items on the table: some receipts, a metal travel mug, with its inside stained from coffee, some coins, some maps, and a USB stick. Other than the thumb drive, none of these items seem of any great interest. After Hurley tells Jonas to have a look at what’s on the USB drive as soon as possible, we move on to the purse that is, presumably, Tina’s.
Our presumption is verified when we find a wallet inside containing Tina’s driver’s license, a set of keys including one to a Toyota, and a variety of other miscellany: makeup, loose change, a tampon, a checkbook, some pens, some lip balm, a small bottle of ibuprofen, and an older-model flip-type cell phone.
Jonas opens the phone and starts pressing buttons. “No voice mails, no texts,” he says. “There are several calls from Hal Dawson—that’s no surprise. And there are some other calls here, one identified as the library, one from and one to . . .” He drifts off, his brow furrowed. “That’s weird,” he says. “Those calls are to a Lech Wyzinski.”
“Wyzinski?” I say. I look over at Hurley. “Tomas Wyzinski is the guy I testified against earlier this week. And he has a brother named Lech.”
“Why would Tina be talking to Tomas’s brother?” Hurley asks.
“I have no idea,” I say. “But I’m going to find out.”
Hurley fingers the keys from the purse with his gloved hand and says to Jonas, “Tina Carson owns a Toyota, so these must be hers. Hopefully, one of these other keys will get us into her house. Can you dust them for prints, so I can take them?”
“Can do,” Jonas says. He takes the key ring from Hurley and carries it over to another table in the far corner. There, Jonas has a variety of powders, brushes, tape, and other paraphernalia used to recover fingerprints, including several small bottles of superglue and a plastic box with a small heating pan inside it used for cyanoacrylate fuming, a process used to obtain latent fingerprints. He spreads the keys out, selects a red-colored powder and a brush, and starts dusting the keys.
While Jonas is busy with the keys, Hurley and I walk over to the truck and take a look. The inside of the cab is quite clean, not a surprise since I know Hal was a very meticulous person. I take a whiff of the inside air, doing so in a way I hope Hurley won’t notice. If there is any lingering scent of pipe tobacco in the cab, I can’t smell it, and I chalk up the earlier experience to a weird memory hiccup.
We move on to the bed of the truck, which has a black liner in it. It, too, is quite clean. There is a spare tire on one side, and an empty gas can on the other. The floor has a few small areas of dark staining, which could be anything from spilled oil or gasoline to fish guts.
“Can you swab these stains in the bed of the truck?” Hurley says over his shoulder to Jonas. “I don’t expect they’ll be anything significant, but we should check them out anyway.”
“Will do,” Jonas says. “I’ll have to get Arnie to run them on his mass spec, but that likely won’t happen until tomorrow sometime.”
The mass spectrometer, an expensive piece of machinery that analyzes substances by their chemical makeup, is housed in Arnie’s laboratory. We prefer to do as much of the evidence processing as we can here in town rather than send it to the lab in Madison. The local duties are shared by Jonas and Arnie, who work closely together to avoid duplication and keep communication channels open. Arnie and Jonas also share Laura, perhaps in ways I don’t want to imagine. Pe
rsonal issues aside, her hours are split between the two entities, a budget-managing tactic that helps us get the job done. Jonas does all of the large-item processing, things like vehicles and boats, and Arnie has most of the delicate scientific equipment for analyzing small stuff. They both collect and process evidence in their respective work areas.
All findings related to a case get uploaded into a computer file for that specific case and a paper copy is kept as a backup. Anything significant is verbally communicated to the lead detective as well.
“That’s fine,” Hurley says. “No rush. I doubt you’ll find anything relevant to the case in the truck. Everything seems to have taken place in the boat.”
“It’s due to arrive here in the next hour or so,” Jonas says. “I’ll get on it as soon as it does. And Laura is going to work all night tonight to help.”
I wander back to the evidence table and study the pendant. A cold feeling settles over me. In a flash, I know where that necklace came from.
Jonas finishes his job on the keys and hands them over to Hurley. “I got several prints, mostly partials,” he says. “Odds are, they’ll be Tina’s.”
“Get them over to Arnie first thing in the morning and he can do a comparison for us,” I say.
“Will do,” Jonas says with a snappy salute.
“Sorry,” I say with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to sound like a drill sergeant.”
Jonas waves away my concern. “Just messing with you,” he says with a smile. Then his expression turns somber. “This case has special meaning to all of us and that’s bound to set everyone’s nerves on edge a little more than usual. I was just trying to lighten things up a little. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You’re right. This case won’t be easy for any of us. Let’s just make sure we do our very best to get some justice for Hal and Tina.”
“Let’s work on that with a visit to Tina’s house,” Hurley says to me, pocketing Tina’s keys. “Keep up the good work, Jonas.”
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