by Ellen Hart
“Sorry,” said Dave. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
“Yeah, well. Call me with any news.”
“Will do. Hey, we still on for beers tomorrow night?” They usually got together at least once a week to play pool and have a brew or two. If Sarah happened to be working, they’d split the cost of a babysitter.
“For sure,” said Monty.
A while later, as Dave headed up the sidewalk to his dad’s place, he saw Lydia Mickler, Monty’s mom, standing inside her front door, reaching into the mailbox. “Hey, Mrs. Mickler,” he called, walking across the lawn to talk to her.
“Hi, Dave. How are you?”
She’d become so frail in the last few years. Her health wasn’t good, and she needed a lot of help just to stay in her home. The help came mostly from her daughter, Jaxie. Monty shopped for her groceries, but that was about it. There had been some talk about moving her to an assisted living facility, though Dave wasn’t sure if a final decision had been made. He still felt close to Lydia. She’d been a better mother to him than his own mother ever had. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, but thanks for the offer. You’re welcome to come in for a cup of coffee. The pot’s still on.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” said Dave, “but I’m on duty. And I need to talk to my dad.”
“You give him a hug from me,” said Mrs. Mickler. “Tell him to come over when he has a minute. I’ve still got that bottle of Scotch.”
The bottle she was referring to had been given to her on her fiftieth birthday. “I’ll do that.” After saying goodbye, he entered his dad’s house, finding him in the living room, sitting on the couch and eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. It was his usual breakfast, along with a mug of coffee. “Hey.”
“Hey, David,” he said between mouthfuls.
Dave jingled the keys in his pocket. “I called Mom.”
“She still alive?”
“I asked her if she knew where your old field notebooks were, that you thought she put them in a box.”
“And?”
“She has no memory of it.”
“Figures.” He set the empty bowl down on the end table and picked up his mug. “How come you’re so interested in them?”
“The Romilly investigation, remember?”
“Oh, sure. Right.”
“So, ah, I thought I’d go down in the basement and look around. I know you wrote official reports, but sometimes things don’t get included that might turn out to be important.”
“True. When you’re done, why don’t we take a drive? Maybe head up to Elbow Lake. We could do a little fishing.”
“I can’t, Pop. I’m on duty.”
His father gazed at him with a confused look. “Oh, sure. Forgot. Maybe tomorrow.” He picked up the remote and rested his legs on a footstool. “Think I’ll watch Judge Judy. If you get lost in the basement, holler and I’ll send out a search party.”
On his way down the hall to the basement door, Dave paused a moment, sticking his head into his dad’s study. His desk had always been a model of organization, but today it was covered with unopened envelopes, as if they’d simply been tossed there and forgotten. He picked a couple up and saw they were bills. Digging through the mess, he concluded that it had been several months since his father had paid the mortgage, the electric and gas bills, and the water bill. What the hell was going on?
“Pop?” he called. When his father didn’t respond, he went looking for him, and found him with his head in the refrigerator. “You haven’t paid any of your bills.”
“No?” It felt like his father was talking to the mayonnaise. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to them.”
“But some are two months old.”
His dad straightened up and turned around. “I usually pay them in the afternoon, but lately I get busy with stuff and just don’t seem to find the time. But no worries. They give you a grace period.”
Dave wasn’t so sure. “I can help, if you want.”
“You’ve got enough to do. No, I’ll pay them. Don’t nag.”
There wasn’t much more he could say. “I’ll be down in the basement.”
“Sweep the furnace room while you’re at it.” He laughed.
After half an hour of digging through every box on every shelf, Dave came up empty. If he couldn’t find the notebooks, that meant nobody else could, either. Chances were they’d been tossed long ago. His dad tended to hang on to stuff, thinking he might need it somewhere down the line. His mother had the opposite approach—always throwing things away to get rid of clutter. These days, his dad could be as much of a pack rat as he wanted, and his mother could live in organized nirvana. Maybe there were happy endings after all.
Admitting defeat, Dave returned upstairs, only to find his dad out on the back porch eating a second bowl of Cap’n Crunch. “Still hungry?”
His dad looked up. “Huh?”
“Never mind. I gotta shove off. Hey, did you get that AC installed in your bedroom?”
“Sure.”
“Not that you need it right now. But next summer, it will come in handy.”
“Absolutely.” He wiped a dribble of milk off his chin.
Dave’s cell phone rang. “Give me a minute.” He walked out of the room and said hello.
“Tamborsky? It’s Grady. I need you to get back to the station ASAP.”
“Why? Did something happen?” Oh God, now what, he thought.
“Just get here.” The line disconnected.
* * *
After lunch at the White Star Cafe, Jane and Cordelia parted company. Cordelia had a date with Emma and the rest of the arts board over at the old Timberline Theater on Elm, where the Firefly Community Players performed. Jane’s plan was to meet with one of Sam Romilly’s friends, a real estate agent named Jim Hughes. Not wanting to walk all the way to the theater, Cordelia had asked to borrow Jane’s truck. Jane didn’t mind hoofing it, as long as Cordelia picked her up on the way back to the lake house.
The morning drizzle had been replaced by a light fog, softening the look of the storefronts along Main. As Jane crossed the street, she saw a group of people streaming out of the town hall, an old three-story brownstone. The last person out was the mayor, Leslie Harrow, the woman Jane had met last night. Harrow stood on the street, checking her phone. When she looked up and saw Jane, she smiled and called her over.
“Nice to see you again,” she said, clicking the phone off.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about the fire last night. I hear the house belonged to a friend of yours.”
“Walk with me,” said Harrow, linking her arm through Jane’s. Once they were away from the knot of people, Harrow said, “Thanks. I was out there early this morning. The house is a total loss.”
“Did they find her car in the garage?”
“No,” said Harrow.
“Then maybe she’s safe somewhere.”
“I wish it were that simple. Carli and her husband, Aaron, split up a few months ago. To get him to move out, she had to give him their truck. Carli bought herself a beater, but it always seemed to be in for repairs.”
“Has anyone heard from her?”
“No, and we’re all pretty upset. She does, on occasion, spend the night with a girlfriend over in Clarksville, but when she didn’t show up for work at the bank today and I learned that nobody’s heard from her … I guess I’m not holding out a lot of hope.”
“You don’t think the husband—”
“I hate to go there. We’ll have to wait and see what the fire inspector has to say. If it turns out to be arson, the police will question him. Aaron always seemed nice enough to me. In fact, he’s just the kind of guy I would have dated way back when.”
“Before you got married.”
“I’m not married. What gave you that idea?”
“Well, I mean, that man who came up to you last night—”
“Don? He’s just a friend.”
“So you don’t date anymore?”
“I do make an exception on occasion.” She glanced at Jane but kept on walking.
As they passed a series of cars parked along the street, Harrow stopped to pull a yellow flyer out from under one of the windshield wipers. She removed her reading glasses from the pocket of her blazer and stopped to take a look. “Damn. This is just what we need.”
“What?” asked Jane, watching Harrow’s anger flare.
“The Klan’s back.”
“In Minnesota? Are you kidding me?”
“Oh, there used to be a big Klan presence in the state back in the twenties and thirties. Even today, there’s still a chapter in Minneapolis. And last year, they put up Klan recruitment posters all over the Iron Range, with a KKK phone number for people to call. Hate is alive and well all over this country, and Castle Lake isn’t immune.”
As they passed Kepler’s Grocery, Harrow scooped up a stack of the flyers from an outside rack and, once again, kept walking, more quickly this time.
“What are you going to do with those?” asked Jane, straining to keep up.
“Watch,” said Harrow, walking over to a sidewalk trash can and dumping the entire stack inside. “This garbage won’t appeal to very many, but there’s always a few who keep it going. Makes me sick.” She slowed her pace. “I need to get some lunch before my next meeting. Have you eaten?”
“Just finished,” said Jane.
“Well, that’s okay, I don’t have much time anyway. But since I can’t invite you to have lunch with me, what about dinner? We can eat our way through an antipasto platter. It’s a specialty of mine, something I learned to love when I was living in Naples.”
“You lived in Italy?”
“I’ve lived all over.”
“Well, sure,” said Jane, brightening at the prospect. “I’d love to come. What can I bring?”
“A nice bottle of wine. Don’t spend an arm and a leg.” She handed Jane a business card. “That’s my number. Send me yours and I’ll text you the address. How does seven sound?”
“Seven’s perfect.”
They stood smiling at each other until Harrow roused herself and said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
12
Dave nodded to the dispatcher behind the plexiglass wall as he made his way to Grady Larson’s office. It was the largest of three offices on the first floor of the Public Safety Building.
The CLPD had nine sworn officers: a chief, one patrol sergeant, two detective/sergeants, and five patrol officers. The detectives were also considered patrol officers, but with added duties. Grady’s door was open, so Dave walked in, finding his boss poring over a stack of papers. “I made it as fast as I could. What’s up?” He held his breath, hoping it wasn’t bad news.
“Sit down.” Grady nodded to a chair as he scrutinized Dave’s shirt. “Where’s your badge?”
“My … what?” He looked down. “Oh, shit.” He’d been racing out of his place this morning and instead of taking the time to pin it on, he’d pocketed it, thinking he’d do it once he was in the car. But he’d forgotten. “I—” He removed it from his pocket.
“Jeez, Tamborsky. Wake the hell up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want excuses. Are you tired or something? Not getting enough sleep? Where were you last night?”
Dave’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Leaning closer to the desk, Grady spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Look, son, I know you’ve been sleeping with that woman up in Clarksville. Paula something-or-other. She’s pretty, and she has a good job. Why don’t you put me out of my misery and marry her?”
“Put you out of misery?”
“If I had a nickel for every time someone said to me, ‘Hey, Grady, why don’t you help poor Dave Tamborsky find himself a wife and settle down—’”
“People actually say that to you? Poor Dave?”
“Enough said.” Shifting back in his chair, he continued, “I’m taking you off the Romilly investigation.”
“What?”
“I was at a party last night. One of the guests pointed out that you were a friend of Sam Romilly’s. That you were in the same class. That might be a conflict.”
“Are you serious?”
“The case is sensitive, son. It has nothing to do with your job performance. You know I think you’re a good officer. You work hard, you’re fair, and you care about the people you serve.” Narrowing one eye, he asked, “Ever heard of a true crime podcast?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I hadn’t. Checked it out online this morning. It’s some kind of internet radio show that deals with Minnesota cold cases. The same woman who mentioned that you and Romilly were friends told me she works for one. She plans on looking into Sam’s death. She’s pushy, so we may have some problems with her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jane Lawless. She’s up for the art center festival, staying out at the Granholm place. But forget about her. She’s not your problem. Reopening the Romilly case is going to be a huge headache for this department. I need to avoid any appearance of impropriety. So you’re done. I’m putting Bobby Saltus on it.”
“Saltus? But he doesn’t have my experience.”
“No, but I’m planning to work with him as needed, so no worries.”
Dave thrashed around inside his mind for a way to make the chief reverse his decision, but since he’d never anticipated being removed, he had no idea how to argue against it. Saltus had only been on the force a few years. He was a pretty boy. He’d grown up in the Cities, so he didn’t know people in town the way Dave did. How Grady could see that as a plus was beyond him.
“I’m putting you in charge of the fire at the Gilbert house.”
“Okay, but—”
“We’ll get the official word on whether it was or wasn’t arson once the fire investigator finishes his examination. Between you and me, it would surprise the hell out of me if it wasn’t.”
As if on cue, Bobby Saltus appeared in the doorway. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”
“Sit down.” Grady tossed his pen on the desk.
Saltus sat on a folding chair and looked quizzically from face to face.
“I’m putting you in charge of the Romilly investigation,” said Grady.
“Me?” A slow smile spread across his face.
Dave tried to hide his loathing. Saltus was a Justin Bieber look-alike with air for brains. He spent the majority of his working hours chatting up girls.
“Look, Chief,” said Dave. “Okay, so I might not be able to help in the field, but I could for sure help on background. I knew Romilly. I knew his friends. That’s worth something.”
Grady tapped a finger against his double chin. “You have a point. Let me think on it.”
Dave turned to offer Saltus a smile of his own, but instead nearly laughed out loud when he saw the pout forming.
Grady pushed the stack of papers aside and picked up an envelope. “Next. I’m gonna give you both a chance to weigh in on this.” He opened the envelope, removed a piece of white typing paper, and waved it around. “This was shoved under the outer door sometime before I arrived this morning. It’s typed. Short and to the point. I’ll read it to you.
“To whom it may concern. I have information on the Romilly murder, but I can’t come forward because I fear for my safety. Check into these four people. I know they have information they’ve never talked about.
Jim Hughes
Kurt Steiner
Scott Romilly
Darius Pollard
“I’ll help more if I can. Sincerely, A Friend.” Looking up, Grady said, “So what do you make of that?”
“I’ll check into it,” said Saltus.
“Hughes was a friend of Sam’s,” said Dave. “So was Steiner. They were on the high school swim team. Don’t know much about Pollard, but Scott’s Sam’s younger brother, works at Lakeside Community Bank. Never done anything wrong, far as I know. None of them have.”
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Grady nodded, as if settling something in his mind. “Well, I think we have some work to do. Bobby, I want you to call each of these people down to the station for an interview.”
“I’m on it,” said Saltus.
“Dave, go check out the house fire.”
He hesitated. Couldn’t the chief see what a bad idea it was to take him off the Romilly case? He knew so much more about the people in Sam’s life than Saltus. Then again, Grady hadn’t totally cut him out, at least that’s what Dave hoped his comment, “You have a point,” had meant. And he figured he could push Saltus around if he needed to. No way on earth was he going to back away from the investigation.
13
The real estate company where Jim Hughes worked as an agent was on the second floor of a three-story wood-frame building, directly above Baker Drug and across from the Liquor Mart. When Jane arrived upstairs, a receptionist showed her to his office.
Hughes was a balding man with large ears and a paunch. He stood as she walked in and shook her hand. She’d already explained on the phone why she was in town and the reason she wanted to meet with him in person. Nodding to a chair, he took his seat behind his desk.
“So,” he said, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. “You have some questions about Sam Romilly.”
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“For your podcast?”
“If we decided to use any of it, we’d need your written permission.”
“Not a problem,” he said, watching her remove the recorder from a canvas messenger bag. “This is all sort of fascinating to me.”
Jane used a Sony 4GB recorder with a USB connector she would plug into her laptop when she got back to the lake house. She also attached a small lavalier microphone with dual microphones to assure good sound quality. She clipped one mic onto her shirt, then got up and clipped the other to one of the lapels on Hughes’s suit coat. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, perhaps weighing what he might or might not say.