Hidden Fire, Kobo (22 page)

She had to stop thinking so much. At
least about the depressing stuff. The doorbell was a welcome interruption. Had
to be Maggie. Nobody else would drop by at a time Sarah would normally be at
work, and Maggie undoubtedly wanted the scoop on what had happened.

"Coming," she called and
hurried to open the door. Only when she saw the uniformed police officer
standing in front of her did she realize she hadn't checked the peephole.

"Officer Neville," she said.
She swallowed, trying to get some moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. "Is
something wrong?" Not her shop again. No.

He stood there, rotating his cap in his
hands. "Some routine questions, ma'am."

"I was told Detective Kovak was in
charge of the burglary," she said. "Did he send you?"

"He's got his hands full. This is
one small lead I'm trying to clean up for him. I need you to come with me."

"Where? Why?" Her heart
hammered in her chest. "Why can't you ask your questions here? I have to
be somewhere by seven."

"Needs to be official, ma'am. It
shouldn't take long. My car's out front."

"But—but where are we going?"

"To the station, ma'am. Like I said,
shouldn't take long."

"Why can't I meet you there?"
Her voice started to squeak and she struggled to control it. "I'm happy to
cooperate with the police, Officer Neville. Wouldn't it be easier if I took my
car? That way you wouldn't have to drive me back here."

"Against regulations, ma'am."
His tone was firm now. Definite cop.

Panic assailed her. "Am I under
arrest?"

Something more like a smirk than a smile
flitted across his lips. "No, not if you come with me."

She glanced at the time. A few minutes after
five. Too soon for Randy to be back. But maybe she could call him. She pasted a
smile on her face.

"All right, but I need to use the
bathroom before we go. And get a sweater."

He frowned.

"Do you honestly think I'm going to
run away?" she asked. She pointed toward the kitchen. "The only other
exit is through the back porch." She swung her hand toward the hall
doorway. "I'm going that way. I'll be back in two minutes."

He didn't try to stop her when she
pivoted toward the bedroom, but he did follow closely enough, leaning against
the hall archway wall, so she couldn't make a call from the phone in the
bedroom without him knowing. Her purse with her cell was on the kitchen
counter.

She lifted her eyebrows in his direction
and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Locking it. There
were
limits.

Even with the door closed, she felt his
eyes watching. Self-consciously, she turned on the water in the sink before she
could relax enough to pee. She finished, washed her hands and splashed cold
water on her face.

Okay, she could do this. Cooperate. Get
to the station, find Kovak. He'd know what was going on. He'd have been the one
at the door, or at least have phoned if there was a problem. Or Randy would
have called. She was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Neville was
simply a creep. Doing his job, but a creep nevertheless. She dried off, then
unlocked the door and opened it. At least Neville wasn't in her bedroom. She
grabbed a sweater from the closet and dug up another smile. Neville was still
leaning against the wall, examining his fingernails.

She strode to the kitchen for her purse. "I'm
ready," she said. "Thanks for waiting."

He grunted and nodded her toward the
door. He followed her downstairs, just far enough behind her to make her
uncomfortable. Was he watching her rear end? She made certain it moved as
little as possible.

The black-and-white squad car parked in
front of the building seemed to scream its presence as if lit by a searchlight.
She kept her head down as Neville unlocked the back door. She almost protested
until she saw the clutter on the front passenger seat. Fast food wrappers,
coffee cups, bottles of water, some full, some empty. The car smelled like
French fries, which after thinking about it, she decided was better than some
of the alternatives that came to mind when she thought about who his normal
passengers were.

"Buckle up," he grunted, then
slammed the door.

Scrunched down in the seat, she didn't
pay attention to the drive. When they arrived, Neville parked behind the
Municipal Building. She scanned the lot for Randy's truck, but it wasn't there.

He escorted her through a side entrance,
down a corridor and into a tiny room with a square tabletop bolted to a wall
and two straight-back wooden chairs. The disinfectant didn't obliterate the
smells of urine, sweat and vomit.

"Have a seat," he said, pulling
out a chair as if they were sitting down to dinner in an elegant restaurant.

Almost afraid to come in contact with the
plastic chair seat, she gingerly lowered herself and clutched her purse in her
lap. No way was she going to touch that table.

"I'll be right back," he said.
He exited the room, closing the door behind him. She heard the snick of a lock.
The quiet hum of fluorescent lights. Waiting, wondering, she studied the room. Her
palms grew wet and blood pounded in her ears.

No windows, no mirror. Four walls painted
a pukey yellow-green. So nobody was watching. She lifted her eyes to the
ceiling in search of a hidden camera, but there was absolutely nothing but
acoustic tiles. That she could see, she reminded herself. She remembered a
security specialist who had tried to sell her a state of the art system and the
technology had been impressive. Too impressive for her meager budget,
unfortunately, or maybe they'd have caught whoever had robbed her by now. She
thought about calling Randy or Kovak, but was afraid someone was waiting for
her to do exactly that. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then sought her safe
zone, doing her breathing and visualization exercises. Or trying to, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, sweat dripped down
her neck. She'd hung her sweater over the back of the chair, planning to have
it dry-cleaned before she'd wear it again. Holding it in her lap added too much
heat.

Finally, the door opened and Neville came
back. Swiping his hand across his mouth, he plonked himself into the chair
opposite her. He leaned forward and she smelled coffee on his breath.

He was
not
going to intimidate
her. She lifted her chin. "All right, Officer. We're here. What do you
want to know?"

Randy opened the desk drawer, hoping by
some miracle that the phone slips had disappeared, or at least diminished in
number. No such luck. He grabbed the stacks, trying to decide which to tackle
first. Or maybe he'd alternate. But first, he'd check in with Kovak, fully
admitting he was procrastinating.

"Hey, big guy," Kovak said. "I
was about to leave. As long as they're watching my hours, I might as well take
advantage of family time. Cammie's got her kiddie dance group tonight. They're
doing a thing for the seniors at Saint Michael's. I think she's a butterfly."

Randy told him about the tox screen
results. "You get anything back from ViCAP?"

"You didn't get it? I faxed or
emailed everything I had related to the murder."

"No, but I haven't checked the fax
room recently. It's crazy in there. Next time, call and let me know so I can
stand there and grab them. What's your take?"

"There were a lot of
shooting-carvings. If you narrow them down to the same kind of head shot and
the same carving pattern, that should limit the field for starters."

"Well, let's hope our guy stuck to
his signature and didn't start variations on the theme." He leaned back in
his chair. The frame creaked ominously and he straightened. "Any leads on
Sarah's case?" Damn, he should call her. No way he was going to get back
in time for dinner.

"I've been beating the bushes for
witnesses."

"Anything hot?"

"The usual helpful citizens of Pine
Hills. Either saw nothing or saw strange people skulking. Everything from
arsonists to jewel thieves. Mrs. Rosenbaum swears it's terrorists. As always,
no two descriptions agree."

Randy fanned the corners of his message
slips. "Yeah, well multiply that by at least ten and that's what it's like
over here. I can send you the list of shops that sold the pottery before Sarah's.
I was going to search for commonalities when we thought our vic was Garrigue.
Guess it's more of a burglary lead now."

"I have a gut feeling these cases
are related, though." Kovak paused. "Hey, you think Garrigue might be
our murderer instead of the vic?"

"Whoa. That's a different approach.
Garrigue as a serial killer? Did you have the clay in your ViCAP request?"

"No, when I sent it in, we didn't
have the analysis. Does seem a stretch, but I could cross reference the pottery
shops with the ViCAP reports. See if Garrigue had his stuff for sale where any
of the other murders happened."

Randy pondered that. "Still a
stretch. No reason Garrigue has to go to the shops. According to Sarah, he
never came to Pine Hills. He shipped the stuff to her."

"If nothing else, maybe you can get
more cooperation, better service if you're looking for Garrigue as a murder
suspect instead of a missing person."

"I don't think anything will speed
up the labs. Meanwhile, I'll roll that idea around, see if it gets me anywhere.
Call if you have any other thoughts."

"I miss bouncing ideas off your
head, big guy. Even if it's up in the clouds."

Randy smiled. He missed the
brainstorming, too. "I tried to convince the chief we needed a
collaboration meeting, but he's sticking to the bureaucratic line. Gotta go
through channels."

"I'm not opposed to a few beers
after work."

"Which assumes my 'after work' is at
a decent hour. I have a feeling I'll be spending a good part of the night
talking to hookers, drunks and druggies."

"You picking up OT?"

"I have no clue how overtime works
here. County's supposed to be covering my salary while I'm working this case
with them. Nobody ever seems to go home."

"Maybe we could change assignments,"
Kovak said with a terse laugh.

"Trust me, you'll be better off
watching your kid be a butterfly."

A heavy silence. "You're right. And
speaking of which, I'd better run." He hung up.

Randy revisited Kovak's pregnant pause.
Something was bothering his partner. Once he had some breathing time, they'd
definitely have to talk. Kovak had seen him through his meltdown when Sarah had
been kidnapped, and they'd been partners longer than a lot of cop marriages.
Kovak and Janie breaking up? Seemed impossible. He considered what had triggered
Kovak's change in attitude. No overtime. Must be money, he surmised. Didn't
take much to slide a tight budget downhill. Gram's death had given him her
house, free and clear. Being single, he had few expenses. He'd rather have Gram
back, though.

Crap, he was way in left field.
Procrastinating was one thing, but this melancholy was pointless. He shifted
mental gears and searched his email for Kovak's messages. Damn, he needed a
printer hookup. He called Tech Support, then went on the prowl for the faxes.

The fax machine had been busy. He fished
through the overflowing output tray, the wire basket and papers on the floor,
searching for the Pine Hills Police's header on the pages. According to a cover
sheet, there should have been fifteen. He counted twelve, looked through the
stack again but couldn't find the missing three. He squared off the remaining
faxes and placed them in the basket. On his way back to his desk, he called
Kovak. Traffic noises in the background told him his partner was in the car.

"I'm missing three pages of faxes.
It'd probably take a miracle for whoever picked them up to either find me or
put them back in the fax room. Are your originals in the office?"

"Yeah, on my desk. You want me to
fax them again? I could go back."

"Don't bother. I'll stop in on my
way home and make copies. Say hi to Janie and the kids."

"You sure? I'm early."

"Not if it's going to cause a
problem with Janie. I've got plenty to do."

An unsettling sensation fluttered through
his belly. Going home to a wife and kids. He'd never given it much thought. He
sat down, swiveled his chair so it faced away from the corridor and dialed
Sarah's shop number. When he got the machine, he tried her at home with the
same result. He glanced at his watch. She was probably in transit. Her cell
kicked over into voice mail and the fluttering turned to concern.

He admonished himself for being too much
the cop. Assuming the worst. She could be driving, or in the bathroom, or she
forgot to charge her battery, or her phone was off. He left a message
apologizing for having to work late again. "Call me. Anytime."

He stared at his workspace. Instead of
his small, but comfortable office, he had a cubicle. The sterility taunted him.
He felt like an outsider, like someone marking time. An intruder.
Lazy
,
it shouted.