Pane and Suffering (19 page)

Chapter 23

 

S
avannah returned to the shop through the back door. It was a relief to step back into her comfortable world surrounded by chattering students and shattering glass.

She gave Suzy a little scratch under the chin, then plopped her backpack down in the side chair. She glanced at the computer screen on the rolltop desk. More e-mails to deal with. She was going to have to take a few minutes to deal with her dad's suppliers soon. Instead, she scooted through into the classroom. “Hi, Amanda.”

“Welcome back.” Amanda looked up from her project. “Did you have a nice lunch?”

“Um . . . not really.”

“What? Did Rooney get away again?”

“Nothing like that. Detective Parker called from downtown and told me that Dad had been poisoned just like we suspected Hugh had been.”

“Bless your heart.” Amanda put down her tools and gave Savannah an awkward suffocating hug. “So, we were right.”

“Yes, we were right. The police want to know where I was when they were poisoned.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Luckily I have my boarding pass and a gas receipt to prove that I was in Seattle. How was everything while I was gone?”

“No problems at all.” Amanda looked back to her project. “I like this.”

Jacob looked up from his project. “Miss Savannah. I leave early today. It's my gardening class. Reverend Kline teaches me about plants.”

“No problem, Jacob. He told me about the class. I can always help you with your project later. Besides, you're way ahead of everyone else. Your ability to focus is a great advantage.”

“My gardening class with Reverend Kline is every Friday afternoon. He teaches me about plants that are good and bad to eat. We have lots of oleanders at my house. They're very common in Florida and every part of the plant is poiso-nous.”

“How do you get to the church?”

“Reverend Kline comes to get me.” He looked back to the office where Suzy lay curled and started to inhale deeply in great ineffective gulps.

“Jacob, what's wrong?”

“He-he-he doesn't know about . . .”

Suzy stood up and began to bark in a short staccato yip.

“Jacob.” Savannah clasped him by his upper arms and looked directly into his eyes. “What's wrong?”

He looked away quickly. “In-in-hale . . . er.” He couldn't catch his breath.

“Inhaler. Where is it? Your backpack?”

He shook his head. “Suzy.” He pointed to her blue service backpack.

Suzy had come over to sit right beside Jacob's feet, looked up at him, and placed one paw on his leg.

Savannah stooped down to Suzy and ripped open the Velcro pocket on the side of her service vest and snatched the inhaler. She turned to Jacob and placed it firmly in one hand and wrapped his other hand around it, as well.

He popped the cover off the inhaler, pumped the medication twice, and then inhaled. The next breath was calmer and the one that followed was deep. He inhaled and exhaled two more deep breaths and everything began to settle.

Savannah put a soft hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Are you good?”

He nodded yes.

She patted his bony shoulder. “Reverend Kline will have no problem with Suzy. Is that what you're worried about?”

He nodded yes.

“He has a large congregation and I've seen some of his parishioners with service dogs. So Suzy will not be the first he has met. She's so adorable, he would like her even if she wasn't your helper. Don't you agree, Amanda?” Savannah nodded her head and lifted her eyebrows as a signal for Amanda to back her up on her explanation.

“Of course, he'll love Suzy. Don't you worry about that at all.”

Savannah bent over without looking directly into Jacob's serious eyes. “I'll bet your mother has already notified Reverend Kline. Regardless, I will call the reverend and explain all about her, all right? I'll call just as soon as the class settles and everyone is working.”

The bell jangled and the rest of the students returned to resume the class.

“Let's just have a quick review of good soldering safety.” Savannah looked directly at Arthur. “Make sure the iron doesn't touch anything but the tip of the coil of solder. The calmer you are, the smoother your work will be. It's a good lesson in stillness.” She looked directly at Amanda. “Carry on.”

After ensuring that everyone was safely soldering, Savannah slipped back into the office and dialed Reverend Kline.

“Reverend Kline, United Methodist Church.”

“Reverend, this is Savannah Webb. I understand your gardening class with Jacob is later this afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Savannah. Yes. I should have mentioned it when you were over earlier. How can I help you?”

“Jacob now has a service dog. She's a lovely little beagle named Suzy. He was concerned that you might not want her to accompany him to his gardening lesson. He actually had a panic attack and Suzy alerted us that he needed his inhaler.”

“His mother called earlier and told me that it will be necessary for Suzy to stay with Jacob at all times. I'm perfectly comfortable with service dogs.”

“I thought you would be, but I wanted you to know about his concerns.”

“Thank you, Savannah. That is considerate. No problem, though. I'll be by to pick him up at three this afternoon.”

She hung up the phone and returned to the classroom. “Everything is all set for three o'clock, Jacob. Reverend Kline knows about Suzy and he's cool with it. It's no problem at all.”

“Arthur was the first one I've ever heard of to be burned by a spool of solder,” said Amanda, standing over Nancy to watch the bandaging of his hand.

Savannah opened her mouth to remind the woman that she wasn't allowed to provide first aid in the shop but decided not to bother.

“He's always first to get hurt. I didn't know the spool could get that hot.” Amanda shrugged.

Nancy's face flushed and her lips pressed into a thin line. “He just doesn't get all this yet. He's a software wizard, but we all need to develop our artistic nature. Even in the face of harsh criticism.” She shot a furious glare at Amanda.

“Faith, you airhead! You're using the wrong solder. You need to use the sixty-forty tin to lead ratio for tacking and the fifty-fifty ratio for the final layer,” said Rachel.

“I'm not the airhead in this class.” Faith looked pointedly at Amanda. “You've got it wrong again. Savannah said that we use the fifty-fifty first for tacking and then the sixty-forty last so that it takes the patina better. Right, Savannah?”

Savannah sighed. At least they were arguing about technical issues and not whose art was better. “Rachel, Faith is right this time. We use the fifty-fifty first . . . to take advantage of its higher melting temperature. It also solidifies more quickly and spreads out more. Then we use the sixty-forty because it tends to form rounder, higher beads, which makes it ideal for copper foil projects. It also stays liquid longer, allowing for more rework time, which is handy for smoothing out areas that need touching up.”

Savannah noticed that Jacob was stuck in an obsessive cycle of checking his watch, walking to the office door to pat Suzy on the head then returning to his worktable where he'd pick up the soldering iron, drag the hot point across the wet sponge to clean it, replace it in its holder, and readjust the pieces in his project. After letting this go on for several cycles, Savannah tapped him on the shoulder.

Jacob jerked away as if her finger had been a hot poker.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. You look like you're ready to start tacking the pieces together with solder.”

“Yes, Miss Savannah.”

“Have you soldered before?”

“No, Miss Savannah.”

“I know how you feel. It's tough to get started, but I promise that you will enjoy it. Let me help you with tacking your first spot.”

His shoulders relaxed and he stepped aside while small smiles played hide and seek across his face.

“We're going to start from the inside and work our way out, so these two pieces are where we'll start.” She pointed out the two innermost adjacent glass squares. “First, I use a short stubby brush and dip it in the wax-type material called flux and coat the spot lightly. The flux changes the properties of the metal so that the solder will bind.”

“I can't tell that it's there.”

“Okay. This is a clear flux. We have another kind of flux that has a red tint. Let me get that one for you.”

She went to the display room to select the flux and the door jangled as Reverend Kline entered.

“Reverend, aren't you a little early? I thought you would be here at three. It's only two thirty.”

“I was in the area and thought I might drop by and see if he was ready. I know it agitates him to deviate from his routine.”

“Let me check.” She returned to the classroom.

“Hey, Jacob. Reverend Kline is here early for your gardening class. Would you like to go now?”

“It's not three o'clock.”

“He will wait for you. Is that better?”

“I want to go to my gardening class at three o'clock.”

“Very well. I'll tell him. Here's the tinted flux.” She exchanged the flux containers and returned to the display room.

“He's not yet ready to leave. I'm sure it will be better to wait. If you could come back, say, in about twenty minutes, I'm sure this will go much better.”

“I understand perfectly. I'll be right across the street to visit with the owner of V and V Antiques. He's a major source for those Russian icons you've been admiring. I'll be back a little later.”

Savannah returned to Jacob and opened the small tin container of tinted flux. “Now, here's one of the secrets of good soldering. Take your time to apply a thin but complete coat of flux where you want the solder. That way it builds the bond evenly and the solder will flow onto the copper foil smoothly. Watch.”

Savannah put a small amount of flux on a bristly brush and stroked it gently on the copper foil. Then she picked up the soldering iron. “I don't really have to remind you that keeping your equipment clean and orderly is important. I've seen how neatly you keep your paint supplies.” She looked closely at the silver tip of the iron. “It's vital that you get used to the temperature of the iron and one of the best ways to keep it stable is to keep it clean.”
I could use some stability in my life right now
.

“This is how I finish a soldering step.” She brushed the tip across the surface of the moist sponge, jabbed the soldering iron point into the cleaning metal coil pad several times to remove any remaining solder, then replaced the soldering iron in its holder. “By finishing each soldering operation with cleaning the iron, it gives the iron time to stabilize to its selected temperature. Then you'll always know how the iron will behave in its interaction with the gun, solder, flux, and copper foil. The neatness and cleanliness of all four is a major factor in the quality and resulting stability of the soldering.

“By letting it set in its holder for a minute or more, it should be back up to the perfect temperature.” Savannah took up the spool of solder in her left hand, then uncurled a length of solid solder about six inches. It stuck stiffly out of the spool like a silver twig. She smoothly pressed the hot iron down through the end of the solder twig and the solder drop adhered to the flux in a smooth bead that bridged the copper of the two pieces.

“This is what your solder tacks should look like.” She stepped back so that everyone could see the example.

Amanda leaned over to look closely. “That's as good as the panel in the custom workroom.”

“Thanks. That's important to me.” Savannah raised her voice and looked at the students. “Now it's your turn. After you finish your first one, call me over. I'd like to see it in case we need to correct your method.”

As they all returned to their workstations, Savannah walked over to the first aid kit, removed a small Band-Aid, and slipped it into her pocket. She stood next to Arthur.

He dabbed the innermost join with flux, picked up the soldering iron, and poked it into the wire mesh a couple times. Then he touched the tip with his finger. “Ouch!”

Savannah rolled her eyes.

Chapter 24

 

O
fficer Boulli sauntered at the pace of melting frozen yogurt into Detective Parker's office waving a yellow sticky note stuck on the index finger of his left hand. “Hey, did you want to see me?”

“Excellent use of your vast detective skills, Officer.” Parker looked up from his PC. “I've called your office, your cell, sent you an e-mail, and even texted you. What do you think?”

“My desk PC is being upgraded.”

Detective Parker frowned. “And that means . . . what exactly?”

“Well, they took mine away and you know the phones are all tied into that.”

“The text?”

“I don't know why that didn't come through.” Officer Boulli grinned ear to ear and sat in the nearer of the two small chairs in front of the detective's desk. “Technology is great, right? What's up?”

Detective Parker took a deep calming breath to keep from reaching across his desk and tearing Officer Boulli's face off.
Whatever possessed this guy to want to be a cop?
He thought he had met every personality type possible, but Officer Boulli was the prize example of an unsuitable cop in the most cliché-ridden television show ever produced.

Reaching for the only folder on his desk, Detective Parker fished his reading glasses from his front shirt pocket, put them on, and opened the folder. “This is why I was trying to reach you this morning. The toxicology report has come back on Hugh Trevor.”

“The dead guy at the glass shop, right?”

Parker lowered his head and looked over his reading glasses. “Yes, Officer, the dead guy. What can you tell me from the report?” He closed the folder and handed it to Officer Boulli who opened the folder the wrong way first, turned it around, and began to read the summary.

“Poisoned? He was poisoned?”

“As it says.” Parker stowed his glasses. “So what is our next step, homicide trainee, Officer Boulli?”

Missing the irony completely, Boulli pulled himself tall in the chair. “We need to catch the killer.”

“Good. Yes, that is the final goal, but before that?”

“Interview suspects?”

“Right. Who are our suspects?”

At the wide-eyed look of terror in Officer Boulli's face, the detective abandoned the next series of pointed questions as functionally hopeless. “If you had been keeping up with the case, Officer, you would have received the e-mail that reported the results of the fingerprint analysis on the coffee cup found at the scene of the murder.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“The only fingerprints on the cup, besides the victim's, belong to Jacob Underwood and Edward Morris.”

“Yeah, the bartender and the crazy kid.”

The detective lowered his head and shook it in depressed resignation. Before exploding, he took a deep breath. The situation was politically charged because Officer Boulli was the captain's nephew. The captain insisted that this goof was a genius in solving mysteries. Such things were meant to build character . . . or drive you crazy. This one was driving Detective Parker crazy.

He spoke slowly. “Jacob Underwood has a specific condition called Asperger's syndrome. He's developmentally different, not crazy. Sometimes these kids have an intelligence level that is off the scale.”

“So what?”

“So I'm saying that he might look and act different, but it's possible that he's smarter than anyone you have ever met.”

At that moment, Sandra Grey, one of the forensics specialists, tapped a polite knock on the office doorjamb and leaned in. “Excuse me, but I thought you might like a preliminary report on our examination of John Webb's house. It's still a draft, but there are some interesting developments.” She looked over at Officer Boulli. “Of course, if you're too busy right now, I can come back.” She pulled her head out of the office.

“Wait.” As he stood up, Parker admired the effect of her professionally tailored suits. They added stature and an image of power to her petite frame. It couldn't be easy to thrive in the very male world of law enforcement. “Please, I'm desperate for some intelligent enlightenment . . . unofficial, of course.” He walked out into the hallway with Sandra, closing his office door behind him.

“How are you doing on your quest to rid the department of Officer Boulli?” she said in a quiet voice. “We're counting on you, you know.”

“It's painful, but I'm determined. Still, the massive amount of documentation I have to collect ensures that only the most deserving are actually sent packing. However, I think this case may be the final straw needed for submitting the termination paperwork.”

“Why this case?”

“He's settled on a suspect that I believe is totally innocent, a young man named Jacob Underwood,” he looked at her expectantly.

“Underwood?” She raised her eyebrows, “Judge Underwood's son?”

Parker nodded.

“Well done! She'll filet him nicely and wrap up the remains in paperwork.”

“That's the plan. In the meantime, I can investigate the more likely suspects.”

Sandra smiled, “I knew you were working behind the scenes. Who?”

“There are several likely leads. One is the pub owner next door with financial issues who has borrowed a large sum of money from John Webb and might have had an issue with Hugh Trevor as well. There's also the glass shop's main competition, Frank Lattimer and finally, a property developer from out of town, Gregory Smythe. Now, please, cheer me up quickly with that summary.”

“Just a few observations that will be thoroughly covered in my report.” She grinned until her eyes crinkled.

“Of course.”

“In a nutshell, the only other fingerprints in the house besides Mr. Webb, his daughter, and neighbor are Jacob Underwood's and an unknown person.”

“Jacob is a friend of the family.”

“Yes, but both Jacob's and the unknown's fingerprints were on the loose tea canister on the kitchen counter. I've sent the canister contents to the lab for analysis.”

“So, both victims were poisoned by tea.”

“It appears that way at this point. There was a similar jar of herbs at the glass shop. I'll give you a call when the toxicology reports are complete.” She gave him a little punch to the arm and walked briskly down the hallway.

He smiled, opened his office door, then sat at his desk. “It appears we have a viable suspect.”

“Who?” asked Officer Boulli, still holding the closed file folder.

“Jacob Underwood. He's attending a workshop at Webb's Glass Shop and appears to be a friend of the family.”

Parker plucked the file folder out of Boulli's hands and placed it in the lower right-hand desk drawer. “I want you to pick him up for questioning.”

“Arrest the kid?” Officer Boulli took his notebook out of his shirt pocket.

“Yes, Jacob is a minor . . . although in Florida, there are no special processes—which by the way, you should already know. As a courtesy, call his parents and tell them so they can be involved.”

“Yes, sir. What time should I pick him up?”

Detective Parker glanced at the open calendar application on his PC. “You need to make sure the parents have plenty of time to get to the glass shop. Let's go for three this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Officer, I want you to listen very carefully.” Detective Parker stood and made sure that he had Officer Boulli's full attention.

“Sir?”

“This is your final chance. If you can't get this right—calling his parents, meeting them there, bringing him in for questioning and properly processing him—I am recommending to the chief that you not be permitted to continue in this department. In fact, I will recommend that you won't be permitted to continue employment with the police department in any capacity. Is that clear?”

Officer Boulli stood, apparently recognizing the language as part of the termination process. He turned a gray-tinted face to the detective, swallowed, and finally cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”