Pane and Suffering (8 page)

She stretched a great yawn and wasn't sure if it was fatigue or tension. Either way, it was time for bed. She let Rooney outside into the fenced backyard and gave him a treat when he barked to be let back inside. He wandered down the hall and stood by her dad's door.

Remembering a program she saw on the Animal Channel last month, she went into her dad's closet and pulled a couple of his work shirts out of the dirty laundry hamper and spread them out on the floor right next to the bed.

Rooney groaned a gentle whine and rolled his head on the shirts, then turned over onto his back to rub the scent all over himself. He sat upright and looked at Savannah, his crystal-amber eyes reflecting a grateful thank you.

Rooney settled himself to sleep and didn't rouse even when the mosquito spray truck swooshed through the quiet moonlit brick streets.

Chapter 7

 

D
etective David Parker looked up from his display screen and frowned deep enough to cause him to rub his forehead. He could hear clumping footsteps echo down the hallway of the St. Petersburg Police Station. They were marching relentlessly along to his office.

It was one of the few private cubicles—if you could call a half-height cubicle
private
. It was counted among his peers as an early reward for setting a new record for attaining the rank of detective. He was proud of gaining it so quickly in what he hoped was a long and successful career.

He recognized the distinct footsteps as those belonging to eternally-on-probation Officer Boulli. He was famous for spending more time and energy avoiding work than if he had just done the work.

The only perceived skill he possessed was an encyclopedic knowledge of Pinellas County labor and employment laws. He was an expert in each of the detailed steps outlined by the flowchart of actions called out in the employee termination process. David couldn't count the number of times Boulli had flirted with the final steps of termination, raising the hopes of city management everywhere only to be reinstated to full employment status at the last minute.

One of Detective Parker's newest goals was to become an encyclopedic expert in those very same termination regulations and he had been using his precious novel reading time to study them carefully.

It was never good when Officer Boulli felt the need to stop by for a chat. David relished the peace of his office and Boulli spoiled the carefully crafted environment simply by stepping across the threshold.

Even though the small office was barely big enough for a desk, an office chair, and two guest chairs, David had arranged the limited standard issue furniture to be the most effective use of intimidating power and comfortable ease.

His office chair was behind the desk and the desk faced the metal cubicle door that featured a large pane of glass in the top half. The guest chairs were pushed against the walls so that any guest would have an awkward view and not feel inclined to linger. That was a key element in having the office to himself most of the time. It also encouraged electronic communication rather than conversations that could never be correctly recalled. Electronic data lived on forever.

A small, low bookcase was tucked behind David's chair and stacks of files were neatly stored on its shelves. The desk's surface was clear except for an open file folder with papers perfectly aligned within, and a ceramic coffee mug on a beer coaster. The only personal item was a lone African violet plant on top of the bookcase. It was in lush bloom.

The computer flat screen was angled just enough so as to not block his view, but ensured that no one could see what was on the screen. That was all.

David loved his office.

“Good morning, Officer Boulli. Have you lost your way to the break room?”

“On my way, sir, but I thought I would hand this weird call off to you. You seem to be the solver of strange cases, so I thought of you right away.”

“I'm stunned that my case load has broken through to your attention. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“No problem, sir.” He grinned like a schoolboy and handed Detective Parker a small scrap of yellow paper raggedly torn from a ruled tablet. “This girl called to say that her dad had left her a coded message that her life was in danger.”

“Girl? You mean a little girl called 911?”

“No, sir. She wasn't a little girl. I meant to say that she was a woman. She was a very tall full-grown woman. Anyway, she thought that the dead guy in the glass shop had been murdered.”

“What did you think?”

“I think she's crazy. I mean to say that it doesn't make sense. I answered the 911 call about this old guy who was found dead in her glass shop. His name was Hugh something, I think. It was obviously a heart attack. The paramedics thought it was probably a heart attack.”

“Did you formally report it?”

“Uh, no. I don't think there is anything to it. We answered the call yesterday morning if you want to look that up in the database.”

“And . . .”

“She said her dad had worked for the government as a kind of cold war spy.”

“When did she call?”

“Late yesterday afternoon. I got a last-minute reassignment to assist in a traffic emergency but I remembered the call this morning.”

“Give it here. Which agency did her dad work for?”

“She didn't say, but she seemed positive that the information he left her would put her in danger. She sounded cranky, by the way. So you might want to record everything in case she gets pissed off.”

Detective Parker walked around his desk and snatched the scrap of paper from Officer Boulli's outstretched hand.

“Hey, I was handing it over.”

“I'll take it from here, Officer. Thanks for dropping by.” David closed his office door on Boulli who backed up quickly to avoid the advancing door.

David sat down and typed a few words into the search command line of his desktop computer. He stared at the results. He rubbed his smoothly shaven chin. Her dad had indeed served as an analyst in the government, but there were no details about the kind of work he'd done. David would have to submit a special request to get more information.

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk to select a brand new manila file folder. He placed the torn scrap of paper in it and began a new case file by writing
Glass Shop
in bold letters across the file tab. He placed that folder on his desk and lined it up with his three other open cases.

Tapping a few keys, he looked up the information on yesterday's incident and saw that the body had been taken to the city morgue awaiting release to a local funeral home. An autopsy wasn't scheduled and the case was awaiting assignment of an investigation officer so that the next steps could be processed.

He leaned back in his chair. His caseload was light at the moment, although it didn't look like it from the status of his records. He had solved them, but didn't have the finalized reports to close his current caseload. Those reports should be on his desk within the hour—all he had to do was wait. Waiting wasn't his strong suit.

This could be just the thing to do while he was waiting for the last information to clear. Closing four cases in a day would be a record that would not easily be matched by even the most experienced officers. He e-mailed his supervisor to ask if he could check out the young woman's tip that the two recent deaths in her glass shop were suspicious.

The e-mail reply bounced back almost immediately.
You already have three cases assigned to you. You can have it if you think you can handle it, but please see me at the end of the day to review current progress on your open cases.

That was exactly the response that David was looking for. He anticipated telling his supervisor that not only had he closed his current caseload, but that he had resolved another one, as well.

He closed down the active window, waited a few seconds, then reopened the case file and noted that he was assigned as the investigating officer.

Reviewing the records of the two deaths, it did seem an extraordinary coincidence for two heart attacks to occur so soon in one small business. Maybe it would take a little longer than he thought.

He called Officer Boulli and miraculously found him at this desk.

“Officer Boulli.”

“This is Detective Parker. On that case we just talked about—”

“Which one?”

Parker grit his teeth and reminded himself of the higher goal of his department—to investigate cases, not actually murder city employees. “I'm sure you remember. The unattended death of a man found at Webb's Glass Shop.”

“Okay. Yeah. What do you want me to do?” There followed a pause not quite long enough for Parker to challenge. “Sir.”

“Drive out to Webb's Glass Shop and verify the circumstances that the woman has reported.”

“Today, sir?”

David noticed a decided reluctance on the part of Officer Boulli to make the short five-minute drive straight down Central Avenue. It was practically within walking distance of the police department building. “Do you have any other tasks that have a higher priority, Officer Boulli?”

“No, sir,”

“Then what is the problem? It's a necessary part of the investigation.”

“It's probably a waste of time. It'll be a heart attack like the paramedics said when I was standing there.”

The whiny tone nearly threw Parker into a fury—nearly. He took a slow breath. “Just do it. It needs to be done and should have been done immediately after she called. I hope we don't have to justify the delay in sending out an officer to verify the situation.”

“It just didn't seem that important.”

“I don't understand why you are not in your patrol car right now. This is an official request to verify her call. You are not deliberately refusing to take this assignment, are you?”

“No, sir. Not in any way. That would be considered a serious breach of duty to refuse an assignment. I am on my way immediately, sir.”

“Good. I wouldn't want to have to file a report.” Detective Parker hung up the phone then searched the database, bringing up records for Hugh Trevor. He discovered that both men had been analysts during the cold war years. Like John Webb, most of his information was also not visible.

David pulled up the form required to access the detailed government records and filled in information required to request access to the records for both men. He sent it up the signature chain and hoped it would go through the approval process quickly.

The few facts he had were beginning to pile on top of each other, looking more and more suspicious. It appeared to be a case of three too many coincidences. The first was two deaths within ten days in the same small business. Second, the two men were intelligence analysts of an unknown type. Third, one of them had left behind a warning to his daughter.

He quickly ordered an autopsy with primary focus on a toxicology analysis for the glass shop victim. He could report it as natural causes, not wait for the toxicology report, and take credit for closing four cases in one day, but that didn't feel right.

Setting a new case closure record would ensure his position on the fast track, but a haphazard effort would erase his efforts in one fell swoop.

In his experience, when the circumstances didn't feel right, it was usually because the circumstances weren't right. One of the reasons he had been promoted so fast was because his instincts were usually smack dab on target.

No shortcuts just for a record count. He closed the report folder. He'd wait for the toxicology report.

Chapter 8

 

S
etting up Webb's Glass Shop for the second day of class felt easier, but still hollow. Hugh would never walk through the door with a cheery, “Hi Kitten.” Savannah forced her swirling brain back to positive thoughts. Today's teaching plan included learning to solder safely. The awkward, pointy, scary hot irons presented a teaching challenge that required serious concentration on everyone's part.

She pressed the ON key on the cash register and noticed that one of the ceiling fluorescent bulbs had burnt out.

She fetched the long package of replacement bulbs from the supply cabinet in the office and placed them on the counter, then returned to get the heavy wooden six-foot stepladder. She opened the ladder and checked to make sure the hinges were locked. Checked them twice, then once more. She put her right foot on the bottom step. The plan was to bring down the burnt out bulb first, then take up the new bulb so that she always had a hand free to grip the ladder. She placed her left foot on the bottom rung, paused, then followed with the right foot.

Holding her breath, she took the next step in the same rigid manner, and finally the third. Both hands were beginning to ache with the death grip she clenched on the sides of the ladder. The bell jangled, and she froze.

Edward stepped inside the front door with a smile and a tray that contained a French press filled with dark coffee, floral bone china cups and saucers, and matching cream and sugar containers. “I've brought strong coffee. I guessed you might need a little lift after . . .” He looked up at the ladder “What's the matter with you? Are you going to be sick? You've gone white.”

Savannah gritted her teeth and moved her head the tiniest fraction down. “I thought I could manage my fear of heights.”

“It doesn't look like it's going to plan.” He put the tray on the counter and with deliberate slowness, stood on the second step on the ladder. “I'm right here behind you. You can't fall. Put your left foot on the step below. Good. Now your right foot. Good.” He stepped off the ladder.

“Just one more step. Left foot first. Good. Now right. Now step onto the floor.”

Savannah wiped the cold sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Thanks a bazillion. I'm sorry. I thought I could do it myself. I was wrong. I'm really glad you were here. Thanks.”

Edward waved a Vanna White gesture at the coffee tray. “I thought you might need a strong wake up.”

Savannah smiled as the warm scent of the scones filled the shop. She reached out and wiggled her fingers. “Oh, gimmie, gimmie, gimmie. You're a mind reader.”

After he handed her a scone, he looked over to the cash register and then back at Savannah, eyebrows raised.

“I've gotten brave enough to push the ON button,” she said. “Crabby Cash Register is whirling his gears. He looks happy.”

Edward squinted at the boot-up process scrolling quickly up the cash register screen. “So far, so good. It should only be a minute or two before we know. How are you this morning?” He casually climbed up the ladder and using both hands removed the burnt-out light tube. “Here's the bad one. Hand me the replacement.”

Savannah removed the new bulb from its paper sleeve and handed it up to him. “Still a little stunned by the whole situation, finding Hugh dead yesterday, closely followed by that message from Dad.” She took the burnt-out tube and slipped it into the paper sleeve. “I'm so grateful you came to the dog park last night.”

“Not an issue. I can see now that you wouldn't have been able to get it.” He installed the new bulb with a little twist. It flickered and light flooded the display room. “Did you figure out the message from the pink kitten box?”

“No, this one is really a puzzle. It took a long time to find it. All those little items were a distraction. The message was hidden between the binding of the notebook. It's a slim sheet of really old onion skin with a random—to me at least—pattern of tiny holes.”

“What did it say?”

“I wish I knew. I'm going to show it to Jacob. It could be blatantly obvious to him, but I'm absolutely baffled.”

“Good plan. Jacob might be able to solve it just by looking. You might show it to Amanda as well. I'm continually surprised by the various skills she's acquired holding down dead-end jobs. Ready for class?”

“I'm feeling better, and oddly enough, looking forward to continuing the class. It's a familiar routine that doesn't leave time for dark thoughts.”

“That's good. Have you talked to John's accountant yet about Hugh?”

“That's one of my horrible tasks today. It puts a hamper on my plans to go back to Seattle quickly. Burkart will have some good advice. He's quick on his feet, but he needs to know about Hugh.”

Have you heard anything from the police department?” He picked up the spoon in the sugar bowl. “Sugar?”

“Yes, and plenty of cream.” Edward put sugar and cream in both cups, stirred them and handed one to Savannah.

“Thanks. You're a prince.” She sipped the rich brew. “Not a word from the police. I think I'm being treated as a crank call.”

Edward peered at the cash register. “Ah, it's happy again today. Good.” He started to fold up the ladder.

“No, don't touch that. I can put it away easily. At least I'm strong, even if I need to stay at ground level.”

“Sure. Anyway, the police force in St. Petersburg suffers from staffing shortages like any other business.”

“Really? I didn't get the feeling that I would be welcomed with open arms. But maybe you're right. If they don't call back by the end of today's class, I think a visit to the station would be the next step. Now that I have more to go on, maybe they'll take me seriously.”

“Would you mind if I went along?”

“Mind?” Savannah grabbed his arm. “I'd really appreciate it.” She noticed her grip and removed her hand. “Are you serious?”

“Quite. I'll be free any time after four. Is that a good time for you?” He transferred the dish that held the scone to the counter, placed the French press, the sugar and the creamer on the tray he balanced with one hand, just like a waiter.

“I could use the support. I don't feel like I'm being taken seriously at all.”

“No problem.” Edward stood in the open door. “I'll check back with you this afternoon. Enjoy.”

“Hi Edward!” Amanda appeared in the doorway, took advantage of the open door, and bustled her bags and bundles into the classroom.

Savannah smiled and scooted over to the classroom door to hold it wide for her. Amanda performed some acrobatic moves to get everything she was carrying onto the worktable. She walked over and stood in the doorway in front of Savannah.

“I meant to tell you yesterday, but things did get a little crazy, you know, after Hugh.” Amanda turned her mouth down like a lizard. “Anyway, I just love your earrings. They match your outfits perfectly. Do you make them?”

“Yep. I can't stop either. They're quick and use up the various bits of glass that I have lying around from other projects.”

“They're gorgeous. You should start a side business selling them.”

“Then it wouldn't be fun.”

Amanda looked from Savannah and Edward, around the rest of the empty shop, and then back to Savannah. “I'm not too early, am I?”

“Nonsense,” said Savannah. “I'm already open and just getting the materials ready for today's lesson.”

“Good. I don't want to be a nuisance. Some of my patients at the Abbey don't pay attention to what's happening around them most of the time. They just stand in the middle of the hallway and talk up a storm while blocking the way for everyone else to get by.”

“Excuse us, excuse us,” Faith and Rachel spoke in unison. “We need to get through.”

“Oh, of course.” Amanda flushed up pink to her ears as she returned to her workstation and rearranged her parcels back and forth across the work surface.

“This is not right. Which side were you on?” said one of the twins as she scooted into the last row.

“You're on the wrong side. You were over here. Move out so we can switch.”

“What difference does it make?”

“You know I'm left handed and need to be on the other side so our elbows don't bump.”

“Really?” The twin smirked. “I keep forgetting.” The twins shuffled their places and sat down.

Savannah looked at their hands. The nail polish identified Rachel, so it was Faith, the left-hander, who wanted to sit on the outside worktable.

“Good morning, Savannah. Are we going to make up for missing yesterday's class?”

Feeling the tightness in her chest, Savannah resisted the urge to tell Rachel—at volume—that was a callous thing to say after Hugh's death. Instead, she pushed the anger down to a quiet place. “Good question. As soon as we're all here, I'll make an announcement.”

The bell jingled and she went to the front door to greet the newlyweds.

“Good morning,” said Nancy. “I'm rather hoping today will be quite boring.” She led the way into the classroom with Arthur following with a dreamy look on his face. “We're going to be very careful, aren't we, dear groom?”

Jacob sat next to Amanda. He had already settled and his eyes steadily focused on a blank page of his notebook.

“Jacob, I didn't see you come in. How did you get in?” Savannah asked, returning to the classroom.

“I have a key, Miss Savannah. Mr. Webb gave it to me last month. Do you want me to return it?” He spoke quickly with a hint of tremor in his voice.

“No, no, Jacob. I was just surprised. Where's Suzy?”

“Suzy is in the office. I brought a real bed for her. I bought it for her yesterday. Is that okay?”

“Of course. That's perfect.” Savannah opened the door to the office. There by the back door was Suzy, all cozy in a little plush dog bed with a small bowl of water next to her.

She looked up at Savannah and her tail thumped hello on the side of the bed.

Savannah left the door slightly open and went to the front of the classroom. “Welcome back to Beginning Stained Glass. Just a few announcements before we get started. Jacob has brought his new service dog, Suzy. It's important that she stay in the office as all other parts of the shop may have glass shards. Jacob, when you're ready, I'm sure each class member would like an individual introduction.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Amanda shot her hand into the air and peered over her shoulder at the crack in the office door. “Can I be first, please? I love animals. This is way, way cool.”

Jacob stiffened and began to breathe faster.

“Not today,” Savannah said quickly. “Let's give Suzy a chance to become more comfortable with her new surroundings.”

Jacob stopped gasping immediately and quieted.

“Now for some announcements and decisions. We have lost some class time and we need to decide how to make up for it. I have two choices for you. One, we stay an hour later each day this week. Two, we return on Saturday morning. Any questions before I ask for a show of hands?”

Nancy raised her hand in a queenly little wave. “What about a third choice to not make up the schedule at all?”

Savannah bobbed her head. “Good idea. We'll make that choice number three. Anything else before we vote?”

Everyone looked at each other, but no one spoke.

“Okay, then. Who wants to stay an hour later each day?”

Rachel raised her hand.

“Who wants to come on Saturday?” Amanda, Jacob, and Faith all raised their hands. No one moved.

“Choice number three—who wants to ignore the lost time and keep to our original class meeting times?” Nancy raised her hand and looked pointedly at Arthur who quickly raised his.

“Well, that's a majority for making up time on Saturday morning. Thanks. I'll change our posted schedule. Now, let's pick up cutting glass where we left off yesterday.”

She picked up the black whiteboard marker and walked over to the classroom board. It was chock-full of posters for local events, conference announcements, glass art exhibits, classified ads, and the master class schedule. She added Saturday's class to the schedule and noticed that some were out of date.

Jacob leaned over to Amanda and whispered loudly, “Mr. Webb left Miss Savannah a scary letter. I saw it.”

Amanda glanced around at the other students and leaned over, as well. “What did the letter say?”

Alarmed, Savannah quickly leaned between them as Jacob opened his mouth to tell Amanda. “Quiet, you guys. We'll discuss this after class.”

Noticing something strange in Savannah's voice, Amanda looked up at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

The doorbell jangled and Savannah turned to greet the visitor. “I'll be right back. Continue cutting all the straight pieces you're going to need. Then we'll move on to curves and arcs. It's better to cut accurately so that you don't have to spend a lot of time grinding it to shape.”

She went through to the display room. Officer Boulli was standing just inside the door of the shop with his thumbs tucked into the belt that was way south of the normal waistline. He turned to Savannah and removed a full-sized clipboard that he had wedged under one armpit. He removed a clipped pen from the clasp, shifted his weight to a wide stance, and tilted his head to one side. Pen poised above a form, he asked, “Are you Savannah Webb?”