Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (32 page)

Sam nodded.

“Use it if you remember anything. Any time.” He caught Justin’s eye and tilted his chin toward the door.

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Justin said. Once they were in the hall, Justin asked what Gordon wanted.

“Whoever caused Doc’s accident might also be the one who tampered with Rose’s meds. They succeeded with Doc, but Rose is a loose end.”

“Sam and I have been careful. Nobody’s come into the room who isn’t on the list you gave us.”

“I’m going to have another nurse—she’s a deputy with the county as well—spend the night in Rose’s room. I don’t want Rose to worry, so please don’t tell her the woman is anything other than hospital staff.”

Justin snorted. “Frankly, Rose would love it, being part of a clandestine operation. But I’ll make sure to add the new nurse to the list. I could stay the night as well.”

“No, you go back to your motel. I don’t want to have to worry about you—or Sam—tonight.”

“You think someone would be able to find Rose? And come after her?”

“I think we have enough countermeasures in place. But I’m not willing to take the slightest risk.” After giving Justin the name and a description of Rose’s new watchdog, Gordon punched the elevator call button followed by Colfax’s number into his phone.

Colfax answered, his voice thick with sleep. “Make it good and make it short, Hepler. This is my first downtime in two days.”

Gordon broke the news about Doc’s death and then explained the Easterbrook-Osterback connection. “Did any of your Google-happy colleagues come up with any connections?”

“Nothing’s crossed my desk yet—then again, I haven’t been at my desk much.”

“Quit bellyaching—you’ve been glued to the computer all day, which is practically the same thing. I’m only suggesting, one cop to another, that you might nudge them along with this new piece of information.”

Colfax grunted. “You’re buying the beer.”

“Not a problem.” The elevator arrived and Gordon stepped inside. He pressed the button for the lobby and leaned against the wall of the car.

“I’ll get things started. Anything else? Because you’re not going to like me tomorrow if I don’t get a few hours’ sleep.”

“I asked the nurse you assigned to Doc’s room to spend the night in Rose Kretzer’s. Can you make sure the red tape is cut?”

“Fine, but I want a single malt. At least eighteen years old.”

“Thanks.” Gordon waited to see if Colfax had any other demands, but after a brief silence, the line went dead. The elevator doors opened to the portrait gallery, and Doc’s picture haunted him. Gordon paused, stepped forward and brushed his fingers against the frame. “Sorry, Doc. Rest in peace.”

A few portraits down, the image of Abraham Pinkerton seemed to cast blame on Gordon. He quickly averted his eyes and hurried to his car.

Colfax had the budget and resources for researchers, but that didn’t mean Gordon’s small force was helpless. Hell, some of his people would enjoy a journey through the search engines, too. And Laurie had said she was going to find some of his civilian corps who might even know these people personally. She’d have gone home hours ago, but she’d have left reports on his desk if she’d found anything.

As if talking with Colfax had reminded Gordon’s brain that he could use some sleep as well, weariness tugged at his eyelids as he navigated the mountain road to Mapleton. Glare from oncoming headlights was almost as bad as the setting sun had been on the drive out. And the asshole behind him with his brights on—didn’t the idiot know he was following a cop? Gordon was tempted to pull him over, but that would only delay his return—not to mention he was still out of his jurisdiction. He buzzed down the window, hoping the cool night air would refresh him.

When he made the turn onto the last leg of the trip, he’d found as much of a second wind as he thought he’d get. The first thing he noticed when he hit the outskirts of town was the smell of smoke—and that it didn’t seem as strong. He gazed in the direction of the fire, and the orange glow no longer filled the sky. He drove by Daily Bread, now dark for the night. Upstairs, no lights filtered through Angie’s apartment curtains. He silently wished her a good night’s sleep—longing for one of his own, but before he could call it quits for the day, he needed to see whether Laurie’s efforts had produced anything he could use.

Unlike Daily Bread, the station windows glowed like full moonlight through their slatted blinds. Gordon parked and gave a quick salute as he passed the security camera outside his office door. Inside, the aroma of stale coffee welcomed him home.

Home, he thought. He definitely spent more time at the station than at his house, and here he was surrounded by people he considered family. They made lousy coffee, but they were his brothers and sisters.

His stomach rebelled at the thought of any more coffee. He went into the break room to see if there was anything left on the dessert table. Maybe something with cinnamon.

A vaguely familiar face looked up when Gordon walked in. Ruddy complexion, thinning gray hair. Somewhere in his sixties, Gordon guessed. The man’s rectangular face and thick glasses that magnified his brown eyes made Gordon think of a horse.

“Hello, Chief Hepler. I’m Nathan Romash of the civilian patrol. I understand you need information about some people I knew back in the day.”

A quick burst of adrenalin banished Gordon’s lethargy. “Yes, I do. You have something? I hope you haven’t been waiting for me.”

“No, Sir. I’m also a volunteer firefighter. Don’t see a lot of action at my age, but I man the phones at the station. I was helping the Incident Commander here. Came in to raid the food table, and you walked in. Lucky coincidence, I’d say. I knew Clark and Hal Osterback in high school. Not all that well, and it was a long time ago. I don’t know how much help I can be, but Laurie said you wanted to know everything.”

Gordon snagged a brownie and a bottle of water. He almost suggested continuing the discussion in his office until he remembered the white board. “Wait here one minute.”

On the way to his office, he cracked his water bottle and downed half of it. He grabbed his recorder, then returned to the break room. He took a seat across the table from Romash, and pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. Next, he set his recorder in the middle of the table, and said, “I’m going to record this.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Not a problem. Ask your questions.”

“About Clark and Hal Osterback. What kind of kids were they? Well-liked? Bullied? Bullies? Jocks? Geeks?”

Romash chuckled. “Clark was cool, smart enough, but nothing exceptional. Hal was kind of slow on the uptake. Some of the kids called him a ‘retread’. But Clark stuck up for Hal, so nobody messed with either of them. They were in the same class, but Hal was a year or two older than his cousin, I think.”

“Cousins? Not brothers?”

“That’s right. Their dads were brothers. They lived on the same block—over on Pine, I think. Nice enough neighborhood. Nothing ritzy. Middle-middle class all around.”

“Clark ended up in a successful real estate company. Did Hal work there, too?”

“I lost touch after high school. We didn’t run in the same crowd, but Mapleton High was even smaller than it is now, so you knew everyone, even if you weren’t friends. I can’t see Hal with enough smarts to be in real estate. I can see Clark giving Hal a job, but it would be more like scrubbing floors.”

“What about Fred Easterbrook?” Gordon asked.

Romash shook his head. “He was a couple years ahead of me, and I was in Clark’s class. Seniors didn’t associate with mere freshmen—unless it was on the football team, and that wasn’t my gig. I think Fred and Clark played football. Hal hung with the team—equipment, or water boy, something like that.”

“Was Fred tight with the Osterbacks?”

Romash seemed to be searching his memory banks. “No more than with anyone else on the team.”

“How about Olivia? The woman Fred married.”

Another head shake. “Never saw him with a girl back then.” He thought for a moment. “Wasn’t there a big hoop de doo years and years ago? She left him?”

“You remember that, but not her?”

“I went to Nam.” He rubbed his leg as if soothing an injury. “Got banged up, messed up. Dropped out for a while. Nothing was the same when I got back to being myself—or as close to myself as I could be after that hell hole.”

Gordon let it drop—no point in making the man bring up old memories if they had nothing to do with his investigation. “What about Roger Ignatius? Or Bob Browning? Mad Dog was his nickname.”

“Nope. Can’t remember any Brownings, or anyone we called Mad Dog.”

“Benny and Zannah—Suzanne—Lowenthal. Did you know them?”

“Lowenthal. I knew a Jacob Lowenthal. Perhaps Benny and Zannah were his parents?” Romash rubbed his chin. “Man, I haven’t thought about Jacob in years. Jacob Lowenthal and his girlfriend—can’t remember her name now—inseparable from eighth grade. They were prom king and queen, homecoming, the whole nine yards. Which, as I recall, raised quite a stir at the time. Chess club, debate team, and he was Jewish, she wasn’t—hardly the stereotypical Mapleton High homecoming court.”

Gordon made a note to check out Jacob and find the girlfriend. He didn’t recall any Lowenthals showing up in his investigation into the whereabouts of Benny and Zannah, but Rose and Sam might know. And Nathan Romash’s comments had triggered yet another line of investigation. Military. For men of that generation, Vietnam and the draft was a major life event. Bonds might have been forged. He added that to his list.

Gordon flipped through his notes. “Two more names. Ruth Polaski and Jane Dougherty. Ring any bells?”

Romash’s eyes seemed to lose focus. He shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing. Were they supposed to have gone to Mapleton High, too?”

“No. They came up in conjunction with our investigation. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask if you knew them.”

Romash glanced in the direction of the clock on the wall. “I should get back to IC if you’re about done.”

“That’s it. If you remember anything else, let me know. And if I’m not here, you can leave a message.”

“Sure thing, Chief Hepler. I’m glad to pitch in.” He paused at the door and tapped a finger to his temple. “I’ll be thinking about those names.”

Gordon took the recorder and retreated to his office, closing the door to block the extra noise in the station due to the fire. He reviewed the notes he’d jotted. Jacob Lowenthal. The name hadn’t come up, but if his parents were Benny and Zannah—and Gordon thought that was a fair assumption—he might be a lead.

To what? Gordon’s head throbbed and his eyes burned. The words he’d written seemed to dance across the page. He got no hits in the criminal databases for a Jacob Lowenthal of the approximate age from Colorado. It was after eleven, and he didn’t think there was anything demanding his presence. Wasn’t that one of the perks of being the Chief? He made sure all the bases were covered, but he didn’t have to stand out in the ball field himself. He logged off and shut down the computer. After locking his internal door, he exited via the rear and climbed into his SUV. Home and bed. Alone in both, but he was too tired to care.

His house seemed much farther away than usual, but he finally pulled into his garage. He sent a quick text to Colfax giving him Jacob’s name, and suggesting he look into military connections before face-planting on top of the covers. Maybe he’d solve the case in his dreams.

Armless skeletons dancing. Doc’s portrait with dollar bills swirling around it. Abraham Pinkerton’s stare drilling him. Mayor Alexander rolling him up in his Oriental carpet.
Gordon struggled to free himself. Through the quicksand of sleep, he tried to convince himself they were nightmares. Only nightmares. He forced himself awake, panting, sweating, and tangled in his bedspread.

Chapter 37

Megan tugged Angie’s arm. “Stop here. Park under those trees.”

Angie slowed the car. “You know what you’re doing?”

“When I was a kid, this was how I snuck in and out.”

“I keep forgetting you had a wild streak back in the day.” Angie shoved the shifter into Park and set the brake.

“Hey, with the area evacuated, it should be a snap. No dogs or nosy people to worry about.”

“Yeah. Just the cops and firefighters.”

“There is that.” Megan eased the car door open. “But Gordon wouldn’t let them arrest you, would he?”

“I don’t think so. But I don’t want to test it, either. Let’s concentrate on not having to play that card.”

Megan cupped her hand over the tip of the flashlight from the emergency kit in Angie’s car. She used to be able to navigate this forested route by the faintest starlight, relying on the distant street lights and lights in people’s homes to show the path. But that was years ago. Because of the evacuation, all the homes were dark. Without the constant trampling of kids’ feet, the old trails were overgrown. And now, being caught might have consequences a tad more severe than being grounded.

“Shh,” Angie whispered. “Did you hear something?”

Megan froze, on full alert. Nothing but creaking tree branches, rustling leaves, and from afar, faint sounds of tires on asphalt. “No. Where?”

“To your left.”

Megan turned, and through the filter of her fingers, shone the light in that direction. Two small yellow orbs were reflected in the light, about six inches off the ground. “Fox, maybe. Or a coyote.” She shook a nearby shrub, and they disappeared.

“I had a thought,” Angie said. “Assuming we make it into Rose’s house, how are we going to carry everything out this way?”

Megan paused. Sheesh. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d really had too much champagne. “We’ll pack everything into a suitcase, go out the back door, through the yard to the street. I don’t think they can arrest us for
leaving
. You can always say we were inside and fell asleep and didn’t hear about the evacuation.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to fly. Maybe we should cut our losses and come back tomorrow.”