Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (16 page)

“
Do you have any images of the Wardell car accident scene?” Gordon asked when Kennedy picked up. He explained why he wanted them, and Kennedy promised to email him copies.

“
Any decent trace from the interior?” Gordon asked.

“
What little we have is still at the lab,” Kennedy said. “Low priority. Nothing in the vehicle indicated his wife was injured. Working hypothesis is marital discord and she took advantage of the opportunity to ditch him. Either that or she wandered well out of our search area before she succumbed to the cold or any internal injuries caused when the car rolled down the embankment. Of course, there’s the remote possibility she’s got amnesia—banged her head—but nobody thinks that’s likely. If she’d been in the car when it went over, there would have been more evidence. The husband provided a photo, and we have her description out to the surrounding counties. No hits yet.”

“
Can you send me her picture, too?” Gordon asked.

“
Slow day in Mapleton?” Kennedy said. “Of course, we’re always glad for extra eyes on a case.”

“
Something to play with in my spare time. Technically, I’m on vacation until Monday.”

“
Busman’s holiday, then. But I understand. Always investigating something. It gets into the blood.”

“
You’re right,” Gordon said. “You ever get in touch with the uncle in Telluride?”

“
Negative. Just an answering machine. But that’s no longer an issue. The husband’s been checking in constantly, wanting to know if we’ve made any progress. I haven’t had the heart to tell him I think he ought to give it up.”

“
I hear you. People cling to the tiniest threads of hope.”

“
Gotta’ go,” Kennedy said. “I’ll get those pictures to you.”

Gordon hung up, then poked around some more while he waited for the email to arrive. He figured he
’d look at Paula’s blog. See if she’d written up the Yardumians’ place yet. He hoped so. A little positive publicity would be nice for them.

He called up
Paula’s Places
and found her latest post—the one she’d been so concerned about uploading—but it had nothing to do with the Yardumians, or even that part of Colorado. This one was called “Off the Strip” and focused on things other than casinos and themed hotels around Las Vegas. Hoover Dam, Red Rock Canyon, and a natural history museum. He scrolled through more of the blog, refreshing his memory of what he’d seen before. She tended to write about smaller attractions or natural settings, which made sense if she’d chosen a place like Tranquility Valley.

He and Angie had written her off his memory card thief list, and nothing he saw while clicking through her blog said they
’d been wrong. A quick hop through the DMV database revealed that she lived in Marshalltown, Iowa, although he imagined she wasn’t home for long stretches. He didn’t expect to find much, but he checked the criminal database. Zilch.

His computer let him know he had an incoming email, and he shifted his attention to Wardell
’s case.

He unzipped the folder Kennedy had sent of the accident scene photos. Simply looking at the images sent chills through him. Those two trips down that embankment in freezing temperatures weren
’t things he wanted to remember. Despite the heat in the building, he crossed his arms over his chest as if he needed to keep warm. The urge for a cup of coffee, cocoa—anything hot—hit him hard.

He
’d already had his allotted cup of high-test coffee. Not smart to push things. He found the container of decaf in his cabinet. Might as well let his presence be known. He brought the carafe to the break room to fill it, stopping along the way to let Laurie, his admin, know he was in.

“
But I’m not back,” he said at the surprised look on her face.

“
Ed told me there’d been a fire where you were staying. You’re all right?”

At her obvious
tell me everything
expression, he changed his mind about a trip to the break room. He extended the carafe. “Fine. Trying to get a little extra-curricular work done, so if you wouldn’t mind filling this with water for me, I can brew a pot in my office and won’t need to spend time going over everything with everyone in the building. I’ll be at Monday morning’s briefing. Until then—”

“
Sure, Chief. I won’t tell a soul.” She cocked her head. “Although, some of the guys might be clever enough to deduce your presence if you parked in the lot.”

He hadn
’t thought of that. “So, they can speculate. But for now, my door will be closed, and if anyone asks—make up something plausible. I plan to duck out before change of shift, so there shouldn’t be too many people coming or going until then.” He turned for his office, then paused. “How’s McDermott? And Jost’s wife? The baby?”

“
Vicky is still knocked for a loop. Jost’s baby is in the neonatal ICU. His wife is okay, though, and he’s back on shift.”

“
If he needs time when the baby comes home, make sure he knows we can schedule around him.”

She nodded as though she knew he
’d say that. “I’ll get your water.”

Gordon went to his computer and brought up the images, zeroing in on the ones of the car
’s rear bumper. As he remembered it, it had been crumpled, and the plate wasn’t legible. Given the snowy conditions, he hadn’t paid it much attention on either of his trips. He printed several of the images. As he studied them, for a moment, Gordon thought his eyes were reverting to their CSR state, until he realized the blurred effect was a film of snowflakes.

He tried his magnifying glass. Still no luck reading the plate. He shifted to the computer, zoomed in. No better. He reached for the phone.
“Kennedy? Gordon Hepler. Sorry to bother you again, but I’d like the VIN of Wardell’s vehicle. The plate’s obscured, and even if it wasn’t, there’s a possibility that it’s not the one that belongs on the car.”

“
You have a reason to think it’s a switched plate?” Kennedy asked.

“
No. Trying to cover all the bases.” Gordon recalled a former case where a swapped plate had provided a vital clue. Couldn’t take anything for granted.

“
I’ll check with the accident unit and see what they have. Meanwhile, I can get you the VIN. Might take a bit. I’m on patrol at the moment, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“
Thanks.”

Laurie came in and insisted on brewing the coffee.
“My way of saying welcome home.” She displayed a can of designer coffee. When Gordon lifted a hand, she stopped him. “I know you’ve switched to decaf, and that’s what this is. But I haven’t mentioned it to anyone. Wouldn’t want you to lose cop points.”

He smiled. Very little got by his admin. He
’d have to make sure he got her an extra-large box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day. And flowers. He was pretty sure she didn’t like roses, but couldn’t remember what her favorites were. He’d better figure something out or he’d be in danger of losing cop points with her.

While he waited for the VIN to come through, he called the florist.
“A mixed bouquet,” he said. “A big one.”

There was a pause. Of course. The clerk knew Angie loved roses. Would she think Gordon was two-timing her? Or that he didn
’t know what his girlfriend liked? “And a second one of roses, please,” he added. “Mixed bouquet to Laurie at police headquarters. The roses to Angie at Daily Bread.”

“
Will do, Chief Hepler. We’ll have them out as our first deliveries.”

That taken care of, he wrote himself a note to stop for chocolate on his way home, and then opened the picture of Orrin Wardell
’s wife.

Grainy. Was that because Wardell had blown it up, or because the troopers had? He figured Kennedy would have sent him the best one they had, so it was undoubtedly what Wardell had given them. Either way, if she was around Wardell
’s age, this had to be an old picture. It looked more like a black-and-white high school yearbook picture than a photo from a family album. Now, if he knew what high school Roni had gone to, and her maiden name, and the year she’d graduated—which he figured he’d uncover right about the time pigs started flying.

He plugged Roni Wardell
’s name into his databases, using a wide age range, but the hits didn’t bear any resemblance to the woman in the picture. Then again, if it was an old picture, she might look different now. Plus, nothing said she’d taken Wardell’s name when they married. Gordon was only slightly better off than he’d been when he was at the hospital with no Internet and no database access.

Deciding this was an exercise in futility without more information, he finished a second cup of coffee and did what he should be doing as long as he was here. Solomon had left excellent records, but the buck stopped on Gordon
’s desk, and he needed to be up to speed on everything that had transpired in his absence.

He was through the second day
’s reports when his email chimed. When the subject line said VIN, he shoved the paperwork aside and opened the email. He cross-referenced that in another database. Surprise, surprise. This put an entirely different slant on things.

He printed out everything he had so far, and started a new file folder. Of course it wasn
’t his case, or his jurisdiction, but he did feel like he had a vested interest in Orrin Wardell. After all, he’d nearly died trying to help the guy. He should definitely let the troopers know. And, he thought, maybe he’d share this one with Solomon.

At a quiet tapping on the rear door to his office, Gordon debated whether he should ignore it or answer.

“Chief, it’s Solomon.”

Gordon unlocked the door and motioned Solomon inside.

“Saw your car. Thought you weren’t due in the office until Monday.”

“
I wasn’t, but I thought I’d take care of some paperwork, be ready to go first thing. And, as far as anyone else other than Laurie is concerned, I’m
not
in.”

Solomon wandered to the visitor
’s chair and plopped down. He stretched out his legs. “I, for one, am very glad you’re fine and returning to duty. I think I’d go nuts dealing with all the bureaucracy. I much prefer life on the streets.”

Gordon didn
’t confess he did, too, but he’d accepted the chief’s position and it deserved the best he could give. “I’ve got something for you to chew on.” He opened the file and removed the copies he’d made of the images.

Solomon perked up.
“Yeah?”

Gordon summarized how Orrin Wardell had shown up at the Yardumians
’, how they’d tried to locate his wife, how distraught he’d been, that he was still driving the State Patrol crazy with constant requests for updates.

“
So, what’s the puzzle?” Solomon asked.

Gordon slid the prints of the images across the desk.
“Can you make out the plate?”

Solomon studied them, asked for Gordon
’s magnifying glass. Moved it back and forth, in and out. “Nope. The crumpled bumper and the snow are obscuring it.”

“
State?”

Solomon looked again.
“Sorry, Chief. Might as well be no plate at all.” He set down the glass. “Or is that the case?”

“
No, there’s a plate.” Gordon said. “There was a corner in another shot—nothing that was any more identifiable than what you’ve got in front of you.”

“
Then I’d ask for the VIN.”

Gordon nodded.
“Which I did. And here’s what I got.” He passed the file folder to Solomon.

Solomon reviewed the pages. Frowned.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you say the guy was from New Mexico?”

“
I did.”

“
So why is the vehicle registered in Colorado?”

Gordon raised his brows.
“You tell me. Wardell said he was from New Mexico. At the time, there was no reason to doubt him.”

Solomon paused.
“Could be a recent move and the change of address hasn’t caught up yet.”

Gordon nodded.
“That’s definitely a possibility.”

“
Or,” Solomon continued, “it could be he was driving someone else’s car. Didn’t you say the uncle lived in Telluride? Maybe Wardell borrowed the car.” Solomon studied the printout again. “Car’s in Wardell’s name. Unless he was named after his uncle.”

“
So.” Gordon stood and topped off his coffee. “Which do you think is more reasonable? That Orrin Wardell lied about where he came from, or the vehicle records aren’t up to date?”

Solomon chuckled.
“You know me, Chief. I’m up for the puzzle. I’d go with Wardell lying.”

“
Which brings us to why,” Gordon said.

Solomon looked through the file.
“Doesn’t the detective handbook say
Find the woman?
Of course, they say it in French, which is much classier-sounding, but it boils down to the same thing.” He extracted Roni Wardell’s photo and tapped it with a forefinger. “Here’s a woman. Who is she?”

“
According to Wardell, his wife. Roni.”

“
You say that with a touch of cop skepticism,” Solomon said.

Gordon shoved his mug aside. Decaf or not, he
’d reached his limit. “Until now, I’d have laid odds—around 80-20—that he was who he said he was. A distraught husband, frantic to find his wife. Until Kennedy questioned him, I’d have put the odds at 95-5. His answers seemed pat, but he’d already given his story several times, so I accepted his words at face value.”

“
But this.” Solomon tapped the registration printout, his eyes glistening. “This changes things. If he’s lying about one thing, then the rest of his testimony is fishy.”

Gordon noted Solomon
’s use of the word
testimony
, which told him Solomon was already looking at Wardell as a suspect. Of course, with Solomon’s penchant for thinking everything was crime-related, this didn’t surprise Gordon.

“
It also puts him back onto my list for my memory card thief,” Gordon said.

“
Huh?” Solomon’s brow furrowed.

Gordon explained his lost, then found—
sans
memory card—cell phone.

“
So you think this guy took it?” Solomon asked.

“
He and Nick Metcalf, the guy who said he found the phone, had the most opportunity. And possible motives. Either way, I think this gives us justification to investigate. I’ve set up a case file in the system, so we should be able to poke around in databases without sending up red flags.”

“
I like your use of
we
,” Solomon said.

“
I figured this would be right up your alley.” Gordon leaned forward, capturing Solomon’s gaze. “Of course, you’re still acting Chief of Police until Monday, so don’t get carried away with this little puzzle.”

“
Understood. But I can start some searches, enter things into ViCAP without it impacting my other duties.” Solomon got up to leave.

“
I figured. And, by the way, I’ve looked at your reports. Very good.”

Solomon straightened to attention.
“Thank you, sir.”

After Solomon left, Gordon thought he
’d take one more trip through the public search engines looking for Orrin Wardell. His search was interrupted when his private line rang. Angie.
Shit
. He checked the time. Ten minutes before change of shift. He was tempted to let it roll into voice mail. Let her think he’d already left. But he picked up.

“
Hey, angel. You caught me heading out the door.”

“
I’ll pretend I believe that,” she said. “Dinner service is prepped, so I’m free for a bit. I have something for you at my place.”

“
I’ll be right there.”

Something for him? An early Valentine
’s Day gift? He knew she’d be tied up with Megan’s events on the day itself. Gordon dug in the drawer for the box he’d stashed there before he left on vacation. He stared at the small package, wrapped in shiny red paper, topped with a silver bow. Would Angie think it was a ring? Would she be disappointed when it wasn’t? Were lapis earrings an appropriate gift for Valentine’s Day? He hoped so. Angie still wore the lapis pendant he’d given her. She never took it off.

He blew out a shaky breath. As far as he could tell, Angie had never so much as hinted at a long-term, happily-ever-after, white picket fence relationship. She knew he and Cynthia hadn
’t had that, and was stepping carefully. He and Angie had been taking it slow, and he’d bought the earrings when he was still concerned with his vision. If he was going to lose it, he hadn’t wanted her to feel any obligation, any pity. Nothing that would tie her to him permanently out of guilt. Then again, he never claimed to have a handle on reading women. Not on a personal level, anyway.

Enough musing. He shut everything down in his office, locked up, and got out of the parking lot before the third shift began rolling in.

~~~

Angie opened her apartment door before Gordon had a chance to knock. The first thing that hit him was the aroma. Not cooking, though. Not even cinnamon. He saw half a dozen candles, which he assumed were the source of the smell, flickering on the coffee table. Not flowery, not spicy. Nothing he could attach a name to. Other than the candles, there were no lights in the room.

“Smells nice,” he said, and hoped there wasn’t going to be a quiz.

“
I thought so. Megan and I have been sampling different scents. Subtle, but they lend an atmosphere to events. These are mountain spring.”

“
A little early, wouldn’t you say? Spring up here is months away.”

She laughed.
“We’re not going for realism, just a mood. I’d say they smell fresh.”

“
Fresh it is, then. What did you want to show me? Or is it the candles?” His hand rested on the box in his jacket pocket.

“
No, there’s more,” Angie said. “Some things I’ve been working on for the party business. I need a guinea pig. In the kitchen.”

Gordon shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on Angie
’s coat rack. He trailed Angie to her tiny but efficient kitchen and sat at the counter. “I’m game. Feed me.”

She giggled—damn, he loved it when she did that—and went to the fridge.
“Try to stop being all manly-macho and have an open mind. We’ve booked a lot of ‘ladies who lunch’ events, and we thought we’d try some less-predictable offerings than chicken Caesar salad, or boring pasta salads.”

She placed two small bowls in front of him.
“What do you think?”

“
What am I eating?” he asked, choosing one dish and poking through what looked like tiny, glistening white discs. He recognized tomatoes and cucumbers, red and green onions, but wasn’t sure what the rest was.

“
Taste it,” she said. “Giving it a name shouldn’t matter.”

He took a tentative sample. Lemony. Herby. And then a follow-up kick of something spicy.
“Okay, this is good. Now will you tell me what it is?”

“
It’s a quinoa salad. With basil and jalapeño.”

That explained the kick. He listened as she explained what quinoa was, how she wished she could expand the menu at Daily Bread, and all sorts of other recipes she
was eager to try. He knew enough to nod and agree at appropriate moments.

He sampled the second offering, which Angie explained was couscous.
“It
is
a pasta salad, but not your everyday macaroni. This one’s got pine nuts and currants.”

“
I got the pine nuts, but I thought the other things were raisins,” Gordon said. “And it’s good, too.”

“
We could add a protein to any of these depending on what the client wants. Or change the spices, or different dried fruits—lots of possibilities.”

“
I’m sure they’ll love it no matter what you do.” He forked up the last bites of his samples. “So, candles and food-tasting. Anything else you need of me?” He thought of the box in his jacket pocket again, wondering if this was the right time to give it to her.

She gave a suggestive grin.
“Stay put. I want to give you your Valentine.” She swirled and disappeared into the bedroom.

Was he supposed to follow? Visions of a negligee-clad Angie on a bed covered with rose petals danced through his head. Seconds later, she emerged, still wearing her jeans and Daily Bread polo, carrying a flat box wrapped in red and white polka-dot paper. She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she proffered it.
“Happy early Valentine’s Day.”

He reached for it, enjoying the anticipation in Angie
’s expression. “I’ve got something for you, too.”

From downstairs the shrill
whoop whoop
of a smoke alarm pierced the air.