Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (20 page)

“
Start with the good,” Gordon said. “And then I’ve got another puzzle piece for you.”

Solomon
’s brows lifted. He yanked the wooden chair from in front of Gordon’s desk and sat. “There’s a definite match between prints in the restroom and prints on the chair. That’s the good news. The not-so-good news is we haven’t had any hits on them. But I’ll expand the search. Would help if we had a suspect.” He rested a forearm on the desk. “So, what’s your new puzzle piece?”

“
Different puzzle. Part of the disappearing wife case. Wardell’s uncle—the one in Telluride—was murdered.”

Solomon
’s eyes popped. “How? When? Is it connected?”

Gordon lifted a palm.
“Slow down. First, they haven’t got any results yet. Apparently, he was strangled. And it’s not our case by any stretch of the imagination. But since Wardell said he was staying with his uncle, there might be a connection.
Big
might
.
”

“
They looking at Wardell?” Solomon asked.

“
They did. Person of interest. They haven’t found anything to tie him to the crime.”

Solomon snapped his fingers.
“The wife. She disappears. Maybe Wardell says she was with him, goes through all that ‘Find my wife’ stuff. But she wasn’t with him. Gives her an alibi while she kills the uncle.”

Gordon mulled that one over. It fit the facts—that there
’d been no evidence of the wife being with Wardell. If she’d never been there at all, had stayed in Telluride … “That’s a possibility. But why?”

“
Too soon for that. Endless possibilities. Does he have money? Does she need money? Does he know a secret? Did her husband put her up to it? Hell, people commit crimes for motives that make no sense to us.”

“
I’m sure the Telluride folks will look at all the angles. They say he’s not particularly well off. A pillar of the community.”

“
Well, lots of people like knocking down pillars.” Solomon rose.

“
Might help if we knew more about the wife,” Gordon said.

“
Her name’s Roni, right?” Solomon got that gleam in his eye. The one that said he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into this one.

“
On your down time,” Gordon said. “And with the approval of any agencies involved. Anything connected to the uncle’s death is San Miguel County.” No point in telling Solomon he couldn’t investigate—he’d do it anyway. And Gordon admitted he was more than a little curious himself.

“
No problem, Chief. I’ve got connections. I’ll share anything I find.”

“
Don’t leave yet,” Gordon handed Solomon the paper with Wardell’s New Mexico address. “Run this address for me, please. Wardell told the deputies he lived in New Mexico. They didn’t know about the car registration.”

“
Sure thing. I’ll check ’em both.” With a bounce in his step, Solomon left Gordon’s office.

Laurie buzzed him.
“Charlotte Strickland from the
Mapleton Bee
would like a few minutes of your time.”

Gordon sighed.
“Concerning?” The duty officer routinely handled the press. If it was the false alarm at Daily Bread, in all probability the whole town knew about it already.

“
She wants to get a personal interest story. What it’s like to run into a burning building to save someone.”

And fail, Gordon thought.
“Firefighters do it all the time. Why doesn’t she interview one of them?”

“
Because they’re trained to do it, Chief Hepler.” Charlotte Strickland pushed her way into his office, an apologetic Laurie at her heels. Gordon gave Laurie an understanding nod. Doors had no meaning for Ms. Strickland.

Gordon made a point of looking at his watch.
“I have ten minutes, Ms. Strickland. What do you want to know?”

She turned, apparently making sure Laurie had left.
“It’s not about me, Chief Hepler. It’s what my readers want to know.”

Readers, ha! No, it
was
about her. The woman’s idea of reporting the news seemed to be more of a path to insider information that gave her a sense of superiority. He’d bet she had been one of those kids who chanted, “I know something you don’t know” on the playground.

“
What did it
feel
like?” she asked, her cheeks turning pink, her eyes glistening behind the large black frames of her glasses. “I want more than cold, dry facts. Why did you decide to rush into the fires of hell instead of waiting for the firefighters?”

He scowled. Politely, he hoped, but it was still a scowl.
“First, let me make it clear. It was
not
a blazing inferno. The fire had just started, and the innkeeper’s wife told me her husband was inside. In a rural area, in bad weather, you can’t be sure what the firefighters’ response time will be, so it seemed prudent to attempt the rescue forthwith.”

“
But it didn’t matter, did it?” she asked. “He died anyway, and he wasn’t even the man you were looking for. According to my sources, he was some vagrant. Some homeless guy.”

He narrowed his eyes.
“It’s about trying, Ms. Strickland. Of course I wish I’d have been in time, but there were extenuating circumstances. Even if I’d been aware of them, I’d still have done what I could. We take an oath to protect, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a firefighter, a paramedic, or a law enforcement officer. It doesn’t matter if someone is rich or poor. We do our jobs. It’s part of who we are.” He wondered what her attitude would be if she knew the man had been drunk when he died.

And he wondered who her sources were, although she delighted in being part of the press, saying she would
never
reveal them. He wondered if Angie might be able to pump Charlotte Strickland when she stopped at Daily Bread for her afternoon coffee, which, Gordon suspected, was
where
she found her
sources.
She wouldn’t name anyone outright, of course, but she might drop a few hints as she gloated about her latest stories.

He looked at his watch again.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Strickland, but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

“
One more question, please,” she said. “What progress have you made into the burglary at Angie Mead’s home? Mapleton residents have a right to know if they’re in danger.”

He shifted into full-fledged PR mode.
“At this time, all possible measures are being taken to identify a suspect. You must know by now that we don’t give out information regarding ongoing investigations.”

She shrugged and gave a half smile, as if to say it was worth a try.
“Thanks for your time, Chief Hepler.”

He waited for her to leave, gave her enough time to get out of the building. Or was she looking for another cop to interview? He buzzed Laurie.
“She still in the station?”

“
That’s correct,” Laurie said in her most professional tone.

“
She’s standing at your desk, isn’t she?”

“
That’s also correct. Shall I bring you the notes for your meeting, sir?”

“
Um, yes, please.” Of course Laurie knew his
meeting
was his standard ten o’clock break at Daily Bread. But if he headed straight over, Charlotte Strickland would likely follow him and get her knickers in a twist when she discovered he’d blown her off. No telling how she’d spin the story in that case.

A quick tap on the door, and Laurie entered carrying a green file folder.
“Thanks for bailing me out,” Gordon said. “I’m seriously considering suggesting—
strongly
suggesting—that the budget include hiring a PIO. You think if I tell the Town Council that I’m liable to do more harm than good to the image of Mapleton when I talk to the press, that they’ll go for it?”

She dropped the file folder on his desk.
“Public Information Officer, huh? Since the shake-up on the council, there’s some fresh blood on the board. New points of view. Maybe you can use the ‘all the big cities have them, and we don’t want to look like a hick town’ angle. They might be more receptive to that over the ‘I’m no good at a facet of my job’ angle.”

He chuckled.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached for the folder. “Anything important in here, or is it a dummy to get away from Charlotte Strickland?”

She slid it out from under his fingers and tipped it open. A pink message slip was clipped to several sheets of paper.
“Both. Maybe. The papers are copies of your schedule. I needed something official-looking. The phone message is from the fire department in Tranquility Valley. I don’t know if it’s important. And Charlotte Strickland is gone.”

“
I owe you. Again.”

She grinned.
“Keep saying that. And thanks again for the flowers and chocolate.”

With that, she left Gordon staring at the message slip. No name, just initials. LJ. The number led him to the firefighter who
’d been first on scene at the Yardumians’.

“
Thought you might want to know we got the preliminary word from the arson investigator.”

Gordon grabbed a pen from the mug on his desk.
“And?”

“
Arson is doubtful,” LJ said. “The victim was intoxicated, a smoker, and a drinker. There were two open bottles of whisky in the middle of the floor.”

Gordon wondered if those were what he
’d heard fall over when he was in the cabin—and if he’d exacerbated things by knocking them over where they might have added to the fire.

“
The investigator’s report is still inconclusive, but it gives two possibilities. One, spontaneous combustion of the rags caused the propane lantern to explode. Two, the victim dropped a cigarette or match too close to the rags with the same result. The cabin owner confirmed he’d been doing repairs and remodeling, had left rags, linseed oil, turpentine, paint, and stain in the cabin.”

“
Did they confirm the identity of the victim yet? Was it the owner of the cell phone?”

“
You’ll need to talk to the cops for that,” LJ said. “All I can address is the fire, and since you were involved, I thought I’d let you know.”

He thanked the man, then called the CBI and left a message for someone to get back to him if they
’d ID’d the fire victim. Gordon hung up and checked the clock. He figured it had been long enough to justify time spent at a meeting, and went to Daily Bread, only a little later than usual. Angie set a plate with a cinnamon roll on the counter with a decisive clunk, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“
Guess the security company called,” he muttered.

Vicky McDermott approached from the rear of the diner and slipped onto the stool next to his.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but I saw a Focus like the one from Finnegan’s.”

Gordon shifted his focus to Vicky McDermott.
“Where? You get the plate?”

With a smile, McDermott waved off Donna
’s offer of coffee. “Too much coffee is why I had to stop in here to begin with.” She swiveled her stool so she faced Gordon. “I called it in. Can’t even be sure it’s the same car. Figured I had time for a quick pit stop while I waited for the results, and then I saw you.”

Gordon let Donna fill his mug—a second cup of the real stuff couldn
’t hurt that much could it? He promised himself he’d only drink half. “So, where was the car?” he asked McDermott.

“
In the Park and Ride lot.”

A commuter? Or someone who thought a car would be unnoticed there? Not in Mapleton. The lot had been a point of contention when it was established, and to ensure Mapleton residents their vehicles would be safe, officers patrolled the lot regularly.
“Let me know as soon as the plate comes back.”

“
Will do, Chief.” She hopped off the stool and stepped to the door.

Angie hadn
’t reappeared from the kitchen. Gordon finished half his cinnamon roll and asked for a bag for the rest. They’d talk tonight. Maybe the earrings would smooth things over.

At the station, Gordon went straight to Dispatch.
“What did you get on the Ford Focus plate McDermott called in?”

Tessa clicked a couple of keys and the printer whirred.
“Came back to an Avery Lambert. No wants, no warrants. Properly insured.”

Which was all a routine check would give her.
“Don’t suppose you’ve met him?” Gordon asked. Between her church, volunteering, and having an ear on what went on in Mapleton, Tessa knew—or knew of—half the town.

She shook her head.
“Nope. Can’t say that I have. But I did check the property rolls. He moved in six weeks ago. Lives out on the far end of Ash. I’ve got a printout of the details. Figured you’d want ’em.” Tessa snagged the pages from the printer and extended them.

“
Thanks.” On the stroll to his office, Gordon mulled over what Tessa had said. A local, even a new one, didn’t fit the theory that their burglar was a stranger passing through. He sat down and fetched his readers, perused the forms. Lambert’s date of birth put him in his late forties. Not likely to be an old flame of Angie’s. But he could ask if she knew him.

New in town, wanting to meet people, perhaps? No reason why he couldn
’t have stopped at Finnegan’s the other night. Maybe Mick Finnegan knew more about him. If Lambert’s prints were on file anywhere, Solomon would have gotten a hit. But that didn’t mean the prints weren’t his.

Gordon couldn
’t justify printing Lambert. Or his car, for that matter. He ran the guy through the social network sites. According to LinkedIn, an Avery Lambert lived in Colorado and worked for a security firm in Denver. If this was Mapleton’s Avery Lambert, it made sense that his car could be in the Park and Ride lot.

Gordon added Lambert
’s name to his notes, but as a low priority. Anyone who knew anything about security would have found a much smarter way into Angie’s apartment. Of course, he might have staged the whole thing to prove that Angie
needed
a security system, but then you’d think he’d have approached her to offer his services. Which, Gordon supposed, might have happened. And if it had, Angie would have told Lambert she’d found another company.

You are going way out there. Get your brain in the game.

The Focus was only one of the unidentified vehicles from Finnegan’s security camera. And his officers had eyes out for all three of them.

He checked his email and found a message from the CBI in his inbox. Their fire victim had been identified. Gordon clicked open the attachment and hit print. He set the printout on his desk, adjusted his readers, and pored over the new information.

Their victim was one Jase Blackhawk. Gordon rechecked his notes. Yes, it was the cell phone’s owner. No known address. Next of kin had reported he’d been in and out of shelters and halfway houses for years, but didn’t stay long because of their strict no alcohol policies. He liked wandering around the countryside. They confirmed he was a smoker. Didn’t do drugs, which agreed with what the doctor had said.

The rest of the pages listed his arrests, which were numerous, but nothing related to arson. Some shoplifting, some vagrancy. In five states. Everything pointed to the guy seeing the unlocked cabin at the Yardumians
’ and making himself at home.

Of course, seeing the light from the road was unlikely, but if the guy liked to wander, he might not stick to main roads. According to the report, the Yardumians had never heard of him.

Sometimes the pieces you found didn’t fit any of the puzzles.

He emailed a thank you, asked to be included if they found anything else, and stuck the papers into a file folder.

He looked at his notes, the documents he’d started on vacation. Time to look at the big picture. Or maybe it was nothing more than lots of little pictures. He went to the storage room and wheeled the white board to his office. He divided the board into four quadrants. At the top left, he wrote
Angie.
Next to that,
Wardell.
In the box under Wardell’s, he wrote
Uncle
and put
Pickup/Homicide
into the last one. He stepped back, studied what he’d written. Should he have included the fire? No, he decided. That one seemed cut and dried. An unfortunate accident.

What about his missing memory card? He wrote that at the bottom corner of Wardell
’s box. He started timelines in each box, added names and sticky notes with details.

One at a time. His vested interest was in Angie
’s case because it happened in his jurisdiction. He taped the three pictures of the vehicles in Finnegan’s parking lot, adding Lambert’s name to the Focus. With a big question mark. They still couldn’t definitively place him at Finnegan’s, since they didn’t have a clear view of the plate. It’s not like Lambert drove the only Focus in Mapleton. But, Gordon reminded himself, according to his theory, they were looking for a Focus that
didn’t
belong to someone in Mapleton.

Solomon showed up as Gordon was moving on to the pickup homicide.
“Hey, Chief. I’ve—” He stopped. Saw the white board. Moved closer. “Excellent.”

“
I wouldn’t go that far,” Gordon said. “I thought seeing everything would help, but there’s not enough information. It’s not like we can go out and question people all over the state of Colorado. I guess we should stick to finding out who set off the fire alarm and burglarized Angie’s place.”

“
No harm in keeping the others up there,” Solomon said. “We might think of the right question, or find the right clue—which, of course, we’d relay to the proper jurisdiction.” Solomon moved closer to the board. “Lambert? His Focus? Who’s he?”

“
Apparently someone new to Mapleton.” Gordon explained what they’d learned about the man. “I was going to call Mick and see if he’s becoming a regular. If Mick remembers whether Lambert was at the bar that night.”

“
I haven’t had a lunch break,” Solomon said. “I could go ask. Now that you’re handling all the chief stuff.”

“
Sure, go ahead,” Gordon said. “I’ll stay here and do chief stuff and see if I can fill in any more blanks on the board.”

Chief stuff kept Gordon busy until almost three. He wondered if he could work something into the budget to pay someone to work on grant applications. Or get a grant to hire someone to work on grant applications. Solomon popped his head in.
“I’m on my way out. Now that I’ve seen how the other half operates, I’m not going to ask for overtime. I didn’t realize how close to the bone the department works.”

“
Did you talk to Mick Finnegan?” Gordon asked.

“
Yeah. Meant to call you, but I got busy doing cop stuff.”

Gordon smiled.
“I’ll be looking at your reports, you know.”

“
All right. Sneak preview. Three traffic stops, six parking tickets, two rowdy teenagers—”

“
And a partridge in a pear tree,” Gordon said.

Solomon chortled.
“More or less. At first, Mick didn’t have a face to put with Lambert’s name, but checking his receipts refreshed his memory. And yes, Avery Lambert was there that night. Guy’s come in a few times, usually alone. That night, he was with a woman Mick assumed was his wife. Dinner, a couple of drinks. Fits the time stamp on the security footage. Figured that was enough to write him off as a burglary suspect.”

Gordon agreed. But he didn
’t get rid of the guy’s name on the white board.

“
See you tomorrow,” Solomon said.

Gordon figured he
’d pop in to the change of shift roll call. He took one more look at his white board, then went down the hall to the briefing room.

Where he found Jost and Gaubatz engaged in a heated conversation.