Chapter 8

There were still several hours left to the afternoon, so I headed down to the bakery for a brownie and a coffee and invited Greta to join me. Liz asked if she could tag along, to which we readily agreed. In the bakery, I was surprised to find Denny on duty and Nora Galin at my favorite corner table.

“How come you’re still here?” I asked Denny.

“I traded shifts with Barney so I could go to the Commission meeting.”

“Oh, well, good for you. And good for him. I see your attorney is still here. Is she waiting for you?”

“No. I think she wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, really?”

Greta and Liz had been privy to my conversation with Denny and Greta called to Galin, “You need a refill, or a brownie?”

“My coffee’s fine, but you’ve talked me into a brownie,” Galin replied.

I said to Denny, “Give me two brownies, por favor.”

“Pour what?” Denny said.

“Don’t give me that,” I came back. “I know you studied Romulan in college.”

I told the women I’d pay, and they took their orders and headed to the table. I settled up with Denny, grabbed my coffee and the two brownies, and followed them.

When I got to the table, Liz was saying to Nora Galin, “No, none of that turned out like we’d expected when we were talking on Monday. Except I wonder if Chet didn’t see it coming.” She turned to me, “What do you think?”

I gave her an eyebrow raise as I set a brownie in front of Nora and set my stuff down in front of the open chair. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to see the emails,” I said, “or join in on my call with Nora.”

“Why would he do that?” Greta asked, as I sat down.

“So he could honestly say that he didn’t know what was going down,” I suggested, “else the whole thing would have seemed self-serving, just a ploy to get him Burt’s job.”

Nora said, “That sounds like something of a long shot on Chet’s part.”

“Oh, no, the fix was in,” I replied. “Commissioner Alcivar had already heard that Chet might be a good replacement should something ever happen to Burt. And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if maybe Margaret Deveaux didn’t mention something similar to Commissioner Cleary.”

Then I turned to Nora, “So, you ratted me out to the State Police. Just see if I ever give you insider information again.”

“I told you I was going to discuss it with my Dad. He said I had to report it. He was ready to jump in if you got into any sort of trouble. The fact that you consulted an attorney to seek legal advice as soon as you discovered the bribery was in your favor and the state cops never even made noises about you, once they understood you and Liz were the whistle-blowers. In fact, Sergeant Poitier was almost gleeful that he had such solid and articulate witnesses. He had the state’s attorney eating it up by close of business on Monday.”

“Yeah, it felt pretty damn sudden,” I agreed. “One minute I was standing with an unlit match in my fingers, the next minute, the whole house had burned down around me.” Then I looked at her. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? Denny said you had waited to see me.”

“Sort of. It wasn’t anything specific. I just felt a bit guilty for how things seemed to spin out of control with you dropped into the middle of it, and me being the cause.”

I shrugged and gave my head an abbreviated shake. “I wouldn’t say you were the cause. Pretty much my own curiosity was the cause, or maybe it was Burt’s and Babbitt’s oddly aggressive moves. You may have helped put up the circus’s Big Top, but you certainly weren’t the ringmaster. Besides, I knew there was a risk of things getting out of hand. That’s why I called an attorney to begin with: I wanted things handled according to the law, whether it suited our purposes or not. As it is, so far, things have been in our favor.”

Then I tilted my head toward Denny, busy cleaning counters in the kitchen. “But what about Denny? Do you still have a source for enough money for his new car?”

Her lips curved into a predatory smile. “Oh, yeah. Immediately after being assured that Karen Osgood had been taken into custody, I filed suit against MH Unlimited. I figure that, if we let them off the hook for about a hundred grand, their insurance will cough it up without much complaint.”

“A hundred grand?” Greta exclaimed. “That’s a pretty heavy turn-around in Denny’s status, all of a sudden.”

“Actually,” Nora responded, “thirty thousand of that will be going to me and to my Dad’s partnership. Then figure twenty to thirty thousand for a decent winter vehicle, and Denny could use the rest for a down payment on a small condo.”

“Or a jet boat,” Greta said, her eyes gleaming, but with a grin tugging at her lips.

“Still see yourself sunbathing on the front deck of one of those?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she acknowledged. “That darned Tate won’t do anything with his boat except to go fishing, and going fishing with him is the only thing I know that is more boring than his fishing stories, as incredible as that may seem.”

I nodded. “Like I’ve always said, my most important piece of fishing equipment is a good book.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, like you’ve always said, time after time after time,” Greta groused. “You’re as boring as one of Tate’s fish tales.”

I said to Galen, “We need to get back to work, but could I see you in my office for a minute?” Greta gave me a frown over Nora’s shoulder. I returned a nearly imperceptible head shake.

As the four of us exited the bakery, Nora called to Denny, “I’ll phone you next Thursday, or the minute I hear anything from MH Unlimited.”

Denny was mopping the kitchen floor and came to the door. “Okay, thanks a million, Nora. I’ll talk to you next week.”

When we reached my office, I closed the door and invited Nora to take a seat at my work table.

As she pulled out a chair, she asked, “What’s up?”

I sat down opposite her and said, “It’s something of a personal matter. It’s not exactly my business, and I apologize for asking, but have you and Denny developed a personal relationship? I mean, beyond what might be called a professional friendliness between a lawyer and client?”

She was silent, and just looked at me, as her forehead slowly wrinkled into an inquisitive frown. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, these things happen and I don’t want any problems for you or Denny that would prove awkward.”

She looked at me once more, again showing some perplexity. Finally, she shook her head and said, “There is no personal relationship, not beyond my professional role. Why? Has Denny said something?”

“No, not at all. I just know that there is often a degree of transference when a professional, in the course of demonstrating routine respect and concern for a client, becomes romanticized in the client’s perspective. It happens fairly frequently in psychotherapeutic settings, and we have to watch out for it in our work, because it can derail the therapy and, even worse, it can also ensnare the therapist.”

With a hazy look of amusement, she said, “No, nothing like that’s happened, not to my notice, anyway. Denny’s emotions seemed muted to me and what attachments he mentions seems mostly directed to his sister and his parents.”

“Okay. I just wanted to be cautious.”

As she stood up, she asked, “You all must be relieved, with Burt crashing and burning. Are you planning to celebrate this weekend?”

“After a fashion. Greta and Emily are taking the Vinley Act training in Kingston, tomorrow and Saturday. Tate Plummer may take it, as well, so his wife, Louise, will be along. We’re planning to go over to the Embassy Suites tonight, and spend the weekend. Since most of their business is from commercial travelers, they usually have reduced rates on the weekend.”

“Ooh, is that he one with the waterfall in the atrium?”

“Exactly. Which is where I plan to spend my days. Between their swimming pool, the breakfast buffet, and the water features in the atrium, with a cold drink in one hand and a book in the other, I’ll be as close to heaven as I can get, this side of the veil.”

“What about Missus Plummer? Won’t she demand you entertain her?”

“I told her I was bringing a couple books and a big bag of M and Ms, and I didn’t plan to share either. She said she wanted to do some shopping, so I was spared a fate worse than death.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“It’s the weekend. I’m off the clock.”

Kingston was about five hours via the Interstate. We left right after work, in two cars. The women rode in Emily’s Audi and Tate and I rode in the department’s Tahoe, as this was official training and he didn’t want to embarrass the Coldwater County Sheriff’s Department by driving the decrepit Crown Vic.

With two vehicles in Kingston, both the training group and the idlers would have transportation. That meant that Louise would get to drive the Audi, which I was sure was going to spoil her for the four-year-old Chevy Malibu that was the Plummer’s family car, not counting Tate’s nine-year-old F-150 crew cab. Louise planned to visit every store at an outlet mall south of Kingston.

I’d noticed the Femarole box in my catch-all tray on top my dresser and I’d slipped it into my pocket. Now, as we descended out of the Embargos toward Plattsburg, I twisted in the Tahoe’s seat belts and pulled the box out of my hip pocket. The movement had caught Tate’s attention and he was watching me from the corner of his eye as I settled back into place.

“What’s that? A deck of cards?”

I held the box up near the windshield, where he could glance at it without losing sight of the interstate. I said, “It’s a box from a home pregnancy test called Femarole. I found it in this car the other day when you drove us to the airport. It was wedged between the passenger seat and the center console and got dragged out when Liz passed me that subpoena.”

He glanced at it a second time but didn’t say anything. I put the box into an open storage compartment between the front seats where he could reach it, adding, “It just seemed an odd thing to find in a police car.”

He turned, briefly, to look at me, then turned his eyes back to the road.

After about ten minutes of silence, he said, “Why does it seem odd?”

“Why was someone handling a pregnancy test in a police car?”

“What? You think someone was peeing on a test strip in the cruiser?”

“No, I think someone either opened a new test strip here and carried the strip somewhere else to pee on, or they carried a used test strip in the box and removed it here in the car, or some variation thereof.”

After a moment he sighed, then said, “Evelyn?”

I shrugged and said, “Evelyn seems the likeliest candidate, given the circumstances.”

He said, “Fuck!”

He went back to staring at the road and the taillights of Emily’s car a few hundred yards ahead of us. After a minute, he asked, “What do you imagine?”

“Well, unless someone else was known to drive this cruiser, I imagine Evelyn sitting here and showing the positive test strip to John, confirming that she was pregnant.”

“Why would she tell John?”

“Maybe ‘cause Nick wouldn’t talk to her. Maybe to put pressure on John for some purpose. Maybe just to brag. But we know that Nick and Evelyn still got together to bump uglies now and then, so...”

“That’s weak. Besides, we don’t know it for sure.”

“You asked.” After a moment, I said, “But why is it weak? Do you have a better explanation?”

He thought for a hew seconds, then said, “Yeah. The window was open and it blew into the car when it was parked at Wally World.”

I scoffed. “Except the box is pristine and John would never leave the vehicle with its window open.”

“I didn’t say it was a good explanation, just that it was better than yours.”

“Evelyn was John’s sister-in-law.”

“Ex-sister-in-law.”

“I said ‘was’.”

“Let’s say you’re right. Evelyn shows John she’s pregnant. Then what?”

“Hey, I’m not arguing for that scenario. You just wanted me to suggest a possibility, so I did. It’s not a theory, it’s an example, a potential supposition, idle conjecture, maybe just a silly wild-ass guess.”

“Bullshit. If it was a guess, you’d have said it was a guess. I’m not buyin’ it. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” He sounded petulant.

“And what? Are you saying thinking about it somehow betrays you? Because, let me tell you, you have not been very easy to talk to lately, when you were even willing to talk at all. And certainly not about anything having to do with John Durkee. You’ve been in a snit ever since he registered for the election.”

“Fuck that, Gary,” he said, turning his angry face toward me for a second. “How would you like it if one of your closest friends suddenly just cut off ... all...” His anger changed to resentment as the impact of his own behavior toward me finally dawned on him. He snarled, “Fuck you, Gary. Now you can get all smug and self-righteous on me.”

I looked over toward him and shook my head. “Tate, you need to get over yourself. You’re acting like the first guy who’s ever been betrayed by a trusted friend. In reality, it’s the stuff of legend. Consider, for example, Marcus Junius Brutus, Judas Iscariot, and Benedict Arnold, or Aldrich Ames, and Robert Hansen, for two, more contemporary examples.”

He gave me a quick glance from the corner of his eye and sat there brooding for a minute. Finally he said, “How come you know Brutus’s middle name, but not the others’?”

“Because he not only betrayed Caesar, but he literally stabbed him in the back. The FBI always adds the middle name on its Ten Most Wanted list. You’re a friggin’ cop. I thought you would have known that.”

“Is that why we don’t know Chef Boyardee’s first name?”

“Apparently, you don’t even know his real name.”

“What are you talking about? I just said it: Boyardee.”

“Spelled B-O-Y-A-R-D-E-E?”

“Yeah. How would you spell it?”

“B-O-I-A-R-D-I, the name of the chef who invented the sauce at an Italian restaurant in Cleveland, Ohio, back in the nineteen-twenties. When he began to sell the sauce as a separate product, he invented the modified spelling to make it easier to pronounce for the American market.”

Tate turned to me, his face contorted with exaggerated skepticism. “Now why in the hell would you know something like that?”

As he turned back to the windshield, I shrugged. “I don’t know; that’s just how my mind works.”

“Which is always how you win at Trivial Pursuit.”

I shook my head. “I can’t take any credit for it, I was born this way.”

“You were born with the urge to read about the history of canned spaghetti?”

“So I’m easily distracted. I was probably reading about the history of food canning or something.”

“Oh, well, that makes perfect sense then. I was just reading about the history of whale oil lamps the other day. Did you know that whale oil came from whales?”

“I did, but do you know which whale oil brand had the biggest US market share in the middle of the nineteenth century?”

He glanced at me, mouth agape. “Are you effing kidding me? You know which whale oil brand name was the biggest?”

I shook my head. “No, no idea, but your mention of the whale oil market made me curious. Now I’m going to have to look it up.”

“You’re still weak in the Trivial Pursuit sports category. I can walk all over you in that slice of the pie.”

“True enough, but I always seem to get lucky in that category and get asked for some odd thing that I happen to know. For instance, I can tell you what they call the broom they use to sweep the ice in curling.”

“You can? What?”

“A broom. Or a brush. You can look it up.”

“Asshole.”

“Says the guy who only knows the sports category.”

He stared out the windshield again and I said, “Want me to drive for a while?”

“You’re not allowed to operate a police vehicle.”

“But as a county employee I am allowed to operate county vehicles and, since we are no longer in Coldwater County, this is no longer an official police vehicle.” I was just making it up to annoy him.

“Forget it. That’s not how it works. Besides, I know that the first thing you’d do would be to turn on the lights and siren. Ain’t gonna happen. Why don’t you tell me what you think about the pregnancy test box, instead.”

OK, he turned us serious, again. I took in a deep breath and let it out, then said, “I’ve tried to put it together in different ways, but I’m left with the most likely scenario being Evelyn showing the positive pregnancy test to John.” Then I shrugged. “However, there’s a dozen other explanations that could cover it, including more people, fewer people, and different people altogether. I’m just giving you what I believe to be the Occam’s Razor version.”

He was quiet for nearly half a minute, then he said, “So then, Occam, what went on in your scenario?” except he put a mocking twist to it.

I said, “Look, I realize your best friend shit all over you but why do you think that makes it okay to crap all over me?”

“What are you talking about? I’m just kidding, like we always do.”

“Tate, I haven’t heard a friendly word out of you for weeks. If you haven’t been sulking in silence, you’ve been abrupt and snarky. If you’re treating other people like this, then you won’t have to worry about being re-elected. Or is that what you’re trying to...” And I had an unexpected thought come to me. “Ah, shit. You’re afraid he’s going to beat you, aren’t you? You think John’s going to be elected sheriff and you’ll look like the worthless slab of cow plop that you think you are.”

He turned to glare at me and I shook my head. “Ah, fuck,” I said, half to myself. “This is a bigger effen problem than I thought. Jesus H. Christ, Tate, what the hell is the matter with you? When did you turn so chickenshit?”

But he didn’t reply. He just turned back to the highway, but the twisting grip he had on the steering wheel looked like he was trying to break it off. I looked out the side window, watching the wash of the headlights blur the passing grassy berm.

We rode in silence. At one point, I heard him sniff, but I didn’t look at him. If he was teary-eyed and was trying to hide it, I didn’t want to make it harder for him. He sniffed again, otherwise the silence continued.

After many long minutes he said, “I apologize. I have been rough on you. I had the feeling that a friend was just someone waiting for a chance to screw me. And that made sense because, in my estimation, I’m not worthy of friendship.” He sighed wearily and shook his head. “In effect, you were damned twice: once for planning to betray me and also for acting like I was worthy of your, uh ... regard.” He shook his head again and groaned, “Jesus, I am really fucking messed up.”

In an attempt to lighten his mood I said, “Yeah, but that’s not news to most of us.”

He looked at me, squinted, and said, “Eat shit.”

“I try to reassure you, and I get insults for my kindness?”

Eyes back on the road, he said, “You’re right. I apologize. Eat shit with a chewy, chocolaty center.”

“Sure,” I said, “and that sounds much more like a man worthy to wear the sheriff’s badge. Where do I vote?”

“Jeez, do you ever let up?”

“You’ve known me for almost five years. Can’t you answer that question yourself?”

“No. I can only say that you haven’t let up for five years, but I don’t know about ‘ever’.”

“We can explore it together.”

“Oh joy.”

There was silence, again, for a couple minutes. Then he asked, “Any conclusions from that box?”

I was looking out the door’s window, and didn’t turn my head, but I spoke loudly enough that he could hear me over the ambient wind, tire, and engine noise. “No, no conclusions, but some questions.” Now I turned toward him. “How likely is it that anyone besides John was driving this car?”

He shrugged. “Jerry’s had it a week or so.”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that.”

More silence, until I said, “Well, other considerations aside, and sticking with Occam’s Razor, my first guess would be that Evelyn showed John a positive pregnancy test, here, in this vehicle. Unless someone other than you, John, and Jerry have been driving this.”

He was quiet for a minute, then he said, “I think Wanda may have driven it once or twice.”

“Lately? I mean, before John resigned?”

He shrugged.

“How do you know she drove it?”

He said, “John asked if it would be okay. I don’t think it was a regular thing, just now and then.”

“I can feel Occam’s Razor getting dull.” I said. Then I sat, looking out the window, as more buildings and lights heralded our proximity to Kingston. After reflecting on the situation, I concluded, “In any case, there is a link between the sheriff’s department and a pregnancy test, because it seems likely that this test was handled in this patrol vehicle. Are there any other pregnancies you know of associated with your shop?”

“Nope.”

“That’s all I’ve got, at the moment,” I told him.

(Thursday, June 25)

FRIDAY, JUNE 26

They had fresh-made Belgian waffles at the breakfast bar and, with a choice of bacon, sausage patties, and ham, I selected all three.

Everyone else chose to waste their time sleeping in. Tate, Greta, and Emily were depending on the promised pastries and coffee at the training center at the state mental health offices. Louise came down with them, but only had tea and toast with me as I finished off a second waffle.

Surprisingly, she talked me into going shopping -- at a restaurant and kitchen supply warehouse. The store handled both new and used appliances, equipment, utensils, table- and glassware of every imaginable sort. It was even more fun than wandering around a big box building supply store, though it didn’t smell as good.

While I could have easily spent fifty grand, had I given my desires full rein, I limited myself to buying a couple non-stick skillets for the bakery, as I noticed the two they had were losing their non-stick coatings. That wear is typical of non-stick pans, especially fry-ware.

I watched Louise admire several six-burner stoves and then linger over an induction cooktop, but she ended up purchasing only a case of disposable pie pans.

We had lunch at an open-air seafood grill on the waterfront, then she dropped me off at the hotel before heading to the outlet mall.

I indulged in a nap, then went down to the atrium garden and sipped pina coladas while re-reading a Tony Hillerman novel about Navajo Tribal policemen Sergeant Jim Chee and ‘Legendary’ Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn.

My buzzing cell phone interrupted my reverie. The screen said it was Chet.

“Hey, Boss,” I answered.

“Gary, I’m sorry to bother you, but something bizarre has come up over there.”

“With my crew? I mean Greta and--”

“No, no. It’s nothing about them. Listen, I have Liz here with me. I’m going to put this on speaker.”

“‘Kay.”

“Hey, Gary,” said an anxious-sounding Liz Garrison.

“Liz? What’s up?”

Chet responded. “One of the Admin Services clerks is over there and has been arrested. Apparently she’s in the county jail, but on federal charges. It sounds like typical government absurdity. Tell him what happened, Liz.”

“Gary, you know Jenny Raab, who’s been working accounts receivable.”

“Yeah, sure. Are you saying Raab’s in jail, here in Kingston?”

“Yes. She’s over there for a training session with Bi-Omega Health Insurance. They’re the designated state administrator for Medicare and Medicaid billing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what they do, though they’re not that good at it.”

“Exactly,” Liz said. “That’s why we were so happy to finally have this training. They’ve been managing things, so to speak, for the past nine months, but getting guidance from them has been impossible, if not worse. We’ve pretty much had to figure out their system on our own. Turns out, we haven’t done too well.

“So Jenny goes over there, and apparently, as part of the training, just like at most such sessions, people from the various agencies were saying things like, ‘Oh, no, we’ve been doing it all wrong.’ Then Jenny asked about some of the coding, and she admitted that she’d been using the wrong codes, those that we were using last year, because we’d never received anything else. The Bi-Omega folks had brought along certain billing files from the agencies, and they dug out one of ours with the wrong codes, asking if this was one that Jenny had completed. She said it was and asked what to do to correct everything. They told her that they had a process lined up.

“Then, when they took the lunch break, some FBI agents came in and arrested a half dozen of the trainees for Medicare fraud, including Jenny! It wasn’t a training session at all! It was a sting! Those cocksuckers kept us confused for most of a year, and then they arrested folks for making honest mistakes and trying to figure out how to make things work.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of twisted assholes came up with that? They’ve been screwing us around since last October, and now we’re taking the fall for them?”

Chet said, “Yeah, well listen. Nora Galin’s on her way over there, but probably won’t arrive before twenty-hundred or so. In the meantime, can you go over to the jail and see if you can visit Jenny, just to reassure her?”

Liz said, “She was crying her eyes out when she called me. She’s never had anything like this happen. See if you can find out about bail or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. No problem. I’ll head out right away. Which of you should I call back?”

“Make it Liz. She can fill me in. Miz Galin will be keeping me posted, too.”

“You’ll have your cell, Liz?”

“Yeah, use that number.”

“Alright, I’ll call after I’ve seen her or if something else of note comes up.”

“Fine. Thanks, Gary.”

“I appreciate it, too,” Chet said

“Forget it. I just hope I don’t get locked up in the process. I better get going.”

It was like in the movies: a row of thick acrylic windows, dulled with myriad scratches, looking through a wall into another room, with bolted-down plastic chairs and telephone receivers on each side of every window. Three other visitors were seated at other places among the dozen windows.

I’d been advised that non-attorney visits with new prisoners were limited to ten minutes.

Jenny Raab came in wearing a too-large gray-green jumpsuit as she made her way to window number 4. Her tear-tracked face went from anxious to puzzled to relieved when she saw me seated on the other side, telephone receiver to ear.

She picked up the phone on her side and sniffed, “Gary? What are you doing here?”

“I was in town on other business and Liz and Chet called me and told me what happened. I told them I’d come to see you. There’s also a lawyer on the way, a lady named Nora Galin. You’ll like her.

“Now tell me: have you been hurt in any way? Has anyone attacked you or threatened you?”

“Uh, no. Nobody’s hurt me. It’s not been like that. I’m in a cell that’s more like a dormitory room. I’m with three of the other girls who were at the training.

“But, Gary, this is just stupid. I wasn’t trying to defraud anyone. None of us were.”

“I know that, everybody knows that. I’d bet a month’s pay that even Bi-Omega and the feds know that. This is all some ridiculous over-reaction to something that wasn’t even your fault. I’m sure it will be straightened out, I’m just not sure how or when that will finally happen, but it won’t involve you being in jail beyond the arraignment.”

“Well, hell,” she said, “if an experienced con like you don’t know nothin’, then what the hell good are you to me and my gang?” A grin briefly stretched her lips. I think that effort at humor encouraged me more than it did her.

“Now just hold on,” I said. “I did learn something from my one night in jail. If you want to be able to tell good stories about this experience when you’re back home, you need to pay attention to everything, from the color of the paint, to the taste of the food. I went all cry-baby when I was in the slammer, and later I had trouble coming up with details to enhance my stories. And I was just in that podunk slammer we have in Leaufroide. You’re in the big house.”

Her brief rally appeared to collapse. She sniffed. “I don’t know what I’m gonna tell my Mama.”

“Do you still live with her?”

“No. She lives in Limekiln, across the street from the Jenners. Missus Jenner has told my Ma all about how you help them with Richard.”

“Is your mother the lady that stands out on her front lawn and gives me the finger and shouts obscenities when I’m out at the Jenners?” I made that up out of whole cloth; no such thing ever took place.

She actually laughed. “No, that’s probably Missus Peters who lives next door. She says she was a hippie in the old days.”

“What an interesting neighborhood. I’m sure no one will even say anything regarding your convict status, least of all your mother. Should I ask Liz to call her?”