Strolling past the front of the desk, Sam’s finger flipped open a file folder. It was hers.
“Sergeant Casey?” Murphy closed the door behind him and looked at the folder.
“Just making sure my name was spelled right.” Sam’s first impression of Murphy when she had seen him at Preston’s hadn’t changed. He looked like a used-car salesman from his all-tooth, fake smile to his picture-perfect hair.
Murphy extended his hand to her. “Welcome aboard, Sergeant. Although I expected you sooner.” He glanced at her choice in jewelry.
Sam’s smile was just as fake as she grasped his hand firmly. “I was preempted by a homicide.” She released her grip quickly. So far, there were no quizzical stares, no have we met before questions. “Chief Connelley did tell you I work alone.”
Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re on my turf now, Sergeant. You work with whomever I say.” Murphy raised his hand toward a figure in the outer office.
Lieutenant Anderson was in charge of the homicide unit at Six. He was a human Cabbage Patch doll with batteries. His pudgy cheeks were a permanent flush pink and his stomach looked a few weeks shy of eight months pregnant. Papers flew off of desks as he rushed to Murphy’s office. Mick didn’t have a low gear. Murphy made the introductions.
“Ready for your tour, Sergeant?” Mick asked.
After a half-hour of shaking hands and constantly checking over her shoulder for Jake and Frank, Sam was led to her twelve- by-eighteen-foot office. At least it had windows.
She surveyed her office walls with their numerous nail holes and immediately missed her wallpapered office and hanging plants. Her finger made a trail through the dust on the surface of the wooden desk. After making a mental note to bring in some plants from home, she cranked open one of the windows. Two mourning doves looked up at her curiously. She made another mental note to bring sunflower seeds for her two friends.
Murphy breezed past Sam’s door. He didn’t look Sam’s way, didn’t pause with a sudden hint of recollection. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she had nothing to worry about.
Chapter 12
Preston took a long swallow of his Bloody Mary. He leaned back in the throne-high chair in the living room, the evening paper spread out in front of him. He read the latest article on the body found in the overpass. The update wasn’t detailed enough for him. He dialed Murphy’s home phone.
“Any news yet?… Is your medical examiner done with the autopsy yet?… Keep me updated.”
Preston hung up the phone. He scanned the pictures and plaques on the walls. Having served as state representative for twenty years, he was retiring and entertaining the idea of something more powerful, more prestigious. His name had been touted around as a possible running mate for Governor Avery Meacham, seeing as how Lieutenant Governor Arthur Ashburn was returning to private law practice, a decision prompted by his wife’s ill health.
Juanita knocked on the door. “You have a guest.”
Trailing behind her was a bulk of a man who looked put together by spare parts. His features seemed to have been rearranged on more than one occasion. His head and neck were the same width… a tree trunk with ears. And he walked with a rolling gait, as if his legs hadn’t come off the same assembly line.
Cain Valenzio, a former boxer, had street smarts and connections — two attributes in his favor. More than twenty years before, an unknown informant had passed him an envelope containing ten thousand dollars. All he had to do was follow Loren Stuble around for a week and take pictures. Loren Stuble had been Preston’s opponent in the race for state representative. Stuble was the incumbent, very popular with the voters and far ahead in the polls. The pictures were of Stuble with a prostitute in a motel in Lansing, Illinois.
Somehow the newspapers received copies of the pictures. It cost Stuble the election. Preston had been more than satisfied with Cain’s work over the years.
“Thank you for flying in so quickly.” Preston ushered Cain to the sofa and offered him a drink.
“I read the newspaper in the airport.” Cain’s voice was thick and cottony.
“An unfortunate incident, but things do happen.”
“Will you be all right?”
Preston handed Cain a scotch on the rocks. “I’m fine.” Preston returned to his throne seat. “I have people on top of it who will let me know the developments. That’s why I want you close by.” Preston studied Cain’s calm demeanor. “You are probably the only person I truly trust.”
Cain’s fingers started to twitch, just like before a big boxing match. He smiled slightly, revealing too many teeth even for his size mouth. And they were going in different directions.
“I’m here for as long as you need me.”
Chapter 13
The dishwasher hummed silently. Sam sat at the kitchen table deep in thought. The kitchen was large and airy with terra cotta tiled floors and light oak cabinets.
Sam’s mother, Abby Two Eagles, stood at the island counter in a long skirt and colorful blouse, her dark hair hanging in a long braid down her back. Abby poured hot water into two cups, placed a cup of tea in front of Sam, then gently stroked her daughter’s hair.
“Something is bothering you.”
Sam blew at the steam wafting up from the cup. “It’s nothing. I’m just stinging from my transfer to the hell hole on the lake.”
“Hmmm. Nothing more?”
Abby kissed the top of Sam’s head and with her Indian Country Today newspaper from South Dakota tucked under one arm, went upstairs to bed.
Sam placed the pictures on the table in front of her. Tim Miesner, the town geek, had dropped them off earlier. With an I.Q. of one-eighty-five, Tim’s interests were mainly in computers and the latest technology rather than in sports and girls. Developing Sam’s film and inventing listening devices immune to scramblers were more exciting than a homecoming dance.
The letters Preston had in his safe were interesting but vague — some from other state reps offering support for various bills in exchange for his endorsement of road projects, social reform — all cleverly worded so as not to sound suspicious.
She had given Tim the printout of Preston’s menu screen but ordered him to study for his finals first. What intrigued her most, what she regretted not taking a picture of, was the pin Preston had in his safe, the one that was a possible match to the one found on a body that had spent its last twenty-one years holding up an overpass on the Bishop Ford Freeway.
The pictures were all starting to blend together. She pressed her fingertips to her head and massaged her temples. Maybe in the morning things might make sense.
She shoved the photos to one side, grabbed her cup of tea, and walked out onto the patio. The landscaping lights flooded the darkened yard with a warm white glow.
She pulled on a sweatshirt over her thin shirt to ward off the damp chill brought earlier by a moving storm front. Uneasiness crept into the back of her throat. Jake had not asked questions, nothing to indicate he knew beyond a doubt that she was at Preston’s Saturday night. Maybe he didn’t recognize her or maybe he just wasn’t sure.
But a nagging voice told her he was a panther, lurking in the bushes, waiting for the right time. She again cursed herself for not being more patient. It was too late now. There wasn’t anything she could do to change what had happened.
