I had to refrain from throwing my arms around solid, reliable Jan. It
had to have been Andrea. She must've bought the purse the same day she
had the run-in with Kerry Richardson at Dress You Up.
'And this woman bought the Esprit purse we've been talking about?' I
asked.
'I have no idea. I just remember the thing about the security
guard.'
'What about the woman who bought the purse? Was she about thirty-five?
Brown shoulder-length hair? About my height?' I was doing my best to
describe Andrea, whose appearance was most notable for being
nondescript.
Jan shook her head. 'I don't know. Like I said, I just remember that
conversation. Maybe if I saw her picture '
I dashed back to my car and drove over to Northeast Precinct. It was
only a couple of miles, but pesky things like lights, cats, and
frolicking children kept getting in the way of my car. The forty
minutes it took me to print Andrea's booking photo from X-imaging and
take it back to Jan felt like an eternity.
Jan looked carefully at Andrea's picture and said, 'Yeah, I think
that's the woman. I remember her now.' It wasn't the best ID in the
world, but it was a hell of lot more than I had a few days ago.
I was too excited to go home to my usual routine, so I picked up Vinnie
for a visit to Dad's. In the car, I checked my cell for messages.
There were two from Chuck. I'd been avoiding him since the shit hit
the fan in Duncan's office. Hell, I had to face him eventually. I
left a message to meet me at Dad's if he felt like it.
Dad was so happy to see me he didn't even complain about Vinnie tagging
along.
Going to Dad's is a major treat for Vinnie. Dad's yard is large enough
that there were still some bushes that Vinnie hadn't managed to pee on
yet. Vinnie would sniff around back, seeking out unsoiled ones to
violate. Add the Milk Bones that Dad keeps around to control Vinnie's
breath, and Dad's house was the Vinnie equivalent of a Yankees-Mets
game.
By the time Chuck showed up, Dad and I had fed Vinnie, gone to the
market for the 'grocks' as Dad called them, and put a dish of baked pen
ne in the oven.
Dad took great pleasure announcing Chuck's arrival before he headed
back to the kitchen. 'Sam, your man's here and he's got wine.'
Chuck was lingering by the door. As I went to kiss his cheek, he
grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me close. I couldn't tell
if he noticed that my response was awkward. I let myself be held; it
felt good to rest my head against his chest and feel his arms around
me. But I couldn't quite bring myself to return the embrace.
Maybe he picked up on my reticence. As he finally let go of me, he
settled for a kiss on the top of the head. 'Hey, you. I brought your
favorite.'
It was an Australian shiraz-cab blend, perfect for someone like me who
can't handle a full-blown cabernet. I forced a smile as we headed back
into the kitchen. 'Thanks. That was sweet.'
Dad gave Chuck one of those half handshake, half shoulder-grab things
that guys give each other instead of hugs. 'Hey, big man, how you
holding up?' he asked. I was glad Dad had kicked off the
conversation. I was still resisting the urge to pull Chuck outside and
grill him until I was absolutely positive, beyond any doubt, that he
had fully disclosed everything he knew about Landry's confession.
'You know, patrol's not so bad. It's kind of a nice break from the
heavy stuff.' From some guys, this might've sounded like saving face,
or maybe just making the best of a bad situation. From Chuck, it
sounded sincere.
Me? I was just trying to make the most of a bad situation.
'Same here. Too many of those MCT cases and I would've started to lose
my faith in humanity. I'd hate to wind up like O'Donnell one of these
days,' I said with a shudder.
'Yeah, I know what you mean,' Dad said. 'Back with the Forest
Department, you know, we never really had to do anything like what you
were doing at MCT. Just some trespassing, drunks, a few fights. Enough
to make life exciting, but the most you ever brought home at night was
a funny story.'
When Dad talked about his career, he tended to leave out his years as
an Oregon State Police detective. He joined the Forest Department when
I was a toddler. He and Mom decided the hours were more regular, the
pension was better, and he was less likely to get shot in the forest
than in OSP. Dad liked to say he was grateful for the switch, but I
always sensed he missed the excitement of his early career.
'So, Lucky Chucky, what kind of stories you got for us tonight?' I
asked, grateful that Dad had never asked for the etymology of the
nickname.
