Chapter 8
Savvy
The man across from me looks absolutely broken.
There are times when I hate my job with a passion, and this is one of them.
I’ve dealt with the death of a lover and I’ve been betrayed by one as well, but not at the same time or by the same person. I can’t even imagine what this man must be going through right now.
Yesterday, I was going over photos sent to me by the state forensic lab once again. The crime scene Auden and I discovered yielded blood and tissue we could confirm as the victim’s, but there had been little else to come out of it. No new leads, and I needed one desperately.
There was a picture showing the small bathroom trash can from the cabin Franklin Wyatt had rented. I’d seen it before, but this time the edge of a foil wrapper visible between discarded tissues jumped out at me.
It looked like a condom wrapper.
A quick check of the content list for the cabin confirmed the presence of a handful of condoms of the same brand in the drawer of the bedside table.
When I called the state lab and asked the tech to check the contents of the victim’s wallet, they found a receipt for condoms from Walgreens in Coeur d’Alene, dated the same day Franklin left home for his mental health break.
That made me wonder; why would a man need condoms for a soul-searching expedition?
With the help of his telephone records and his text log, I was able to come up with an unknown individual, who Franklin had communicated with several times in the days leading up to his trip.
The number that stood out was connected to a pay-as-you-go phone or, as we call it in law enforcement, a burner phone. Basically, a dead end.
Except, in one of the text exchanges between our victim and this individual, Jeremy’s name is brought up in a way that implies he might actually know who the unknown person is. It left me no choice but to visit the Carriage House for a word with the dead man’s husband.
“I can’t believe it,” he sobs in the wad of tissues I grabbed him from the bathroom. “It has to be David. He’s the only one who calls me Jerry.”
“And who is David?” I prompt him as gently as I can, even though I am vibrating with excitement on the inside.
This could be a genuine lead. Something for me to put my teeth into when I feel I’ve done little more than spin my wheels these past days.
“He’s been my best friend since high school. At least I thought he was.” Jeremy covers his face with his hands and rocks back and forth. “Oh my God…he was the best man at our wedding,” he wails.
People suck. They really do.
My heart goes out to this poor man whose reality has so dramatically and painfully changed. He’s lost his husband, his trust, and now his best friend all in one cruel sweep. I feel like an absolute bitch for pushing him, but I still have a vicious killer to find.
“I’m so sorry, Jeremy. More than I can express. Can you tell me David’s last name?”
“Trotter. David Trotter.”
“Have you been in touch with him at all these past days?”
Jeremy shakes his head. “I left a message for him. He travels all the time; he does the buying for several online fashion outlets. I didn’t think much of it when he didn’t get back to me right away, he’s supposed to be traveling through parts of Asia until the end of the month.
It’s not unusual for him to be out of reach for days when he’s on the road. ”
He lifts his head and pins me with red-rimmed eyes.
“Except he’s not in Taiwan or Korea, is he?”
I can’t answer that question. Not with any degree of certainty anyway, not until I track him down. But my gut says we’ll find David Trotter much closer to home.
“Silver Lexus RX, Idaho license plate K32682.”
“Nice ride,” KC observes.
It is.
It’s also a vehicle you don’t see very many of out here. It wouldn’t necessarily be out of place in Coeur d’Alene or Spokane, but here in Edwards County we don’t see too many luxury vehicles.
The good news is that will make it easier for us to find it.
Provided David Trotter is indeed somewhere close by, and he didn’t rent a car or something.
I put a call in to the Coeur d’Alene police department for an assist on trying to locate the man.
I’m hoping I don’t have to wait too long, but the detective I spoke to in their investigations department mentioned they had their hands full with a double murder that just landed on their desks.
It may be a while.
They never show you that on those TV cop shows; the amount of waiting involved. Most investigations take longer than the forty-eight-hour sweet spot they always tell you about. Hell, lab results alone can take weeks, and sometimes months to get back.
But, we try to do what we can while we wait, which is why I want Deputy KC Kingma out there looking for Trotter’s Lexus.
“Motels, B&B’s, rental properties. I want you to check anywhere someone might be staying temporarily.”
“Do we know for a fact he’s here somewhere?” he asks.
“No. We don’t,” I admit. “But it’s the only real lead we have at the moment and we’re going to work it until we hear otherwise.”
He shrugs, fits his cap on his newly shaved head, and gets to his feet. By the door he stops and turns around. “Want me to bring him in if I find him?”
“I want you to call me immediately and then sit on him but at a distance until I can get there. No more one-man heroics, you hear me?”
It’s clear he’s not happy with those instructions, and with a light tug on the bill of his cap and an exaggeratedly polite, “Yes, ma’am,” he disappears down the hall.
The soft ping on my phone signals an incoming message. It’s from Nate.
Hope you like salmon. I caught it myself.
It’s followed with a picture of a sizable Chinook on a large rock at the edge of the water.
I smile with the memory of an early morning, many years ago, when an excited Nate dragged me out to the creek because the salmon started running.
Usually sometime mid-to-late-September, when the weather starts getting colder, the salmon run upstream to spawn.
It’s a sight to behold, all these large fish, struggling against the current, turning the creek into a living, breathing thing in their desperation to get to their spawning grounds.
Growing up in a small town like Silence, you get your entertainment where you can get it.
I guess it’s that time of year again. Usually, I would be over at my father’s place, tossing a line in beside his, but I’ve been so overwhelmed with this murder case and distracted by Nate’s return, I hadn’t even noticed they were running.
Yes, I called Nate after I had a chance to think about his offer to talk.
I slept on it, or rather, lost sleep over it.
I didn’t want to hear what he might have to say at first, comfortable with pretending the past is behind me.
That might’ve been possible before Nate came back, but is obviously not working when I bump into him all over town.
I don’t think those old feelings, hurts, and grievances, will ever go away unless I deal with them head-on.
Part of that is listening to what he has to say.
So I agreed to dinner, tonight, at his place.
He mentioned his daughter would be at a friend’s and he was available tonight.
I’m the one who opted to go to his house.
Eating out would’ve meant other people around, and I don’t want witnesses to my discomfort.
His place would give me the option of bailing if things get to be too much, and besides, he offered to cook.
I don’t bother changing out of my uniform before I go. It’s not like this is a date, and the uniform might serve as an imagined shield. At least I hope so.
I have a feeling I may need it.
Nate
I’m nervous.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this jittery. It feels like a lot depends on tonight going well.
Funny, a few weeks ago my daughter was all I could think about, yet I just dropped her off at the Alexander house for a barbecue and almost forgot to say goodbye. I was too preoccupied trying to figure out what I’m going to say to Savannah when she gets to my place.
For some reason, setting the record straight has become my priority. I can’t control what Savvy will do with that information—hell, it may all blow up in my face—but at least she’ll know the truth. She’ll be mad, I have no doubt about that, but I’m braced for that.
At least when she unleashes on me it’ll be for the right reasons.
I toss together the Asian coleslaw, quarter the fingerling potatoes to pop in the air fryer, and have the large salmon steaks marinating in soy sauce, lime juice, and sesame seeds. The fish won’t take more than fifteen minutes on the grill, so dinner can be on the table quickly once she gets here.
I’m out on the deck, drinking a beer and staring off at the mountains when I hear the doorbell. As soon as I open the door, the words I so painstakingly gathered these past hours evaporate from my mind.
Despite her raised, almost defiant, chin, the armor of her uniform, and her crisp “Hello,” she looks utterly vulnerable standing on my doorstep. It’s her eyes, they’re swimming with questions and uncertainty, and I hate what I’m about to tell her may be hurtful to hear.
I’d convinced myself the truth would be the best way forward, for her and for me, but suddenly I’m wondering if I’m not being selfish. Maybe the truth is overrated.
Regardless, Savvy makes it clear there is no turning back now when she says, “I’m here, so talk,” before stepping past me into the house.
“Care for a beer? Wine? Or are you still on duty?”
She stops by the kitchen island and turns to face me.
“I’m always on duty,” she bites off sharply. Then she lifts a hand and presses her fingers to a spot at the base of her nose as she closes her eyes, following it up with a much more subdued, “Sorry. Been a tough day. A tough couple of days. Maybe I’ll have that beer.”