Chapter 9
Savvy
Another sleepless night.
For once I’m grateful for the black sludge Brenda brews daily, the brand-new machine sadly hasn’t improved the quality of the coffee. It packs exactly the punch I need this morning because my head is all over the place.
What I found out last night was a shock to the system.
It rattled me, changed my perspective on so many things I’d held on to as fact.
It had been painful but simple; Nate was an asshole who abandoned me and I was the victim.
After some time, I even convinced myself it was for the better, that I’d dodged a bullet.
But as it turned out, it wasn’t that simple, was it?
Oddly enough, I don’t doubt the truth of what Nathan shared. In hindsight, it makes way more sense than what I chose to believe for so many years. It also explains Jeff Sanchuk’s violent response to seeing Nate.
I bolted last night, determined to confront him, but he wasn’t home.
The rundown bungalow in an older section of town stayed dark, even after I spent a good amount of time ringing the bell and banging on the door.
An elderly neighbor stepped out on her porch and informed me he’d left a few hours earlier on his motorcycle.
I had no idea he rode a bike, but it explained why his truck was still parked in the driveway.
All that unresolved anger turned into frustration and between that and this damn case, I couldn’t get my head to stop spinning all night.
“Hey, Brenda,” I call out when she passes by my open door. “KC in yet?”
She stops and peers in.
“He’s come and gone. Off to check out the lodge and the two campgrounds up near Thunder Peak.”
I guess that means still no sign of the silver Lexus.
“Let him know I want to see him when he comes in, please?”
She gives me a thumbs-up before continuing on her way.
It would really be helpful if the Coeur d’Alene PD could spare an officer to follow up on David Trotter for me, because I’m afraid even if the man was here at some point, why would he be hanging around and risk being found?
No, I would head home, get into my regular routine as quickly as possible.
That is, if I had just violently murdered someone.
Still, the unanswered messages Jeremy left for this David bother me in that scenario. If he were home, wouldn’t he respond to those? Act like he’s devastated by the loss of a friend?
The longer I sit with this, the more I wonder if Trotter makes sense as the killer.
Even if he turns out to be Franklin Wyatt’s secret lover, he doesn’t necessarily fit the picture of our killer.
Like the medical examiner indicated, the attack appears to have been too controlled, too precise, to suggest the kind of passionate rage you’d expect from a lover.
But we have to run down the lead before we can turn our attention elsewhere.
I really need the cooperation of the CdAPD, and not just to look into Trotter.
I’m going to need their help if I want to check into Wyatt’s workplace, talk to his colleagues.
It’s less than a two-hour drive to Coeur d’Alene, but I can’t take the risk of sending someone out there to be met with closed doors.
Determined, I pick up the phone and dial the number for Detective Althof, who I’d spoken to before.
“Althof,” he barks, which doesn’t bode well.
“Detective, this is Edwards County Sheriff Colter. We spoke a few days ago.”
“Yes. I remember. Look, Sheriff Colter, I’m sorry, but—”
“Our victim is a resident of your city, your state, and he’s lying on a cold slab in the morgue, his head bashed in, his face obliterated, and his guts eviscerated,” I interrupt before he has a chance to blow me off again.
“I appreciate your workload, believe me, but this isn’t just another murder, this is darker.
The violence done to this man was not in a blind rage, as you might expect, but according to the ME, it appears to have been cold and calculated.
I have a very uneasy feeling. We need to get a bead on this killer. Soon,” I add with urgency.
That is what kept me up in the darkest of the night, the fear we’ll find another victim at some point.
It’s silent on the other end, and for a moment I fear he’s hung up on me, but then I hear him clear his throat.
“Look, I apologize for unloading on you, Detective Althof—”
“Rick. Call me Rick.”
“Rick, I’m Savannah, but everyone calls me Savvy.”
“I’d say that nickname is well earned. You have my attention, Savvy.”
I chuckle, a little surprised my rant worked.
“I appreciate it, Rick.”
“So, that’s not the type of killing you usually see in isolation,” he deduces matter-of-factly.
“Exactly.”
“Have you run a check on any similar cases?”
It’s actually what Auden is doing as we speak. He was here when I got to the station this morning, and I told him about my middle-of-the-night concerns.
“I’ve got State Patrol helping me with that.”
“Good. Now, tell me what you need from me.”
For the next twenty minutes I share the details of my case, and explain what I’m hoping he can help with.
When I end the call, I have his promise to look into Trotter’s whereabouts immediately.
He’s also offered to make initial contact with Franklin Wyatt’s coworkers to see if there is anything interesting to shake loose there.
We agreed to keep the other in the loop of any developments.
I feel a lot better after talking to him, but I still have the other issue that kept me up last night left to deal with. This time I use my own cell phone to make the call.
“I owe you an apology,” I tell Nate when he answers.
“For?” he prompts me.
“Storming out without thanking you for dinner for starters. Then, I guess, for believing the worst of you all this time. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
“Hmm. I get that, but there’s no need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I feel I should. If not for myself, then for the office I represent.”
“This was long before you joined the sheriff’s department, Savvy.”
He sounds almost amused. It’s not difficult to imagine that crooked half-smile I remember well, but have only seen once or twice in recent days. It’s both cocky and disarming, and had me fall harder for him than anything else.
“Be that as it may, but I still feel responsible.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. For what I put you through then, and laid on you last night. But, this is all water under the bridge at this point,” he insists. “I suggest we move on.”
I’m silenced by that comment. Unsure of the meaning behind it, I’m suddenly unsure how to react.
KC comes to my rescue when he stops in my doorway.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. Duty calls,” I add lamely.
“Sure thing. Talk to you later.”
“Sorry, Sheriff. Brenda said you were looking for me?”
“Yes, I was looking for an update. What have you got for me?”
He scoffs, “Not a whole hell of a lot. No sign of a David Trotter or his shiny luxury car. Mind you, for all we know he used a fake name and rented a car.”
He’s right. If this was a premeditated murder, he may have done exactly that.
“But he would’ve had to use his driver’s license and credit card to rent that car,” I point out. “Call all—”
“Car rental places in Coeur d’Alene,” KC finishes for me. “I’m on it.”
As I watch him walk out of my office, I’m starting to feel a little better about my day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still spitting angry with Sanchuk and have a big bone to pick with him, but it’ll have to wait.
I have a killer to catch and that has to have priority because, God forbid, my uneasy feeling turns out to be accurate.
Nate
“Can we make pizza?”
I barely have my foot in the door when Tatum comes barreling down the stairs with an enthusiasm I haven’t seen in a long time.
“How about hi, Dad?”
“Hi, Dad,” she echoes, rolling her eyes like any self-respecting fourteen-year-old would, before she repeats the question.
“Can we make pizza? Because I saw this TikTok where they stuffed the crust with cheese and bacon bits, and they used salsa, taco meat, and more cheese for the topping. It looked so good!”
“It sounds like a heart attack,” I return in defiance of my mouth watering at her description. It does sound good, but I’m trying to be a good parent. “Where are the vegetables?” I want to know.
“Da-ad, come on. We can make that cucumber salad you did the other day. The one with the cherry tomatoes and the sliced radish? That wasn’t too gross.”
I bite off a smile. I suppose that was as much of a compliment as I’m going to get. Like a lot of kids, Tate is not too hot on vegetables, but maybe this pizza idea is a negotiating opportunity.
“I’ll tell you what; we’ll do the cucumber salad on the side, and we can make the pizza, but…you need to pick one vegetable to go on the pizza.”
“Cucumber,” she says immediately.
“We’re already having the salad, and besides, cucumber is like ninety-five percent water. You can’t bake that; it’ll make the pizza soggy.”
“Is not. How can it be crunchy if it’s mostly water?” she challenges me.
I shrug and walk over to the fridge to grab a beer. Today was demolition day and I’m dusty and dirty, but I can have a quick shower when the pizza is in the oven.
The work on Brenda’s bathroom is more of a renovation than the makeover she first suggested.
She wants the tub out and a walk-in shower installed.
She also wants to replace the old tile flooring and install a new toilet.
The vanity is still in good condition, but I’m putting in a new counter and sink, and replacing the hardware. It’ll keep me busy for a bit.
“Google it,” I instruct Tate.
It earns me another eye roll, but she does grab her iPad and pulls up the browser. A moment later she narrows her eyes at me.
“Fine. Pineapple.”
“That’s a fruit, not a vegetable,” I point out, enjoying the exchange.