Chapter 22
Savvy
I sit back in shock.
“Are you serious?”
The way my days are going, I no longer flinch at the unexpected, but this one hit me from left field.
“As a heart attack,” is his curt response.
I tried to get Brenda to refer CdAP Detective Rick Althof’s call to the CID, assuming he had information on the Franklin Wyatt case, but she thought I should be the one to take his call. She was right.
“You realize there’s no way we could match whatever it is you’re making in Coeur d’Alene, right?” I point out.
“Trust me, I wasn’t on the Idaho list of top earners anyway. Not to mention, for what I paid for my condo here, I can buy a whole house in your neck of the woods.”
“Look,” he continues, I realize I’m trying to bypass whatever protocol you have in place, but you’ve gotta admit; me catching your ad on the police union’s career center page was some kind of karma. You’re looking and I’m in the market for a change.”
“But why?” I blurt out, trying to make sense of this unforeseen boon. “Why would you leave your job and want to come work for a much, much smaller department in a mountain town off the beaten track, with far less resources, and for less pay?”
“Wow, you’re really selling this position, aren’t you?
” he observes teasingly before continuing in a more serious tone.
“I guess you deserve to know. I need a change of scenery in the worst possible way. A healthier way of life, a healthier pace, and some new fucking friends. I just need a reboot. Been doing this work since I got my detective badge as the youngest officer in the department, seventeen years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the work, but with the volume of cases we handle on a day-to-day basis here, I’ve kinda lost touch with why I loved this job to begin with.
I don’t have time to give each case my all, and I don’t derive nearly the same satisfaction when I solve one these days. ”
I wait patiently when he falls quiet, because I have a feeling he’s not done yet, but I can’t help notice how much I recognize what he is sharing.
I get it, the constant daily grind to stay on top of things really starts wearing on you.
I’ve never felt that more than I do now, and I’ve held this position barely five years.
But the difference for me is, I actually have the ability to change my circumstances, which is what I’ve started doing.
Delegating more, fighting for a budget increase so I can afford to hire the likes of Rick Althof.
“And on a personal level…” He scoffs derisively. “Let’s just say the job isn’t exactly conducive to any kind of relationship or home life. I don’t even know what that is, but I’d like to find out.”
It’s uncanny how accurately those thoughts describe what I’m struggling with.
“When can you start?”
The speed with which the words fly from my mouth unchecked illustrates how pathetically desperate I am.
“I need to give two weeks’ notice, and I can get on the horn with a real estate agent right now.”
We haven’t talked about the details of his employment, and I obviously haven’t done any of the prerequisite background checks or reference calls, but that doesn’t stop me from smiling big when I say, “In that case, welcome to the Edwards County Sheriff’s Office.”
One thing off my list, twenty more to go, but we’ll take the small victories.
My earlier sense of achievement doesn’t last long when I answer a call from Tessa Androtti.
“I’m driving in tomorrow morning. Are you going to be in the office?”
“Yeah. That was the plan. Why? Has something happened?” I ask. I like to be prepared for what might be coming my way.
I just talked to Tessa yesterday when I called to let her know the judge had released Sanchuk on bail. He said his decision to grant bail was based on a lifetime of service and past merit. How ironic, given what we now know about Sanchuk’s conduct over the years.
Both of us had been quite bummed about letting him walk.
“You could say that. I just came from the lab, and I’m pretty sure our cases are connected.”
I sit up straighter.
“Oh?”
“The lab’s been processing evidence, giving priority to what was collected from the actual crime scene, but has now also started working on what was found in and around Franklin Wyatt’s car and cabin.
They recovered several different shoe and foot prints from the porch and from inside the cabin.
One men’s size eleven boot print found in the bedroom turned out to be a perfect match to the partial at your crime scene. ”
One print at one crime scene might be explained away as left by accident, but to have that happen at two separate sites by the same person can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way.
I feel the rush of excitement that usually accompanies the promise of a solid lead. As much as I don’t like the arrow possibly pointing to a first responder—even if it turns out to be Sanchuk, which would be the best-case scenario—I want this killer caught.
I have to admit, part of my reaction is also relief this will take the heat off Dozer and Wanda. As ill-timed as it may be to make their relationship public, I wish those two any happiness left for them to grab.
“That’s great news.”
“It is, and now the size is confirmed it should narrow down our list. But I want to keep the discovery of this print in the Wyatt case under wraps. I don’t want that to be public knowledge.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m hoping to be there at ten thirty or thereabouts, and I’m bringing a crime tech to take prints. I’m hoping you can gather your men so we can try to make this as quick and painless as we can.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
What I was going to say is that it will be impossible to get all the guys together at the same time, because we are supposed to cover the Harvest Fest parade in the morning.
It’s not much, a handful of tractors pulling harvest themed floats, the high school drum band, the fire department will have a few trucks in the parade, and the mayor likes to show off his equestrian skills by closing out the parade on horseback.
It’s a half-hour parade at most, unless one of the tractors breaks down like it did last year, holding everyone up for forty-five minutes until they got it going again.
But we have to close off Main Street and block any intersections for the duration. That takes manpower, which I left in Hugo’s hands.
It may not be an issue, since we only need to get prints of those wearing a size eleven boot.
“What size are your boots?” I ask Hugo when I stop by his desk.
“Thirteen, why?”
Relieved to have my right-hand man eliminated right off the bat, I invite him into my office. I close the door before bringing him up to speed on the developments.
“That’s a pretty average size, I think,” he observes.
“I know. And somehow I need to get everyone with an eleven boot in a room together,” I explain. “I’ll be pulling the personnel files; everyone would’ve filled out their sizing information with their paperwork so we could order their uniform. That includes boots.”
“Sure, but I remember filling out twelve on my intake form, and I ended up having to go up a size for comfort because my size boots fit too tight. So, make sure you include size tens as well. Unfortunately, I think the only ones who don’t fall into that range are me and Warren, who’s got barge-sized boots.
Which leaves just about everyone else, and I’ve got more than a few of those guys on this weekend’s schedule. ”
So much for my brilliant idea to tackle them all at once in order to keep the element of surprise.
“Shit. There goes that plan. It’s okay, I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, can you print me out the schedule you did up for the weekend?”
As soon as he leaves my office, I pull up the department’s personnel files. Since I’m still holding out hope Jeff Sanchuk may be our perp and not another one of my employees, his file is the first one I open.
I scan the document until my eyes land on his shoe size—nine.
Damn.
Nate
“She’s going to give you gray hair.”
I turn to find Brant Colter standing beside me, his eyes on the scene outside the window I was focused on just moments ago. My daughter and Carson look a little too cozy on the front porch swing.
“If I don’t pull them out first,” I grumble.
It’s not like the kids are touching or anything, but I can tell from the way they interact, they’re totally into each other.
This is going to become an issue. She’s fourteen and has two years to go to reach the age of consent, but Carson is already there.
Two years is a fuck of a long time for a teenage boy to wait.
Especially one who has my daughter looking at him like he hung the moon.
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah. Given my own track record, I’m probably not the best person to dole out advice—especially to you,” he adds quickly. “But I wouldn’t suggest trying to stop them from seeing each other. They’ll find other ways that won’t be under your watchful eye, and then you’ll be in trouble.”
I watch as Carson shrugs out of his zippered hoodie and carefully drapes it over Tatum’s shoulders.
“Real trouble.”
“She’s just a little girl,” I protest limply.
“To you, yes, and probably will be for the rest of her life,” he states solemnly, before clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you need a beer.”
Do I ever. I need at least a six-pack of them or maybe a few of something stronger, but that would not be responsible-parent behavior. So, I follow Brant to the kitchen, where I pick a light beer from the collection he has on offer, and head out the back door to join the crowd.
“Five more minutes for the skewers, but the burgers are ready for grabs,” Hugo announces when I join him by the large barrel grill.
Next to the grill a table is set up with all the food people brought over. This is quite a gathering, but even for this number of people it’s a ton of food.
“Thanks, I was going to wait for Savvy so I could eat with her, but I don’t even know if she’s going to make it. Besides, I’m hungry; I’ll just have a bite to take the edge off.”
I feel Hugo looking at me while I make myself a plate.
“What?”
“You and Savvy?”
“Yep,” I confirm.
I might as well get ahead of it. Tongues are probably already doing plenty of wagging after our public make-out session this morning.
“I figured as much after I intercepted a complaint call about lewd and lascivious behavior at the Safeway.”
I bark out a laugh. “Someone called that in? Jesus Murphy, people have nothing better to do with their time?”
“Some people feel compelled to safeguard the high moral standards of law enforcement in this fair town,” he shares with a sharp edge of sarcasm.
“That’s funny, given I was just this afternoon getting staples removed from the hole one of Silence’s finest left in my head when he attacked me.”
“Yeah.” He sounds a bit defeated when he follows it up with a mumbled, “And that may not even be the worst of it.”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, glancing around. “Look…forget I said anything. All I know is I’m glad I’m not in Savvy’s shoes; she’s dealing with a lot, which is probably why she’s late. But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
I take my plate and find a spot at one of the tables scattered around the large yard, next to Bess, who is in a serious discussion with an older lady who looks vaguely familiar about the merits of pumpkin spice.
Not necessarily a topic I have any strong opinions about, but I doubt my input would be welcomed anyway.
Plus, this gives me a chance to eat my burger in peace, while quietly observing the people around me.
The peace doesn’t last when Bess turns to me.
“Nate, you remember Mrs. Dixon, don’t you?”
The penny drops. Now I know why she looks familiar. Mrs. Dixon used to be the town librarian. I spent a good portion of my childhood in the library until it was no longer considered cool, when I was around Tate’s age.
The library had been my sanctuary. The books allowed me to escape to lives lived by other people, to places I didn’t think I would ever have an opportunity to see. I still read, not as much as I’d like to, but I’ll always have one or another book on the go.
“Of course I do.” I smile politely, unsure of the reception I’ll get. “Good to see you again, Mrs. D, it’s been a minute.”
The old woman leans forward as she narrows her eyes on me.
“Well now, as I live and breathe—and I’m still breathing, mind you—if it isn’t Nathan Gaines.
My goodness, you’re about the last person I thought I’d see back in Silence.
Let alone having dinner at Brant Colter’s house. You’ve got some cojones.”
I barely register the fact the old librarian is using Spanish profanities. I’m too annoyed by the message she’s sending. But then she suddenly turns on a bright smile and reaches out a hand to pat me on the cheek.
“You were always a clever boy, weren’t you? Are you still reading, Nathan?”
I grin and shake my head. “Whenever I have a chance.”
She scoffs and wags a finger in my face. “Make time every day. It keeps the mind flexible and the heart true. It’s the best gift you can give yourself.”
“I remember you telling me that.”
“Yeah, well…maybe this time you’ll listen.” She straightens up and puts on a serious expression. “And please, God, tell me you don’t partake in this ridiculous trend to put pumpkin spice into anything other than pumpkin pie, where it belongs!”
I’m saved from a response when Savvy walks into the yard to enthusiastic greetings. I get to my feet to greet her myself when the sight of Auden Maynard walking out right behind her stops me.
From behind me I hear Mrs. D’s muffled comment.
“Oh boy.”