Chapter 35

Joni entered her office and reached over her desk to grab the ringing telephone. "Mayor's office," she answered.

"Hello Joni, this is Rene Aubrian with the police department. I met you a couple of weeks ago."

"Of course, Captain, what can I do for you?"

"I wondered if it might be possible for me to speak with the mayor. I've had a little problem come up."

She drummed the pencil eraser on her desk. "Is it something I can handle for him?"

"It's pretty delicate."

"For me or for you?"

"For me," he answered.

She paused a few seconds before answering. "I just arrived. I see he's on the other line. Let me see how long he'll be." Joni walked through the door and waved to Robert as he looked up from his telephone conversation. She held her fist to her cheek and thumb to her ear, then held two fingers. Robert nodded.

He ended his conversation as she watched. She walked away when she saw him pop a button on his phone. "Robert Kingwood," he answered.

"Mayor, this is Rene Aubrian. I apologize for calling, and I want to admit up front that I'm way out of order to be crossing lines of authority. It's just that..."

"Just tell me what it is, Captain, we'll deal with the proprieties later."

"This is my problem," Aubrian began. "As you know, Bowman and his associate solved this case for us. His helper was even injured in the process. They're leaving either this afternoon or in the morning. I know Bowman is coming to my office this morning. I'd made a commitment to pay him fifteen thousand dollars, if the perp was identified through his efforts."

"So, what's the problem?" Robert raised his hand to the back of his neck.

"Bowman asked that I pay the sum in two checks, half to him and half to his friend."

"Yes?"

"Well, I went by the administrative offices this morning and told the superintendent's secretary what I needed. She just called me back and said there was a problem. Apparently the superintendent has refused to authorize the expenditure. Sir, I know I'm out of line, but I'm up to my neck with problems here. Bowman gave us a helluva effort. I know he'll get his money eventually and I know he would never say a word to me if I told him there is a problem. But he doesn't deserve this kind of treatment and it could be we may have need of his services in the future."

Robert paused and studied the ceiling. "Captain, I'm very grateful for your call. What is the name of the second payee?"

"Emrick T. Powell, that's E-m-r-i-c-k T. P-o-w-e-l-l."

"I'll have the checks in my office after ten o'clock. If Mr. Bowman could drop by before noon, I would love to thank him personally. Captain, no one will know that you called me unless you tell them. I'm truly grateful. This would have been embarrassing to me, as well," he said as he again thanked Aubrian and hung up the phone.

He scratched instructions on a sheet of letterhead and strode from his desk to the reception area. "Joni, you know I don't usually ask you to run errands for me, but this is a little sensitive. I want you to go, in person, to Landry's office and deliver this note which instructs him, under my signature, to make out two checks in the amount of seven thousand five hundred dollars each. Wait and bring the checks back with you. While you are there, set up an appointment for Landry to be in my office at two o'clock this afternoon." His jaws clenched.

"Is this it?"

"This is it."

"Good for you." Joni smiled and stood to walk to the door with the mayor's note.

"Oh, and Joni, be sure to be back before ten o'clock. Bowman is coming by after then. I'd like for you to meet him and tell me what you think of him."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

The reception for Bowman in the squad room was quite different from the treatment he experienced previously. The detectives crowded around him and introduced themselves. This time it was not necessary for him to wait in the chair outside the captain's office. Rene Aubrian came up to him as he entered the squad room and escorted him toward a conference room where Flint conversed with a small group of detectives. "Thankfully, you don't have to hold your nose," Aubrian continued. "The lab guys took the canvas bag away to run checks on all the spots. Damnest odor I ever smelled. They just called to tell me that some samples were human blood of the same type as the Powell boy. They're running other tests to try to establish a closer match. I'm going to leave because I don't want to steal Flint's thunder. I know he's excited about showing you some things. I plan to see you before you leave, but in case I get pulled away, I wanted to thank you, personally. I wish we had the guy in custody, but just knowing this wasn't a racial thing removes much of the pressure we have been under. You just can't know how crippling that can be." His eyes narrowed and he took on a tired look.

"Thank you, Captain, I appreciate your takin' the time."

"Not at all. By the way, the mayor wants you to drop by his office. He'll have your checks after ten o'clock. He asked if you could come by this mornin'."

"Thank you, Captain," Bowman responded and then turned to Flint. "Well, Bill Ed, what have we got here?" He placed his hands on the gray metal table as he scanned the items displayed on it.

"First let me show you a picture," he said holding up a photo. "Does this figure look familiar to you? It's identical to the one carved in the middle of the kid's back. They took this photo from a spray painting on a column of the bridge right where he set up camp."

"Good Lord, it is a match isn't it." Bowman's face brightened. "That's bizarre. Look at the head. Flint, I know you haven't seen the guy either, but you think this may be a self portrait?" he asked. "It looks just the way Emrick described him. See the little patches of beard and those eyes -- look at the pain. The guy has talent, in a primitive sort of way. Sorta reminds me of Picasso, if he had used spray paint. You know the economy of strokes."

"Picasso? Bowman, do I strike you as an art critic?"

"No, an art critic would probably be incensed by my comparison. I take it this is the infamous pickle jar. That's huge to be carryin' around. I take it back, he might have been able to stuff me in there after all."

"Give me a break, Bowman," Flint countered, but he actually smiled. "You wouldn't believe the names given this little item -- Maiden's Delight, Dickle Jar, a new one every hour."

"How about: 'A Peck of Pickled Peckers'," Bowman volunteered.

"Hah," Flint reacted. It was as close to a laugh as Bowman could have hoped for. "Look at the rest of the evidence while I go tell the guys what you just said."

"Wait a minute, what is all this stuff?" Bowman asked, as he examined a conglomeration of bent metal, wood and assorted junk.

"The best we can figure," Flint explained, "is that it's homemade fishin' and trappin' devices. Don't ask me how they work."

"Well, assumin' that's what this is and he came up with it by himself, he's much more clever than I had credited him."

Flint shrugged and left the room.