| |
Mindy’s visit and work duties delayed her second trip, but Haley managed to walk the woods again on Saturday. Unfortunately, the police had left the scene in shambles after doing a surprisingly thorough job of collecting all the cannabis plants. The trail near the marijuana had been covered in dirt, not only leading back to the parking lot but also in the opposite direction, as if the officers had been determined to obscure any footprints or other damning evidence the drug organization might have left behind. Haley had left as clueless as she’d arrived.
At home, she functioned as best she could without an Internet connection. She worked offline during the day, sending short emails on her BlackBerry to give her colleagues the illusion that she remained connected to civilization. When her workday officially ended at five p.m., she headed over to the Wheelbarrow Café to grab dinner and send off the longer emails and attachments her BlackBerry couldn’t manage.
Each time she waited through the painfully slow process of connecting to the restaurant’s finicky wireless network, Haley would scan the dining area in search of someone resembling the person she’d spotted in the woods. She never noticed anyone familiar and concluded that the criminals had taken to lying low until the police investigation cooled off.
The busier dinner crowds didn’t stop Mindy Larkin from joining Haley every evening, when the chatty waitress would point to each patron and inform her of their profession, dependents, financial status, medical issues, and tipping propensity, as well as any other gossip she’d accumulated over the past forty years.
Haley had been eager to hear what the gossipmonger had to say her first few visits, listening for something that might trigger a thought about the marijuana patch or the man she’d seen in it. But Mindy dwelled on more mundane topics, such as how a neighbor’s overripe plums kept falling into her yard, how she often boxed up leftovers to help a man named Simon feed his struggling family of seven, and how Jenna McArthur’s cat Jane had stumbled around like a drunk when Mindy paid the woman a visit the other day. By the time she’d eaten her fill every evening, Haley’s brain felt ready to explode.
Luckily, the Internet company’s minion showed up on the promised Wednesday. The man’s casual gait as he strolled into her house suggested he had no plans after finishing this ten-minute assignment, prompting Haley to silently question the company’s self-proclaimed hectic schedule that had prevented them from completing this task last week.
As soon as the installer left, Haley verified her access to her company’s intranet and dialed her boss.
“I have home Internet now,” she informed him.
“That’s good.” Nexus sounded less than impressed. In his world, being offline for ten days would result in more mental trauma than losing a limb.
“It runs super fast.” Haley said a silent thank-you that Nexus couldn’t observe their company logo’s halting attempts to render on her screen.
“Super fast by Seattle standards?”
Deciding no good could come from answering that question, she switched topics. “I’ve uploaded the most recent MIT file to the group directory. I added a section to cover account-code configuration requirements.”
“Did you see their new structure?”
Nexus’s question spurred her to fumble through her emails. She didn’t remember receiving anything new on the MIT account codes since she’d moved to Sobaco last week.
“They sent the documentation and a revamped spreadsheet over on Monday,” Nexus continued. “They plan to redo their account-code hierarchy next fiscal year, so whatever solution we devise needs to take that into account.”
Haley’s blood began to boil, but she refrained from asking why Nexus hadn’t told her this two days ago, before she spent over fifteen hours massaging the data according to their existing structure. She feared she already knew the answer to that question: he was punishing her for not having Internet access until now.
“Stan must have forgotten to email me those files,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even.
“He sent them to me. I told him about your connectivity difficulties and asked him to float all information through me for the time being.”
“Oh.” The situation was turning out even worse than she’d anticipated.
Under ideal employment circumstances, she would have been thrilled to let Nexus serve as the main contact for Stan Williams. The insufferable client lead working with her to replace Mitchell Independent Trucking’s existing mess of a database with a new software system currently ranked as her least favorite person. He never failed to remind her of the critical role he played in the company’s success by regurgitating a tiring litany of accolades that he’d achieved during his employment there.
But Haley’s sense of job security grew increasingly tenuous with each passing day, which made her uneasy over Stan corresponding directly with her boss. Nexus undermining her position on this project suggested he harbored more impatience over her limited Internet than he’d even dared to let on.
“Of course, I immediately had Jerry upload both files to the group directory so everyone could access them,” Nexus said.
“Of course.” Apparently, she didn’t count as “everyone,” which didn’t help her feel any better about the situation.
But she really couldn’t fault Nexus. After all, she knew she should have made arrangements to ensure continual access to the corporate files. She’d promised Nexus as much when she’d packed up her office two weeks ago but had failed to adjust for subpar, small-town service.
Naturally, she blamed the town of Sobaco. Back in Seattle, if an establishment had told her they needed ten days to install her connection, she would have immediately phoned one of their competitors. Here in Sobaco, no business seemed to have any competition, a disturbing reality that resulted in such strange phenomena as waitresses sitting down for chats with diners.
Nexus said, “Now that you have access to the intranet again, I suggest you take a look and modify your proposal accordingly.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I skimmed through the spreadsheet Stan sent over and noticed a couple issues with their data. First . . .”
Haley tuned out as he detailed his observations, his pedantic tone rekindling her anger. She wondered if he had taken to treating her like a junior intern—or a child, really—because he now had zero faith in her ability to fulfill her work responsibilities. Or maybe Stan Williams had said something about her snapping at him with more frequency since Michael’s death. The man probably didn’t realize anyone as annoying as him was asking for someone in his network to eventually lose it.
The doorbell rang, jarring Haley out of a violent fantasy involving a hybrid beast that was half Nexus Warren and half Stan Williams.
“Nexus,” Haley interjected when he paused for a breath of air, “I’ve got another call coming in. From Stan Williams.” She prayed her boss hadn’t instructed the MIT lead to circumvent conversations with her altogether. At any rate, risking the lie seemed safer than admitting she wanted to answer her door. Whoever was outside wouldn’t be anyone Nexus would appreciate, and the only work-related visitor she could envision was the lackadaisical Internet installer returning to tell her they needed to disconnect her service.
“I’ll let you go then,” Nexus said.
“I’ll update my MIT proposal and get the new version online as soon as possible.” Haley disconnected before he could request anything else.
Her visitor banged on the door.
“I’m coming,” she yelled, throwing her phone on the desk and hauling herself upright.
She flung the door open, groaning when she spotted an unsmiling Luke Justice on her doorstep.
“I need to take you down to the station,” he said without preamble.
Haley’s stomach dropped. “Am I under arrest?” Although she had done her best to evade the police’s notice during her second outdoor venture, maybe they’d had the area under surveillance in case the marijuana culprit returned. She could imagine their surprise when they spotted her tromping through the scene a second time.
“The chief just has some additional questions for you,” Luke said. “He really wants to nab this drug cartel.”
“I told you everything I know. I’m not hiding anything.”
“He understands that. But he has more experience questioning witnesses than I do, and he wants to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
Haley detected a bitter quality to his tone. She recalled Mindy’s story about the truck driver with the broken brake light, surprised to find herself curious to hear Luke’s version of the event.
“The chief figures if he leads the interview, he’ll coax more details from you,” Luke continued.
His use of the word “interview” instead of “interrogation” did nothing to convince her that the police believed in her innocence. If this town really functioned like one big family as Mindy’s stories implied, she didn’t doubt the chief would relish the opportunity to pin culpability of the marijuana on the resident outsider.
But it wasn’t as if she had a choice.
Haley grabbed her purse and phone before trudging after Luke. Given all the work she had to redo on the MIT file, she hoped this wouldn’t take long.
Or, she thought, maybe this police questioning would be good practice for the job interviews she’d need to go on in the very near future.
* * *
Luke drove them to the police station in his cruiser. Haley wanted to take her own car, but, although Luke told her it was her prerogative, his expression said otherwise.
Fortunately, the trip only took five minutes, which eased her anxiety about suffering through painful small talk with the officer. The drive lasted just long enough for him to explain what she could expect from the “interview.”
“Victor will be handling this investigation himself,” Luke informed her.
“Victor? Oh, you mean Victor Lamb, the police chief.”
“Yes.”
Haley wondered if everyone expected her to be on familiar terms with the chief. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the police thought she might be guilty, and she doubted the chief encouraged suspected drug dealers to chat with him on a first-name basis.
Although, she had to admit that police procedure in small towns did seem to border on the bizarre. She seriously doubted most places stopped citizens for circling a downtown block more than once.
Luke pulled up to a tiny, one-story building with a small sign proclaiming Police posted out front. The sign appeared designed to be overlooked, almost as if the department hoped nobody would figure out they were here. Haley had to admit that would be a sound strategy if the entire force shared Luke Justice’s lack of charisma.
She climbed out of the car and followed Luke into the building. Two puny plastic chairs situated inside the door evidently served as the Sobaco police department’s version of a lobby. She was amazed to see someone manning the receptionist counter.
“This is Gertrude,” Luke said, gesturing toward the middle-aged woman behind the desk.
Gertrude’s narrowed gaze zeroed in on him. “Luke, when are you gonna get these damn bags outta my space?”
“That’s official police evidence.”
“I don’t give a damn what it is.” Gertrude lifted one leg up before dropping it back down. “How do you reckon I do my pedi when I can’t even lift my feet off the ground ’cause they’re wedged in between a bunch of bags?”
Haley glanced toward where Gertrude was flapping her arms, starting at the sight. Apparently the receptionist’s space doubled as the Sobaco police’s storage area for seized drugs. Approximately a dozen clear plastic bags surrounded her, marijuana leaves pressed against their insides.
“Are those all the plants recovered?” Haley asked.
Luke nodded.
She stared at the bust results. “Are you sure you got everything?”
He scowled. “It took us hours to bag all that. Of course we got everything.”
“It doesn’t look like enough.”
Gertrude’s head jerked toward her. “Not enough? Lord, girl, don’t you go encouraging these men around here.” She pinched one of the bags, her face scrunched up. “I’m liable to suffocate if they try to jam one more thing into my space.”
A prickle of discomfort worked its way down Haley’s spine as she watched Gertrude pawing at the thin plastic encasing the cannabis. She prayed she wasn’t looking at a civilian manhandling evidence any decent defense attorney could have thrown out for not following a strict chain of custody. She didn’t know how big cities managed drug busts of this size, but she doubted the officers stuffed their spoils into flimsy plastic bags and arranged them around their angry receptionist. Who knew, maybe Gertrude had been miffed enough to toss a bag or two into a Dumpster when nobody was watching.
“You and I oughta switch workspaces until you get this drug stuff sorted out,” Gertrude continued, squinting at Luke. “See how much you like tripping over things every time you need to use the toilet.”
Gertrude’s tirade seemed to roll right off Luke Justice. He proceeded to act as if they were networking at a dinner party. “Gertrude, this is Haley Winequest. Victor had me bring her in for questioning.”
Gertrude gave Haley a once-over. “Haley, you look like you take care of yourself.”
“Uh . . .” Haley folded her arms across her chest. Gertrude looked on the verge of asking for the name of her plastic surgeon.
Gertrude aimed a finger at Luke. “Haley, why don’t you tell Luke how important a pedi is for a woman looking to keep up appearances.”
Haley bit her lip as she rotated toward Luke.
Fortunately, Luke seemed to want to put an end to this topic as much as Haley. He stepped over to a closed door. “Victor is waiting for us in the conference room.”
“Well, you ask Victor how important he deems pedis then,” Gertrude bellowed as Luke led Haley away. “He’s got a wife. You think he wants to crawl into bed with a woman who rubs her ragged nails and toe fungus all over him every night?”
Before Gertrude could continue her litany of disgusting foot ailments, Luke flung the door open, ushered Haley inside, and barreled through after her. As evidenced by the unlocked inner door, either the police weren’t concerned about citizens barging in and shooting up the place, or the need for the officers to quickly escape Gertrude overshadowed such risks.
At the end of the short hallway, Luke knocked on an open door and stepped inside. Haley followed him into the room, which was about the size of a broom closet. Smashed into one of the two chairs jammed around a metal table was a well-dressed man in his forties.
Luke set one hand on Haley’s shoulder. “Victor, this is Haley Winequest.”
Haley glanced at Luke, his touch surprising her. Although, she considered, given the lack of space, both of them couldn’t occupy the doorway without engaging in some physical contact. She also couldn’t dismiss the possibility of Luke restraining her to prevent an escape.
“Haley, so nice of you to come in,” the other man said. “I’m Victor Lamb, Sobaco’s chief of police. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so why don’t you have a seat and we can get started.”
Haley tried to pull out the empty chair only to bang it into the wall, chipping out a sizable chunk of paint.
“I’m afraid there’s not much space in this room,” Victor said. “Unfortunately, this building was never designed to operate as a police station. Did you know it originally served as a dormitory for forest rangers?”
“I did not know that.” Haley crouched down and bent her legs under the table, feeling a bit foolish as she seated herself by sliding her derrière down the back of the chair. She hoped she didn’t split her pants.
Victor gestured around him as best he could given the size of the room. “This all used to be forest back in the day.”
“Interesting.” Haley hoped he didn’t plan to recap Sobaco’s history as untainted wilderness before man bulldozed over everything. Given her detached feelings about nature, she wouldn’t be terribly heartbroken if the town razed the rest of the trees dotting the area.
Victor glanced at his underling. “Luke, why don’t you close that door, and I’ll begin the interview with Haley.” He turned toward her. “You don’t mind if I call you Haley, do you? Most everybody in Sobaco goes by their first name.”
“That’s fine,” she said.
In order to shut the door Luke had to step close enough for Haley to note the scuff marks in his leather belt. She averted her eyes, hoping nobody else realized her seated position put her at eye level with the man’s crotch.
Victor frowned. “Luke, if you don’t mind, I’d like to conduct this interview one-on-one. I’m afraid your presence would make for a rather crowded gathering.”
Luke peered down at Haley. She made sure she kept her features impassive. If he expected her to jump in with assurances that his presence wouldn’t bother her in the slightest, he would have a long wait ahead of him.
“Gertrude has been bugging me all day to find space for her footstool behind her desk,” Victor told Luke. “Why don’t you move some of the bust bags to my office for her?”
After an uncomfortable moment, Luke nodded and removed himself from the room, closing the door behind him.
Victor’s smile widened as he shifted his attention to Haley. “I apologize for him. He’s an excellent officer, but his people skills could use a bit of work.”
“That’s okay.” A grin tugged at the corners of Haley’s mouth. With Luke Justice out of the room, maybe this interview wouldn’t be so painful after all.
Victor pulled a notepad out of the manila folder on the table. “I understand Luke took your statement last Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to clarify your observations, maybe probe you a bit more to make sure you don’t remember anything you might have forgotten you remember.”
Haley relaxed a little. The way Victor phrased it, this interview sounded much less intimidating than she’d feared.
Victor tapped a finger on the notepad. “It says here you saw a man tending to some cannabis plants. He noticed you watching and started to run. At that point you said ‘Freeze,’ and he changed course.”
“Yes,” Haley said. “He ran toward me, and before I knew it he had disappeared.”
“For simplicity, I’m going to call this man ‘The Farmer’ throughout the rest of the interview. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” “Farmer” wouldn’t have been the first term to come to mind, but she figured Victor wouldn’t immediately suggest nicknames such as “Toxic Drug Peddler” or “Manslaughtering Miscreant.”
“You indicated that The Farmer is a man in his forties who wore a black T-shirt and jeans,” Victor said.
“Yes.”
“And it says here you identified him as a Latino individual.”
Haley blinked. “It does?”
Victor placed an index finger on the notepad before glancing up. “Did you not say that?”
Haley shook her head. “No. I mean, I think he was, I just don’t remember using the word ‘Latino.’”
Victor looked back at the notepad. “My apologies. That was Luke’s side note. The verbatim word you used was ‘tan.’ Does that sound more accurate?”
Haley vaguely recalled saying something of the sort. “Yes, that sounds right.”
“So, The Farmer was not dark-skinned, but tan. Would you say that’s correct?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Haley hedged, trying to bring up a mental image of The Farmer. The incident had only happened last weekend, and it disconcerted her to note how much difficulty she already had trying to recall specific details.
“So The Farmer was dark-skinned?” Victor said, watching her.
Haley resisted the urge to scratch at an itch developing on her neck. “He could have been.”
“Haley,” Victor said, folding his arms on the table, “if anything I say doesn’t feel right, just let me know. This isn’t a test. I’m simply trying to paint the most reliable picture I can of this person.”
“Okay.”
“The reason I ask whether this particular man was Hispanic is because we have a large Hispanic population here in Sobaco. Out here we’re very close to several agricultural towns. ‘Close’ being a relative term, of course. Because some of our Hispanic residents live here illegally, many of them work as harvesters.”
Haley nodded. Victor didn’t seem disturbed that half the town’s population might not be recorded anywhere, and therefore could prove difficult to track down for arrest.
“You see, pinpointing The Farmer’s ethnicity could help guide this investigation,” he continued. “If we knew whether this man was Hispanic or white or black or blue or green, we would have a better idea of who to consider as a potential suspect.”
“He wasn’t black,” Haley offered.
Victor beamed as if she’d just won a Nobel Peace Prize for her efforts to banish racial stereotypes. “See, that information helps tremendously. You don’t know how many man-hours you’ve just saved me.”
Haley doubted she’d saved the police any effort at all, having yet to spot a single black person in all of her Sobaco outings. “And I said tan, but Hispanic is more accurate,” she added. “He had dark hair, too.” She couldn’t remember if she’d told Luke that last tidbit.
Victor nodded as he jotted something on the notepad.
“Did Officer Justice tell you he ran into The Farmer as well?” Haley asked. “He might recall more details.”
“Right now I’m only interested in your statement.”
She frowned. “But I don’t have anything else to add.” Plus, the longer they sat in this cramped little room, the more time the drug cartel would have to flee town.
“There’s nothing else you recall from your encounter with The Farmer that Luke didn’t already capture?” Victor asked.
“No.” Haley wished otherwise—knowing the piddling details she’d provided could describe millions of people in the United States—but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else.
Victor flipped the notepad shut and offered her a smile. “Okay then, after you kindly sign this witness statement, you’re free to go.” He pulled a piece of paper from the manila folder and slid a pen across the table.
Haley scribbled her signature on the form. “That’s it?” She’d always assumed police interrogations took hours to complete, with good and bad cops alternating questions before conducting a polygraph test.
“That’s it for now.”
“Did Luke show you his sketch of the man?” she asked.
“Yes. In fact, he met with the Lane County Sheriff’s Office last week, and their composite artist created a facial likeness.”
“Can I see it?”
Victor hesitated, then nodded. He reached into the folder and extracted a sheet of drawing paper, which he turned toward her. She let her eyes travel over the pencil strokes, desperate to recognize something. Unfortunately, as with Luke’s crude drawing, she couldn’t say she was looking at the same person who had run toward her in the woods.
After a minute passed, Victor said, “Does he resemble the individual you spotted that Saturday?”
Haley shook her head. Then she shrugged, not wanting Victor to give up his search based on her lukewarm response. “I’m not positive.”
He reclaimed the sketch and placed it back into the folder. “When we’re prepared to move on a specific individual, we will need your help to confirm his identity.”
Haley bobbed her head, relishing the day that would happen. “Of course, absolutely.” She paused, then said, “Chief Lamb, have you asked Brian Holstead if he has any ideas about who this man might be?”
Victor stilled. “Brian?”
“I believe he’s one of your officers?”
Victor eyed her across the table. “Yes.”
Haley leaned closer. “I heard he might know who in town uses drugs.”
Victor didn’t say anything as he continued to watch her. It occurred to Haley that her interest in the local users might be misinterpreted. If Victor had heard the same rumors as Mindy, he might suspect she intended to pocket a few extra bucks by selling the buds she had supposedly pilfered from the woods before The Farmer had interrupted her efforts.
“The recreational smokers could help identify The Farmer,” Haley suggested. “If you showed them that sketch, they might know who he is.”
Victor’s mouth tightened. “We’re capable of pursuing our own leads.”
Haley spread her hands. “Of course.”
Somehow, Victor managed to stand up without elbowing any walls or bumping his knees into the underside of the table. “I’ll get Luke to show you out.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Haley scrambled out of her own seat, suffering several bruises in the process.
Victor paused with his hand on the doorknob. “He drove you over, didn’t he?”
She had forgotten about that part. She wondered if she could walk home from the station.
But Victor was already opening the door and scanning the corridor. Luke materialized almost immediately, as if he’d had nothing better to do but wait around until their meeting ended. The sight of him sparked a flash of irritation. Shouldn’t he at least be sitting at a computer somewhere, comparing mug shots to his memory of this Farmer person?
Luke didn’t say much during the drive. Haley figured he’d ask about the interview, but he didn’t broach the topic.
His silence suited her just fine. It gave her time to formulate her next step if her statement and the suspect drawing didn’t result in any arrests. She needed a way to track down someone in the local drug-dealing circuit.
Luke pulled up in front of her house. “We’re here.”
Haley unbuckled her seat belt. “Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”
Haley couldn’t figure out whether his tone qualified as cold. Maybe he still felt put out after being banished from the interview.
She got out of the car and closed the door, reminding herself that Luke’s attitude didn’t concern her. Still, watching as he backed into the street and drove off, she wondered if the man ever found a reason to be happy.
