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Friday, December 7
Adam stared at the spinach omelet he’d made, then poked at it with a fork. He’d slept pretty well and woke up thinking he was hungry. But then he’d remembered Zelda’s antics last night at the bar, and his appetite faded.
Was that a metaphor for how he felt about her? It wasn’t a red-haired woman he’d had dreams about last night. No, Beverly Laborde had played the lead role, and it was a doozy. A pinch of Shakespeare and Lady Chatterley’s Lover but steamier. He felt a little guilty about it, like he should ask her permission before she appeared in his dreams.
He was never the shy, geeky kid in school, but he also was no Romeo. Beverly Laborde was the first woman to come into his life who made him wish he was good at all that hearts and flowers and poetry shtick. No, she deserved better than shtick. Hell, she deserved better than him.
Adam chucked the rest of the omelet in the trash and decided to grab some coffee for Jinks on the way to work. Miralee’s Market and gas station had some of the best java in the county. Hot, always fresh, and fifty cents a cup.
As usual, he ignored the donuts and grabbed a couple of protein bars. Jinks referred to them as “bachelor kibble,” but she was quick to take one when he offered it to her in his office a half-hour later.
She munched away absently, and he pointed at the bar. “Breakfast of champions.”
“Enjoy it while you can, champ. I was supposed to tell you when you came in that the chief wants to see you.”
“Harlan’s case?”
“If you mean the mayor’s on the chief’s case about Harlan, yeah.”
“That’s not a secret.”
“No, but I saw Lehmann chatting all friendly-like with Sergeant Mike Moody the other day, outside the post office.”
“Moody?”
“Watch out for him, Dutton. He’s trouble.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve had problems with him ever since he transferred here from Concord.”
“And the mayor may have pulled a few strings with that. Considering Moody is the mayor’s cousin.”
Adam groaned and then took a big bite of the protein bar, tasting like a cross between sawdust and date paste. He wolfed the rest of it down and grabbed his cup of coffee, with a tip of the cup at Jinks. “See you at the funeral.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
It must be his imagination running away with him, but Chief Quinn’s hair looked grayer than the last time Adam saw him. And that was two days ago. The man was slumped behind his desk, and his eyes were uncharacteristically bloodshot, which made Adam wonder if the man had been crying. Couldn’t be, right?
The real reason came to light when Quinn grabbed some tissues and sneezed into them, then gulped down a pill with some water. “Zinc,” he explained. “The wife says it’ll cut a cold short by half.”
“Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well, sir.”
“That’s the least of my problems. And I think you have a good idea what my main problem is right now.”
“A certain elected official?”
“Diplomatic of you. This ‘elected official’ hasn’t let up about cutting our budget.”
“He did that during the Forsythe case, too.”
“And he’s still doing it, although I think he’s getting some of the councilmen to listen. Or at least reconsider their previous positions on the subject.”
“Sounds awfully close to a threat, sir. Or blackmail.”
“Considering the source, I’d say a bit of both. He reminded me that our meager budget only allows for two detectives. And hinted it would only take one small misstep from one of said detectives to pressure me to fire him.”
“We’ve been through this before, sir.”
Quinn looked at Adam through bleary eyes. “True. But Lehmann pushed a new hire through the application process. The man was the most qualified candidate at the time, so I gave final approval.”
“Mike Moody?”
“I think you know where this is headed. I know now Moody is as much a schemer as his cousin, the mayor. He’s gunning for your job, Dutton. If the mayor and town council put pressure on me to fire or demote you for any reason. . .”
“Perhaps it’ll work in your favor. If Lehmann wins the governorship as he wants, and you play your cards right, you could get a nice gig out of it.”
Quinn sputtered, and his face was red, but when he spoke, it became clear it wasn’t due to the cold. “If you’re implying I would sell you out for that lowlife scumbag, you’re dead wrong. Maybe it seems like I’m on his side at times, but things aren’t always as they appear.”
Quinn sneezed again, wadding up the tissues and catapulting them into a trashcan halfway across the room. “One day soon, we’ll have to go out for a beer. Not in Ironwood Junction, but over in Hanover. And talk.”
“Should I speak with Sergeant Moody, Chief? Set the record straight?”
“I can’t stop you from talking to him, but if I were you, I’d steer clear of him. Only interact as little as you have to. I’ve already had one complaint about him.”
Adam rubbed his nose. Colds don’t spread that fast. Must be sympathetic nose itching. “Complaint, sir?”
“My secretary. She overheard Moody saying he thinks he’ll be making detective real soon. But it won’t be Jinks who leaves, because we’d be too ‘scared of a discrimination lawsuit’ to fire a half-black, half-Asian lesbian.”
A flush crawled up Adam’s cheeks, mirroring the chief’s red face right then. “Jinks is a damn fine detective. She’s worked hard, and she earned it.”
Quinn held up his hand. “Preaching to the choir.” Quinn stood up and paced behind his desk. “The mayor may yet see someone fired from this department due to a ‘misstep.’ Only it may not be the person he hopes.”
Adam stood up, too. “Lehmann isn’t going to keep me from doing my job. Speaking of which, I hope you’ve had a chance to read the reports I gave your secretary about Wallace Ryall’s murder investigation.”
“Got caught up this morning. The State’s Attorney still thinks he’s got a good case against Harlan Wilford, but I’m leaning in the other direction.”
“I promise to follow the facts. Wherever they lead.”
Quinn sneezed again, then gave Adam a watery smile. “That’s all I ask, Dutton.” He held up a bottle of pills. “And you might want to take some zinc. In case this thing is going around.”
Adam headed back to his office, where Jinks was seated with her feet up on his desk. “Well?” she asked.
“Safe for now. Chief Quinn thinks the Ryall investigation is headed in the right direction. Keep at it, yada yada. As for Moody, well, that’s a minefield.”
“I’ve got something fer ya. You remember Dr. Atkinson saying the victim may have tried to sexually assault Braddon Hopper’s former girlfriend, Jane Campen?”
“Yeah, why?”
“A friend of a friend of Felicia’s said she knew Ramsay Ryall’s Vietnamese wife. Before the wife died from cancer. This friend says Wallace Ryall tried the same thing on his brother’s wife, too. Same M.O.—trying to pressure her in a dark alley after leaving a bar.”
“Was the wife sure it was Wallace Ryall? Atkinson said Jane Campen wasn’t entirely certain.”
“Ramsay’s wife swore it was him. But she didn’t want to talk about it, so the details are kinda shaky.”
“Gives the victim’s brother more fodder for murder.”
Jinks grabbed some wintergreen gum and started chewing. “Braddon Hopper, too.”
“Yeah, could be they teamed up to kill him together. He was an accomplice who drove Wallace’s car from the crime scene.”
“Time for another interview of those bad boys.”
Adam bounced on his feet but not from the protein bar. This was the kind of lead he’d hoped for, and it felt like their first big break in the case. “Well, Jinks. If this pans out, I owe Felicia something nice. Does she love Norwegian lutefisk like you do?”
“She loathes it. Better try chocolate-covered strawberries instead.”
