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Roscoe, NY
Nancy stuck her head inside my office.
“I dropped off that proposal for the auxiliary program to the mayor this morning,” she announced. “But, I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Actually, I’d kind of forgotten about it. But thanks for reminding me. At least we don’t have to worry about the laundromat for a while. Who knows, maybe things will finally settle down to where we won’t need the extra help after all.”
“In your dreams,” said Nancy with a laugh.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, that reminds me. I dreamed about you last night.”
“Oh you did, did you?”
Nancy, wet her index finger and dragged it along her eyebrow, which was arched provocatively high.
“Well, not exactly. I mean, the dream wasn’t about you...but you were in it...sort of. You know how dreams are. They’re almost always kind of jumbled, with details you can hardly remember.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one worth remembering. Most of mine are about tall, handsome men—who always have wives.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t watch so much late-night television before you go to bed.”
“And maybe you should mind your own business.”
I knew this conversation was going nowhere, so I punted. “Okay, okay. Point taken. My bad.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So, are you going to tell me about your dream or not?”
“Oh, it wasn’t much of a dream.”
“Then why’d you mention it?”
Why had I mentioned it? I wasn’t sure.
“Well?” Nancy wasn’t giving up.
“Okay, okay. Here it is. I’m sitting at my desk, leaning back in my chair with my feet up like this...” I leaned back and put my feet on top of my desk. “...and you come in with this enormous stack of papers and you plop them right down in front of me. I ask you what they are and you say they’re forms from the county that I have to fill out and sign.”
“Sounds okay so far,” said Nancy with a broad smile across her face.
“But when I look at the first piece of paper it’s all gobbledygook. And the next one is just like it, and so are all the others.”
“Still making perfect sense to me.”
“And you keep bringing in more stacks of paper and piling them up on my desk. And pretty soon, the top of my desk is filled up with papers.”
“Uh huh. So what happens next?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah. My alarm goes off and I wake up.”
Nancy frowned. “That’s it?”
“Uh huh.”
“Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t much of a dream.”
“I told you so.”
“Well, let me know when you have one that’s worth hearing about.”
“I’ll do that,” I answered, as I started walking toward my office.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Nancy. “Something came for you this morning.”
She left my office, and returned a minute later with an 8 ½” x 11” manila envelope with the familiar return address of the forensics lab in the upper left hand corner. A look of anticipation covered her face as she handed it to me and then stood there waiting for me to open it. I purposefully took my time turning the envelope over and over in my hands and examining its exterior carefully, as if by doing so I might glean some secret information it contained without opening it.
“Well? Are you going to open it or not?”
“Letter opener,” I said, looking in Nancy’s direction.
I put out my right hand as though I were a surgeon awaiting a fine, stainless steel instrument. Nancy took my cue and slapped the pearl-handled opener firmly into my waiting palm.
“Opener!” she shouted dramatically.
I inserted the blade carefully into the top of the envelope, then lifted it with a quick snap, tearing it cleanly. Holding it to my lips, I blew into it, forcing the sides apart, and removed its contents with my free hand.
“Looks like a lab report,” I said dryly.
“And?”
“Well, let’s see.”
I held the report close enough to preclude Nancy from reading it, and let my eyes wander down the page. It stated quite simply that the DNA from the flesh land hair recovered from the switch housing of the flashlight that Bobcat had found was a perfect match to that of the deceased, Billy Stillwater.
“Excellent,” I whispered.
“What’s excellent?” asked Nancy, a touch of impatience in her voice.
“This report,” I answered.
“Well I know it’s a report. What does it say?”
“It says we’ve got the blunt instrument that put that crease in Billy Stillwater’s skull. The skin sample matches perfectly.”
“Now that is excellent,” said Nancy. “So what are you going to do with that little tidbit?”
“Nothing...for now. But I’m sure it’ll come in handy.”
Just then, Pete Richards burst through the door to my office waving a piece of yellow paper in his hand. I was still enjoying the memory of the delightful weekend that Val and I had spent on Long Island, and wasn’t prepared for what he had to say.
“Check this out. I was over in Delhi, picking up a new battery for my outboard, and when I came out of the Napa store, this was stuck under my windshield.” He handed me the sheet of paper. “It’s an advertisement for a Pentecostal church—the Devoted Church of Jesus with Signs Following. But what really caught my eye was the reference to Mark 16: Verse 18.”
I scanned the flyer, and sure enough, there was also a mention of “speaking in tongues.” Further inspection revealed a place, date and time for the church’s next meeting—and the pastor’s name: Ron Trentweiler. Why did that name ring a bell? I wracked my brain trying to recall where I’d seen it before. Then it hit me. Trentweiler was the name of the preacher associated with the church I’d visited in Centralia that had been named beneficiary of the contested life insurance policy. Providence was shining its little light upon me just when I needed its illumination the most. The advertised church service was in Treadwell, at seven o’clock that Wednesday evening, just two days away. Maybe, at last, we had the break we needed.
I turned to Pete. “What are you doing Wednesday night?”
“Wednesday?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing I can think of. Janet’s got a volunteer meeting at the fly-fishing center, but I’m not doing anything. Why? What’s up?”
“This flyer says there’s a meeting scheduled for this Wednesday night, over in Treadwell. Want to take a ride? Do a little snooping around this church?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Rick’s on four-to-twelve, so we’re covered here. I’ll pick you up around six fifteen.”
I could scarcely wait.