Twenty-Four

When someone banged on the front door, Arn missed the drywall nail and nailed his thumb with the hammer. “Now will you listen to me and let me do that?” Danny asked as Arn stuck his thumb in his mouth. “Just see who’s here and I’ll finish up this sheet.”

Dropping his tool belt, Arn answered the door. Sergeant Slade smirked at the thumb stuck in his mouth. “Going through your second childhood?”

“Cute,” Arn said. “What do you want?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Arn stepped aside and Slade entered. He stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt. “Very impressive,” he said as he looked around the entryway leading to the living room on one side, the kitchen on the other. “I remember in my patrol days backing up the city on juvie parties in this dump a few times.” He motioned to the front lawn. “Don’t recall that old Montana Mini Storage—”

“That what?”

“Montana Mini Storage. That’s what we call junk like that old International truck parked in your weed field you call a lawn. About all it’s good for is storing crap in it. Anyways, I always thought this place should have been condemned. It never looked this good, though.”

“Tell me you have something besides old memories of my mother’s home to share. Like tell me how the interrogation of Karen Glass went.”

“In due time,” Slade said. “What I have now is a case of the ass. I thought we agreed to share information?”

“I did share.” Arn motioned for Slade to follow him to the kitchen.

“Not from what I heard. You paid a visit to Eddie Glass at the Archer Complex during the dog class.”

“Let’s jaw over coffee.”

Slade stopped when he saw Danny bent over a bucket of drywall nails in the hallway. “Didn’t I run you in for panhandling a time or two?”

“Once. And once for dumpster diving. But I like to think of this”—he waved his hand around—“as changing my economic situation.”

“Slade.” Arn motioned to the kitchen.

“What’s with the old dude?” Slade stopped in the kitchen. “You running a geriatric daycare out of your home?”

Arn jerked his thumb at Danny walking down the hallway. “That old man can work us both into the ground.” He poured each of them a cup of coffee and sat at the table with his notebook.

Slade reached over and flipped Arn’s ear lobe. “Looks like she got you good.” He grinned.

“Damn lucky she didn’t kill me. Bad enough she shot the hell out of my windshield. You know how hard it is to get one for a 1970 Olds?”

“I was wondering where it was. New windshield, huh?”

“Just tell me what Karen said.”

Slade stirred sugar into his coffee and crossed his long legs. “That’s one tough woman. She refused to say anything without her lawyer.”

“Who is?”

“She doesn’t have one. Not like she and Eddie are swimming in greenbacks. She’ll have a public defender assigned tomorrow at arraignment.” Slade scrunched his nose up. “What the hell’s this?”

“Chicory,” Arn answered as he killed the taste with sugar and creamer. “It’s Danny’s idea to keep me healthy.”

Slade set his cup down and pushed it away. “I did my best to get Karen to open up but she wouldn’t take my bait. But when I told her I knew she drew down on you because she was just protecting her husband, that little twitch came on.”

Arn forced himself to sip the chicory as he eyed the kitchen door. About one more sip and he’d sneak his cup into the sink and pour it out. “Karen knew Eddie disappeared right after leaving the Boot Hill. And when Eddie didn’t come home right after that, she must have thought he was the one who took Jillie for a ride.”

Arn made his move to the kitchen sink and poured the chicory out. Slade handed him his cup and Arn tossed that out as well. “If Karen risked it all thinking Eddie’s the killer, she must be going on more than just a feeling,” Arn said. “You don’t set out to kill a man on a damn hunch.”

“Which she won’t say,” Slade replied. “Now, you were going to share what you found out from Eddie after dog class.”

“I was going to look you up as soon as I finished hanging drywall.” Arn began to explain when Ana Maria plodded into the room, sweatpants riding low, pajama top riding over her belly, rubbing sleepers from her eyes. She paid Slade no mind as she poured herself a cup.

“Well, you old dog, you.” Slade grinned as Ana Maria sat at the table and began to butter a piece of bread. “Not even a ‘morning, sweetheart’?” he asked.

“Morning, asshole,” Ana Maria said, and the smile faded from Slade’s face.

Arn flipped notebook pages. “Eddie Glass drives his truck in excess of forty thousand miles a year. Maybe as much as fifty thousand, going to training seminars and dog trials.”

“What’s your point?”

“I spotted a tire impression—and your evidence tech cast one—in the dirt that showed one of the trucks in Wooly Hank’s pasture that night had a sizeable chunk out of the sidewall and tread.”

“He did cast one. And you think Eddie’s truck has such a tire?”

“No,” Arn answered. “Eddie’s truck’s wearing new skins all around.”

Slade shrugged. “So he has a reason to travel a lot. If I did that much driving, I’d need tires periodically too.”

Arn flipped to another page. “Dr. Oakert said the killer we’re looking for trolls—drives long distances to meet up with that perfect victim.”

Slade threw up his hands. “Well, there you go. I’ll just go to the County Attorney and tell them to cut a warrant for Eddie Glass because he drives a lot to his dog shows.” He stood and looked down at Ana Maria before she pulled her top up, which had fallen south over her shoulder. “Just because Karen thinks he might be Jillie’s killer doesn’t mean she’s right about her husband.”

Ana Maria laid her hand lightly on Arn’s arm. “I’m sure that Sergeant Slade is working his tail off on Jillie and Don Whales’s cases. And by now the teletype he sent probably came back with more matches than he has time to follow up on.”

“What teletype?” Slade asked warily.

Arn picked up on Ana Maria’s prodding. “The Triple I—the regional teletype—that you sent out asking if agencies had homicides involving a similar MO as our killer.”

Slade looked away, and Ana Maria rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sure it’s just an oversight on your part. That or you’ve been so overworked preparing for the election it slipped your mind.”

“It’s supposed to be sent out this morning.”

“Don’t you beat all,” Arn said. “You didn’t send one.”

“I was going to,” Slade sputtered, “when I had more information to go on.”

“And you wonder why I don’t trust you when I find shit out.”

Slade’s face turned red and he blurted out, “I also came here to tell you about the tox report that came back on Jillie. No drugs, but she never was a druggie. And Don was as sober as my priest.”

Ana Maria leaned forward. “Is Don’s autopsy completed?”

Slade shook his head. “You know I can’t talk with a civilian about it.”

“Remember that sheriff’s race this fall?” Ana Maria said. “I’m in a position to put you in a good light again, if I can get some information now. Off the record until it’s releasable.”

Slade thought a moment. “All right, here’s what we have: Don put up a tremendous struggle the night he was attacked. Drums and guitars scattered and broken all over that amphitheater. But the interesting thing at autopsy was beaucoup amounts of skin under his nails. Whoever strangled Don to death was powerful. But Don also took some hide off his killer.”

“How much of this do you want to go to air with?” Ana Maria asked.

Slade misread her and scooted a little closer. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe we’ll have to talk about it over dinner.”

Ana Maria smiled wide. “That is an excellent idea. Danny!” she yelled. Danny came into the kitchen and took off his earphones. “Now what?”

Ana Maria chin-pointed to Slade. “Sergeant Slade will be our guest for dinner tonight.”

Danny smiled knowingly. “Great, deputy. You’ll love it. You’ve never had deer liver and onions like ol’ Danny makes it.” He chuckled. “With prune pudding for desert.”