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Monday morning Hawke put on his uniform and called into dispatch that he was headed to the courthouse then out Zumwalt to check on hunters.
The courthouse was quiet. He walked to the Administrative Services Office and entered.
A woman of about forty with blonde hair and dark roots looked up from a computer. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to know who in this building has possession of this phone?” He handed her a piece of paper with the phone number on it.
“I’ll call Dennis and see if he can help you.” The clerk picked up the phone on her desk and punched a button. “Dennis. There is a State Trooper here requesting information.” She nodded and replaced the phone. “He’ll be right out.”
Hawke remained standing even though there were two chairs over by the door.
Five minutes later, a man waddled out of the door behind the woman’s desk. He appeared to be in his thirties, but the jowls and roundness of the face gave him a younger appearance. He had on a short-sleeved, collared, pull-over that hung straight down off his belly, placing the hem of the shirt a foot away from his thighs. He had on tan slacks and the non-tie shoes someone his size wouldn’t have to bend over to tie.
“I’m Dennis Brooks. How may I help you?” He held out a puffy hand with thick fingers.
Hawke shook hands. “Trooper Hawke. I’d like to find out which county employee this number belongs to.” He picked up the slip of paper he’d handed the clerk and presented it to the man.
“Why do you need to know this particular number?” The man pushed his eyeglasses higher up the bridge of his nose.
“I’d rather not say.” Hawke hoped the man didn’t give him the run around.
“This is a private number. Without a warrant or written consent from the person, my hands are tied.” He handed the number back to Hawke.
“Judge Vickers is just upstairs. I’ll be right back.” Hawke pivoted and left the area. He’d witnessed the moment the man recognized the number. Was he covering for the person or was it really the protocol?
He climbed the stairs to the second floor and turned right, striding down the hall to the judge’s office.
His secretary happened to be friends with Darlene.
“Hawke what brings you here?” she asked, glancing up from the computer.
“I need to request a warrant from Judge Vickers. Any chance I can get in and see him?” He stopped in front of the woman’s desk.
“He’s not in the office. His daughter is having a baby. He and Sandra headed to Portland last night.” She pointed down the hall. “You’ll have to get the D.A. to issue the warrant.”
“Thanks.” Hawke walked out into the hallway and took a seat on the wooden bench along the wall. He was fairly certain the number wasn’t the D.A.’s. But there was a good chance he might know who it belonged to without needing the warrant.
If the man knew the person and knew they helped Sigler get his hunting tag, he might withhold the information and not issue a warrant, trying to take care of things himself.
Terri, the D.A.’s receptionist, stepped out into the hall. Hawke stood up and hurried over, falling into step with her.
“Hi, Terri. You have a minute?”
She stopped and faced him. “Yeah. Mr. Lange wanted me to go to the bakery and get him a couple donuts. He hasn’t been eating well lately.” She frowned.
Thomas Ball, the district attorney’s investigator, entered the hall.
“I’ll meet you there.” Hawke strode by the young woman, down the stairs, and out to his pickup.
He hopped in and drove the block and a half to park a street over from the bakery. With the slip of paper in his hand, he entered the bakery and ordered coffee. He took a seat at a table in the corner away from the window. The D.A.’s investigator always popping up, was starting to make him paranoid.
Terri stepped in the establishment. Her cheeks were rosy from the walk.
He nodded for her to go ahead and get what she came for.
The young woman approached the counter.
“Hey, Terri. You here for the boss again?” a man in his twenties asked.
“Yes. Two cinnamon twists and a large coffee please.” She held out a bill. The young man took the money, rang up the sale, and then retrieved the items.
Terri moseyed over to Hawke. “What did you want to ask me?”
He held out the slip of paper. “Do you know who this number belongs to?”
“I’m not good with numbers, but it’s close to Ms. Wallen’s.” She studied it some more. “It’s not hers, but close. Why?”
“It’s a private number listed with the county. I need a warrant to get the information, but Judge Vickers left, and I didn’t want to ask Mr. Lange for a warrant.”
Her eyes widened. “Because you think he has something to do with the homicide in Eagle?”
That caught his attention. “Yes, why? Do you know something?”
“I’m not sure. When I was leaving last evening, Ms. Wallen was in Mr. Lange’s office telling him she’d learned he was your top suspect in the case and that she wouldn’t be surprised if you came to talk to her about moving forward with indictments.”
Hawke’s mind started whirling. That sounded like a threat from the assistant to her boss. “Is Ms. Wallen in the office right now?”
“No. She’s taking a deposition in La Grande today.”
“Terri, here you go,” the young man at the counter called out.
“Thanks, Dane.” Terri grabbed the bag and cup.
Hawke held out a card. “Could you call me when Ms. Wallen is in the office?”
She nodded and hurried out of the bakery.
He finished his coffee, tossed the cup, and walked out the door. The light blue sedan he knew belonged to the D.A.’s investigator, sat across the street from the bakery. Hawke walked to his vehicle, climbed in, and called to tell dispatch he was headed to Zumwalt.
«»«»«»
Dusk had turned to inky blackness as Hawke made his way from the dirt road onto the North Highway. His phone had buzzed several times as he went in and out of service. He pulled over at a wide spot in the road and looked at his messages.
Terri had called early afternoon to tell him Ms. Wallen was in the office.
Donner had called to give him an update on the forensics. There hadn’t been any new evidence discovered.
Terri called again. This time she said Dennis down in Administration wanted to talk with him. She rattled off a number to call.
Had the man changed his mind about helping him discover who the phone number belonged to?
Hawke scribbled the number in his logbook and dialed. The phone on the other end rang until a recorded message announced the hours the Administrative Office was open. He checked the time. The courthouse had been closed for over an hour.
What had the man wanted to tell him? Hawke called dispatch. “Requesting a phone number and address for Dennis Brooks, Administrative Services Director for Wallowa County.” He continued on to Alder.
Ten minutes later dispatch replied. “Dennis Brooks lives at three-thirty-two Maple in Alder. His phone number is...”
Hawke wrote this down on the pad on top of his laptop. He pulled over again and dialed the number dispatch had given him. The phone rang and went to voicemail.
“Dennis. This is Trooper Hawke. I received your message and will be arriving at your house in ten minutes.” He closed the connection and pulled back onto the road.
In Alder, he headed straight for Maple Street. A small, one-story house had all the lights on. He noticed a swing set in an enclosed yard to the side of the house.
Hawke parked and walked up to the door. The television and what sounded like children laughing could be heard on the other side.
He rang the doorbell.
Running footsteps and the door opened.
“Hello,” a boy of about five said.
“Hello, is your daddy home?” he asked.
“Markie, how many times do I have to tell you not to open the door before I get there.” The woman was tall, full bodied and wore a billowy blouse with a low neckline. Her brown hair looked as if someone had taken a weedwhacker to it. She had a tattoo on the side of her neck disappearing down into her cleavage.
“Oh! Officer. Why are you here?” Her voice lowered as she asked.
“I’d like to talk to Dennis. He didn’t answer his phone.” Hawke remained on the porch.
“He should have been home an hour ago. I’m not sure where he is.” She pulled a phone out of her back pants pocket and pushed a button. Holding it to her ear, she herded the boy back to the television set. She returned, shoving the phone back in her pocket. “He’s not answering.” She stepped outside, drawing the door closed behind her. “He doesn’t go to bars and is always home on time. What did you want to talk to him about?”
“A matter we’d talked about at his work.” Hawke pulled his logbook out of his pocket. “What kind of vehicle does he drive?”
“A green Toyota pickup. You think he’s in some kind of trouble?” Her voice started to rise.
“We won’t know until we find him. Go back in the house. If you hear from him, give me a call.” He handed her his card. “I’ll give you a call when I find him.” Hawke strode to his vehicle and typed in Dennis Brooks and his address in the DMV records. Up popped two vehicle registrations. He wrote down the license plate of the Toyota pickup and called dispatch, putting out an APB on the vehicle.
He decided to get something to eat in Alder. He could eat a burger and upload today’s reports sitting in his vehicle.
On his way from the Brooks house to the Shake Shack, he drove by the high school. A lone vehicle sat in the parking lot. A pickup. A sick feeling squeezed his guts. Hawke drove into the parking lot.
It was a green Toyota license RTH 334.
He rolled up to the driver’s side.
Dennis’s head leaned against the head rest. His eyes were open behind his glasses. It was the gray and red blotch on his shirt that made Hawke curse.
Someone hadn’t wanted him sharing the identity of the person who had the phone number. How had they known the administrator had contacted him?
Hawke put his hand on the mic at his shoulder. “Send the medical examiner, a deputy, and a city cop to Alder High School parking lot. We have a twelve-forty-nine A.”
He didn’t want to go back to Mrs. Brooks and tell her her husband wouldn’t be coming home.