Hand shaking, I set aside the rest of the transcript.
I was at school when this happened. The Chief, though he wasn’t chief at the time, called my mother and took her to the hospital. His wife, Aunt Maggie, came into my classroom. She taught—still teaches—at the high school I attended. Her face told me something was wrong and I expected the worst. As soon as I learned my father was still alive and would probably remain so, I figured everything would be okay.
Of course, I was wrong.
Knowing something of what I might read next, I knew I couldn’t handle it right now. Besides, I had more calls to make. Last thing I needed was Carmedy giving me a hard time about putting off my real work.
I had just finished building two cream cheese and peach preserve sandwiches when Carmedy entered the office. He didn’t look particularly rested, but I wasn’t going to rock the boat by pointing this out.
“It’s not as healthy as the meal you made me,” I said, handing over the paper bag, “but they should help you get through the night. I’ve also made a thermos of cafe au lait and given you the last two energy drinks. I’ll go shopping this evening.”
“Don’t get too much,” he said. “Maggie and Igor will send us home with enough leftovers for a week and the office closes down in a couple of days.”
“Speak for yourself, Carmedy. I’ll be around to eat. Even if there’s no work here, I have a ton of stuff to do upstairs.”
Carmedy slung his pack on his shoulder, patted his pockets for keys and wallet then checked the heavy-duty flashlight on his belt. No gun.
No real need, but it didn’t stop me from carrying my Sig Sauer and a Taser. Strict weapons control only applied to law-abiding civilians, and I was no civilian.
“I’m going home tonight if you want to use the apartment,” I said.
He shook his head.
“I’m okay. I changed the sheets for you, by the way.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
He shrugged and turned to go. Over his shoulder he said, “Yes, I did.”
What the hell did that mean?
The plan was Carmedy would do a walk through the neighbourhood before it got dark, checking likely places for signs of a body dump or burial plot. Later he’d join the patrol and lend a fresh ear to the local gossip.
About the time he was patrolling, I’d start visiting suspects. That way, in the unlikely event there was trouble, he’d be in the neighbourhood to help out. Meanwhile, I had errands to run.
Although it was before six, I went upstairs to change out of day-wear. What with my closet purge, I now had as many usable clothes at the apartment as in my room at Magnus’s place.
Before heading out, I ran through my checklist. Wallet, cuffs, Maglite and shopping bags were in my large shoulder bag. Keys, personal alarm and eCom went in my pockets. Taser and pistol had their respective holsters, out of sight thanks to my pea coat.
But it wouldn’t be out of sight when I was visiting homes. Come to think of it, my father rarely went around armed as a private detective…unless you counted his walking stick, Maglite and utility knife.
I locked up my pistol and dropped my Taser into my purse.
A couple of hours later, with one bag full of wrapped presents and another with groceries, I hailed a taxi and headed home. Magnus was still working nights. He left directions to a meatloaf and a container of marinated vegetables in the fridge and signed, “Love M. PS: Fresh cookies in the tin.”
I broke up a slice of the meatloaf over the vegetables and ate out of the container while I read police reports.
Blake Collins had three arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct and a sealed juvenile file. Police had been called out on noise complaints multiple times before the spousal abuse file was opened. Most of the time the violation was the result of partying too hard and too late with his cronies. These parties were rowdy enough for the on-scene officer to scan IDs. Paulo Crabbe was one of the recurring names. Another familiar name popped out: Koehne, Ishmael Micah. I knew two men by that name. Unsurprisingly, it was the younger Mr. Koehne who had been a troublemaker.
I loaded my map of the neighbourhood. The report put Crabbe on Orchard Road, same house he lived in now. Koehne junior resided on Side Road 6, which was now called Applegate Drive. I knew from the office leases, this was also the home address of Koehne senior. I added another “o” to my map.
Twenty minutes later, I asked the cabby to wait while I dropped off groceries at the office, bribing her with the promise of a peanut butter and peach jam sandwich. Carmedy almost always made it in before I did, and he’d want his energy drinks and fresh bagels waiting. On the way to East Hills, I called Carmedy.