Finding Sarah (15 page)

He envisioned Starsky and Hutch
in catnip-induced rapture. Took a shaky breath. “They love their catnip. Thank
you, Doctor. I appreciate the trouble you went to.”

“No trouble at all. And I’ll
certainly call you if I see any more cases.”

“Thanks, but I don’t expect you
will.” Randy paused before asking his question. “How are Starsky and Hutch?”

“No change, but that’s not a bad
thing at this point. The next couple of days should tell.”

Randy thanked her and hung up the
phone to notice Kovak had stopped his typing and was staring at him.

“Couldn’t help but overhear.
Starsky and Hutch? Someone poisoned them? That sucks.”

“They’re hanging on,” Randy said.

“Damn, I’m sorry. Anything I can
do?”

“Thanks, but I’m on it. Checked
with neighbors. Nobody saw anything unusual. But I’m going to get the bastard,
don’t worry about that.”

“If you want me to cover any of
your caseload, or help put this guy away, let me know.”

“Thanks. I’ve got things under
control for the moment.” Randy reached for the pink slips again, looking to see
if Med-Tekke might have returned his call as well. Nothing. He glanced at his
watch. Four-thirty. He could still reach someone. He was about to place the
call when a buzzing in the back of his mind reached the surface. The
Sherman-Zimmer case didn’t seem related to Sarah’s, but maybe one of Kovak’s
was.

“Kovak? The break-in at the
insurance company. Which one?”

“Oregon Trust.”

The buzzing got louder. Oregon
Trust. Sarah’s insurance company. But it was probably the insurance company of
half the businesses in town. Another coincidence?

“What happened?”

“Someone came in through a
bathroom window, vandalized the copy machine, spray-painted the walls, trashed
most of the computers, ransacked files. Big mess.”

“And you said you have leads?”

“One or two. Couple of big claims
were denied recently. I’m looking to see if someone’s getting even. Hey, at
least these guys ought to have insurance, right?” He laughed. “And besides, all
their records are backed up at the main office in Portland, so it’s not like
anyone is going to be without proof of insurance or anything.” Kovak walked to
the door and picked up his sport coat. “I’m out of here for tonight.”

Maybe he’d offer to trade cases
with Kovak. He thought again. Better to let Kovak investigate. If there was a
connection to Sarah’s troubles, Kovak would be the visible one. Trusting Kovak
to stay on top of things, Randy picked up the phone and called Mr. Yamaguchi at
Med-Tekke.

“Yes, Detective. I’m sorry I
haven’t been able to get back to you. What exactly do you want to know?”

“You manufacture test kits for
ciguatera, right?”

“That’s right. One of the few
companies that do, I might add.”

“That’s very good, I’m sure. But,
tell me. In order to make the test kits, don’t you need a source of the toxin?”

“Yes and that’s one of the things
that we’re proud of. We’ve been able to synthesize a chemical that is virtually
identical to ciguatoxin.”

“You manufacture this in your
plant?”

“We do. May I ask why you are
inquiring? Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure. What kind of
security measures do you have in place? Could someone walk out with some of the
toxin?” Randy waited out the silence on the other end of the line.

“I see. So you believe someone
has taken our product and used it improperly. You understand that ciguatera is
a bothersome illness, but is not usually fatal and is treatable.”

For humans, Randy thought, as Mr.
Yamaguchi went on. Not cats.

“Our research is designed to make
sure that any fish reaching the market are safe to eat. And, I assure you, we
exceed every government security standard.”

“Mr. Yamaguchi, I do understand.
However, we’ve had a case where some cats have been poisoned, and the poison
has been identified as ciguatoxin. As you’ve said, there aren’t a lot of the
right kind of fish on the Oregon coast. I’m looking for a possible source and
your lab came up.”

“I find it hard to believe that
any of our employees would remove any toxin from the lab. They know the
importance of our integrity.”

“But could they?”

“Detective, I’m sure someone in
your position knows that an enterprising person is capable of doing almost
anything.”

“Anybody named Brandt work for
you? Or Adams?”

“Give me a moment.”

Randy waited and a few minutes
later, Mr. Yamaguchi reported that no employees by those names worked for
Med-Tekke. Why wasn’t he surprised? “I’d like a roster of any employees with
access to the toxin, please. Names, addresses, phone numbers.”

“Of course. I can fax it to you.”

“Thank you.” Randy dictated the
number. “One more question, Mr. Yamaguchi. Is Med-Tekke privately owned?”

“Oh, no. We’re a subsidiary of
Consolidated Enterprises.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very
helpful. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.” His headache showed no
signs of abating. Randy rubbed his temples again. Maybe some fresh air would
help. He walked out to the back parking lot and leaned against his truck. In an
almost unconscious motion, he pulled out his cell phone and called Sarah. His
spirits lifted when he heard her voice.

“You have some news? Anything to
do with my case? Oh God, not your cats. Are they—?”

“No, they’re hanging on. And I
think I know where the poison came from. Now I have to figure out who took it.”

“That’s a start, isn’t it?”

“Yes. A start. But I caught
another case and I’m going to be working late again.”

“Another robbery?”

“A burglary, to be technical,
since nobody was home. Actually, two burglaries. Some kids, probably. Minor
theft—mostly they trashed the kitchens.”

After a brief silence, Sarah
spoke again. “Are you busy Friday night?”

“No. But that comes with the
standard issue cop disclaimer, ‘unless I catch a case’. Why?”

“Maggie has two tickets to a
community theater production in Cottonwood, but she can’t make it. Would you
like to go? Or, does going to a play violate that open case thing you have?”

Guilt appeared and dissolved like
cotton candy. Damn, he wanted to be with her. “No. Sounds great.” Anything with
Sarah sounded great. And by Friday, he might have found the copycat Gertie. “What
time?”

“The play starts at seven-thirty.”

“Tell you what. I’ll pick you up
at five-thirty. We can drive to Cottonwood, have dinner and still be in plenty
of time.”

Randy looked up to see a
uniformed officer motioning to him from the back door. “Gotta run. See you
Friday.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and jogged back.

“What’s up?” he asked the officer.

“Someone was here to see you
about those kitchen break-ins. She wouldn’t stay, but she said to give you
this.” He handed Randy a neatly folded piece of paper.

“A kid?”

“No, older woman. Hispanic.”

Randy thought about his visits to
the Shermans and Zimmers. Esmeralda? He unfolded the paper and saw three Greek
letters on it. A fraternity?

Randy dashed to the front of the
building and recognized the maid getting on a bus. He looked at the paper
again. Delta Theta Delta. Maybe he could clean this one up quickly after all.

* * * * *

Randy sat in the corner booth of
O’Farrell’s and watched Matt Dobrovsky work his bulk between the high-top
tables. The bear-like man stopped to clap a shoulder or shake a hand as he
passed old colleagues, snagging a bowl of peanuts. By the time he made his way
to the back of the room, the waitress had delivered their drinks.

Randy stood. “Good to see you,
Dobs. Thanks for coming.”

Dobrovsky shook Randy’s
outstretched hand and eased into the booth. Bushy white eyebrows lifted as he
sniffed the drink that waited for him. “You must need something big to spring
for a single malt.”

Randy raised his beer glass. “It’s
been too long. You’re looking good.”

Dobrovsky’s eyes, a shade or two
darker than the whiskey he drank, disappeared when he laughed, which he did
with gusto. “I’m looking older. But, yeah, I don’t miss the stress. He ran his
palm over his silver buzz cut. “Too bad all the gray I earned on the job didn’t
go away, too.” Dobrovsky chomped on a cigar in between sips of his whiskey
while they exchanged the usual pleasantries.

“You’re not gonna light that
thing, are you?” Randy worked on his beer and munched on peanuts.

The old man took the stogie from
his mouth and guffawed.

“Doctor says I can’t smoke these,
but he didn’t say nothing about chewing ’em. Can’t think right without one.” He
set the cigar down. “Let’s cut to the chase. You didn’t call me here to buy me
a drink, Detweiler. What do you need?”

“I need your gut on that suicide.”

Dobrovsky grinned and patted his
rotund belly. “Got a lot more gut since I quit the force.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“Honest gut reaction—I’d say it
was fifty-fifty. But Polk said suicide, the insurance company agreed, and I
didn’t have anything concrete. That poor girl could have spent every dime she
had and it still might not have given her the answer she wanted. How’s she
doing?”

Randy took a sip of his beer. “She’s
living with guilt. You know the drill—that suspicion that she might have had
something to do with it.”

“Not to mention she’s out the
insurance money.”

Randy shook his head. “I don’t
think that’s her main concern.”

Those whiskey eyes squinted
across the table in the subdued lighting of the bar. “She was a sweet kid. I’m
thinking you think so, too.”

“Remind me not to play poker with
you.”

“Remind me to invite you to the
next game.” Dobs plopped a folder onto the table. “These are my notes. Ms.
Tucker has a copy. You could have asked her. She’s a lot prettier than I am.”

“I don’t want her to know I’m
meeting you—or that I might ask you to take another look, if you think it’s
warranted. She doesn’t like charity.”

“I don’t know. The car had
stopped at a pull-out. It had been raining pretty hard. Maybe the guy wanted to
wait until it let up. Visibility would have been almost nil. But my take? It
honestly looked like he’d stopped while he got up the guts to go over. Taped
something heavy to the accelerator, released the brake and let it fly. ME’s
report was consistent with that sudden stop at the bottom of a hill. Or, in
this case, the trunk of a tree.”

Randy cringed at the
matter-of-fact way Dobs referred to the death, but knew it was a common enough
defense mechanism. Kept things impersonal. “Did they find pills?”

“No bottle, but if it’d been
loose in the vehicle, it could have flown and disappeared.”

“He have a prescription for them?”

“Nothing local, but you know damn
well you can buy that crap on the Internet.”

“Sounds like you did your usual
good job.”

Dobrovsky shrugged. “But—I did
wonder if there wasn’t something hinky with the trooper. Arbaugh.”

“Hinky?”

“He was in a hurry to sew it up.
I mean, I was as ready as the next guy to turn in the badge after I did my
time, but he might have overlooked something.”

“You think he did?” Randy turned
the beer glass in his hands.

“Kid, the only reason they got
anything at all was because the car hung on a tree for a couple of hours. Rain,
mud, and whoosh.” Dobrovsky’s hand swept up and then downward. “The car was
history. Rocks, trees, ravines—there were bits and pieces everywhere. No
telling what came from the car and what came from people dumping trash over the
side of the road. Nobody could do anything in that storm, and the suicide
evidence was enough for Arbaugh.”

Randy leaned forward. “Would it
have been enough for you?”

“Sitting here, I’d say no. In a
rainstorm, a week from retirement, I don’t know what I’d have done. I know they
checked out possible homicide. I might have worked that angle a little more.
But the man-hours it would have taken to ferret out what belonged to the
accident and what didn’t, not to mention the CSI expenses—I can’t say I blame
them. I came in way after the fact. Monday morning quarterbacks don’t win
football games.”

“What do you know about Arbaugh?”

“Good officer by reputation. I
heard he came into some money right about the time he retired. Rumor has it he’s
on some tropical beach drinking fancy concoctions with umbrellas in them ogling
half-naked broads. Lucky man.”

Randy smiled. “Sometimes the gods
reward you for doing your job.”

Dobrovsky finished his drink and
clapped the glass onto the table. “Thanks for the drink, kid.”