Hidden Fire, Kobo (29 page)

Randy snapped a chip. How many days since
he'd heard this speech? He'd already been kicked over to County. What more
could they do? Had Neville come up with more crap? Suddenly, he was all too aware
of his badge and his gun. He imagined the chief asking for them. That couldn't
be the next step. Could it?

The chief took a hearty bite of his
sandwich. "Sorry," he said around a mouthful. "First chance I've
had to eat all day." He chewed it slowly, swallowed, wiped his mouth and
took a sip of his drink. Wiped his mouth again. Randy's gut felt like it was
caught in a steel trap.

"What do you know about diamond
smuggling?" the chief asked. His tone was no different from before, but
his penetrating gaze said he was watching Randy's reaction.

Which, fortunately for him, was not to
spew cola all over his two superiors, or choke on the sandwich he'd been unable
to eat.

"What? Where did that one come from?"
he asked. He looked at Eldridge, to see if this was some kind of setup, even
though he knew these men would never pull something like this, especially on
the clock.

"Long story," the chief said.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere,"
Randy said. "Does this have something to do with our murder victim?"

"We don't know yet," Eldridge
said. "But it appears to have something to do with Sarah Tucker."

This was going beyond bizarre. "Sarah?
Involved in diamond smuggling? That's … impossible. Come on, Chief, you know
her. You've known her for years. She doesn't even get parking tickets."

Laughlin pointed to Randy's full plate. "Eat
your lunch, Randy. We're here, not in an interrogation room, for a reason. I
don't believe Sarah's into smuggling any more than I believe you're helping
her." He took another bite of his sandwich.

In deference to the chief's order, Randy
drank some of his cola. The thought of food in his stomach—well, he didn't want
to go there. He thought of his Tums, regrettably in his desk drawer. "Why
would anyone think I'm helping Sarah smuggle diamonds?"

Laughlin bobbed one of his fries back and
forth in a puddle of ketchup on his plate. "We got a call from the
Washington state cops," he said. "Cutting to the chase, they found
evidence of smuggled diamonds in someone's hotel room. That someone happened to
have a shipment of coffee mugs from a shop called That Special Something
.
"

"All that says is Sarah sold
something to a probable crook," Randy said. "Which might be
unfortunate, but nobody demands background checks on customers. Crooks are free
to go shopping."

"Chill, Randy," Eldridge said. "It's
a little more complicated."

Randy tried to watch both men at once,
but he couldn't pick up the subtle nuances in facial expression on more than
one at a time. "Meaning?" he said, concentrating on Eldridge.

"Meaning the apparent method of
smuggling the diamonds was
inside
the coffee mugs."

* * * * *

Sarah stood there, staring at the deupties,
unable to speak. Her brain froze. Her mouth went desert dry. This wasn't about
her business license. But what? "Why?"

One of the deputies pulled out a piece of
paper. "We have a warrant to search the premises, ma'am. You'll need to
step outside."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, ma'am. We have some questions
for you. About some pottery you shipped to the Bellevue Hilton in Washington."

"To Mr. Pemberton? Yes, I sent him a
set of coffee mugs. What about them?"

"Do you have any more?" he
asked.

She calmed enough to look at him more
closely. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown, but tired. He smiled, but there
was no matching warmth. Silver tinged his short brown hair at the temples. His
shirt was pressed, his tie knotted neatly. Claussen, his badge said.

"No, I don't. There was a burglary,"
she said, feeling a ridiculous burst of pride in knowing the difference between
that and a robbery. What did they care?

His partner said something into the radio
at his shoulder.

Within moments, a patrol car and a van
pulled into the alley. Suddenly, there were half a dozen people in her shop and
Claussen was keeping her out.

"My purse is in there," she
said.

"We'll have someone bring it to you."

Slowly, as if they were floating in
gelatin, her thoughts began to come together. She examined the warrant, her
knees wobbling at all the things they were going to look at. Or take, she
imagined. Her computer. Her records. Any pottery. Randy's words came back. "If
they don't let you walk away, don't say anything without a lawyer."

She met Claussen's eyes. "May I
leave?"

She detected a glimpse of sadness when he
answered. "I'm afraid not."

"Then I want a lawyer," she
said, wondering how the heck she was going to find one. Randy would know. Was
all that stuff about one phone call true or a television gimmick? If she called
Randy, would she be allowed to make another phone call to a lawyer?

"Are you sure, ma'am?" Claussen
asked. "That complicates things." One side of his mouth curled up. "Makes
it look like you have something to hide. You ask for a lawyer, we have to take
you to the station, book you, all sorts of legal hassles. It can take hours.
Answer a few questions and it'll probably be over before our guys finish
inside."

Randy's ears buzzed as if a swarm of bees
filled his head. "Inside the coffee mugs? You're trying to tell me you
actually believe she packed diamonds inside these mugs and shipped them to
someone in Washington?"

"Not exactly," Eldridge said. "The
diamonds were in kind of a secret compartment in the mugs, between the base and
the mug itself. Apparently put there when the mugs were made."

"Then you need to be looking for
Hugh Garrigue," Randy said. "Not Sarah. Garrigue's the one who made
the mugs. Ask him."

Eldridge narrowed his eyes. "You
claim he's missing. Convenient if you don't want us to find him. You take over
that part of the investigation, tell us he's gone, when maybe he's right where
he belongs."

Randy seethed. "I
claim
he's
missing? Nobody knows where he is. According to Sarah, he's supposed to be with
family somewhere. I've been busting my ass trying to solve a murder, as
ordered. And why the fuck would I
claim
Garrigue is missing?" He
paused, suddenly aware they were in a public place and the room had gone
silent.

"You know where he is?"
Eldridge asked quietly. "Or did you simply take Mrs. Tucker's word for it
that he's missing?"

He struggled to keep his voice low. "Of
course I took her word for it. Why wouldn't I? She was the one who told me he
was called away, suggested him as our possible John Doe. But yes, I followed up
with the University police. And no, I don't know where he is because I haven't
been looking for him. I've put in a request to be alerted if anyone hears from
him, but he's not my case." His mouth had gone dry and he took a sip of
his cola.

"All right, we'll leave Garrigue's
whereabouts for now. Back to Sarah Tucker."

"I said it before. There is no way
on this earth that she would be involved in diamond smuggling. Or anything else
illegal."

Eldridge went on as if he hadn't heard. "It's
a perfect cover. She receives the mugs with the hidden contraband, ships them
to the customer and who would be the wiser? Sounds like a sweet setup."

Randy looked to Laughlin. He couldn't
possibly believe this. "Chief?"

Laughlin held his hands up and shook his
head. The buzzing in Randy's head grew louder.

"She's got motive, means and
opportunity," Eldridge said. He raised his thumb. "She's had a lot of
business trouble. A little extra income would come in handy." His index
finger lifted. "She ships and receives merchandise all the time." He
added his third finger. "Big showcase of Garrigue's work means she can
acquire the stuff, no one would give it a second thought."

Randy opened his mouth, but the chief cut
him off. "So we're going to conduct a thorough investigation. By the book,
which means you can't be involved."

"Why not?" Randy said. "Sarah's
not related to me. She's not my wife. We're not engaged. Hell, I know half the
people in town. If you pull cops off cases because we know the people involved,
you'd have to hire an entire new force every month."

"There's a difference between
knowing and
knowing
," the chief said. "If you get my meaning.
I think you and Sarah fall into the latter definition of the term."

Randy pressed his hand against his
flaming belly. He looked at Eldridge, then at the chief. "Even if I buy
that, why is County involved? Sarah's shop is in Pine Hills. Kovak's
investigating."

"Kovak's been your partner for
years. The decision was made to let the county handle the investigation,"
the chief said. "He's off the case as well. He's got enough work to do
without this one."

"Who made the decision?" Randy
asked. "Seems a bit harsh."

Laughlin scowled. "You're a
detective. I'm an administrator. We answer to different people."

"So, does this mean I'm back in Pine
Hills? Or am I still here, working the murder investigation? Eldridge seemed to
think I'm finished." He let his gaze move from one man to the other, but
he wasn't seeing them. He blinked them back into focus.

"Have you considered vacation time?"
the chief said. "You barely made a dent in it the last time I suggested
you use it."

Because vacation time meant sitting
around dwelling on things. Working kept him busy. The last thing he wanted was
to be somewhere, trusting others to do right by Sarah. "What's the
alternative?" he asked.

"Administrative leave. Paid, once we
clear up your involvement," the chief said.

"Involvement? In
what
?"
Randy demanded.

"I'll take it," Eldridge said.
He moved his empty plate aside and leaned his forearms on the table. "Our
preliminary investigation shows that Mrs. Tucker shipped the stuff to Washington
before
it went on sale in her shop. Raises a few red flags. That, along
with the prints, ties the murder to the pots and back to Mrs. Tucker."

Randy felt like he'd studied the wrong
chapter for the algebra test. "What prints? We haven't had a single hit
from IAFIS."

"Remember the key from the murder
scene?" the chief said.

Randy nodded. "Connor said he had a
partial, but it didn't match anything in IAFIS. You got a new hit on it?"

"Not like that. But Connor had
enough to suspect it might match one he lifted at Sarah's shop. He sent them
both to the experts for confirmation. The report came back as a positive match.
Whoever's print is on that key has been in That Special Something
.
Which
connects the two cases and ties Sarah in even more."

"Shouldn't you ask her about it?"
Randy said. "She'll explain everything."

"We're working on that,"
Eldridge said, cutting his eyes to the chief before meeting Randy's. "But
we've also discovered that
you
were in That Special Something
with
Mrs. Tucker on several occasions, during which you could have assisted her with
any part of the operation."

Randy looked at the chief. "Neville."
He'd like to know what had shoved a stick up the man's ass.

The chief inclined his head a fraction.

"Eldridge," Randy said. "For
some reason Officer Neville has a grudge against me." He turned his gaze
to the chief. "Why would you take his word for anything?"

"We don't," the chief said. "But
the facts are there and if we don't follow through, we're not doing our job. We
have only Sarah's word that all her Garrigue pots are missing. Neville has
suggested she had ample opportunity to pack them up and get them out of her
shop. And, hard as it might be for anyone who knows Sarah to believe, to any
other law enforcement agency it's a viable lead."

"Compounded by the fact that Neville
places you on the scene as a possible accomplice," Eldridge added.

"What about the burglary and
vandalism? She couldn't have done that. She was with me."

"Under the circumstances, I'm afraid
you're not much of an alibi. And since nobody saw anything, what's to say she
didn't do the damage herself? Or hire some punk to do it while she was with
you, giving her that alibi?"

"You didn't see her when she walked
into her shop," Randy said. "Nobody's that good an actor. Ask Brody.
Or Connor. They were there. They saw her reaction."

"None of us is a perfect judge of
character, Randy," Eldridge said. "And personal feelings make us
blind."

Randy rubbed his temples, tempted to walk
out. But he reminded himself stomping out like a child having a temper tantrum
would do nothing for his credibility. Instead, he got up, collected Eldridge's
and the chief's empty plates and took them, along with his full one, to the
trash receptacle.