Hidden Fire, Kobo (8 page)

An icicle stabbed Randy in the gut. "Are
you pulling us from the case?"

Laughlin searched the ceiling. "Not
in so many words."

"Damn it, Chief, what's that
supposed to mean?" Randy said. "How many words does it take? Are we
on the case or not? The body was found in our jurisdiction."

"Cool your jets, Detweiler. You were
glad for county's help yesterday."

"For their
help
, yes. But it
sounds to me as if you're saying now we're helping
them
. Unless I'm
mistaken, the sheriff is up for election and he's going to want to take the
limelight on this one. We'll be cut out."

Laughlin's eyes narrowed to ice-blue
slits. "I thought our goal was to solve crimes and apprehend criminals.
Stand for the victims. Or is getting credit for the collar all that matters?
Don't tell me you're still stewing about the Gracious Gertie case."

Randy curled his fingers in to fists and
took a slow, steadying breath. "You know I didn't give a damn about who
got Gertie. And, if you'll remember, I didn't attach my name to the
Westmoreland case when he was brought up on murder charges, either here or in
Jersey. I'm not in this for the glory and if you don't know that after ten
years, maybe I'm in the wrong job."

"You're tired, Detweiler and I'm
going to pretend you didn't use that tone with me." He sat back in his
chair and folded his hands on his desk. "Kovak, you have anything to say?"

Kovak's gaze moved from the chief to
Randy and back. "I agree with Randy, sir, although I do understand that
county has a lot more resources, and we're used to outsourcing the
sophisticated forensics. I don't think either one of us wants to catch this
perp for the glory. But we're concerned our citizens might lose some faith in
our ability to protect them if we back down when things get complicated and we
most certainly don't want this case to become a pawn in any political games."

Laughlin's eyebrows rose to inverted Vs
as he turned his eyes to Randy. "You might take a lesson from your
colleague. A little tact goes a long way." He shifted his gaze to Kovak. "You're
dismissed. Start pulling together everything we have."

"On it, sir." He got to his
feet, reversed the chair and moved toward the door.

Randy rose.

"Not you, Detweiler."

Shit.
He'd pushed too far. Kovak gave him a look that said, "Glad
it's not me," and hurried out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Randy remained standing, eyes fixed on
the wall behind Laughlin, shoulders thrust back. "I apologize, sir. You're
right. I haven't had much sleep the last few days and I'm afraid it's affecting
my temper. You have my word it won't happen again."

The chief tapped a piece of paper on his
desk. "This is for your ears only right now. Our fiscal year is almost
over. The bean counters at City Hall are pushing to dissolve the force.
Contract out to the sheriffs for all our law enforcement needs, not just the
high-tech stuff."

"What?" Stunned, Randy dropped
into his chair.

"It's still at the rumor phase. I've
got my sources. But they're examining every bean. As of the end of the week, we
are officially over budget and I'm going to have to cancel unauthorized
overtime. What we can't do is spend our money on things the county can do
cheaper and faster."

Randy let that one roll around in his
head. Why had the chief ordered Kovak out of the room? "They're going to
want to downsize, aren't they? With no overtime and less manpower, we're not
going to be able to do our jobs, which will prove to the council we're not
worth the budget. That's a Catch-22."

"I agree, but there's talk along
those lines, yes."

"Have they run the figures? How much
it will cost to hire out the county cops?"

Laughlin held his hands up. "Hey,
don't preach to the choir here." He tapped the paper again. "It's
early, but every now and again you have to fix something before it's broken.
Preventive maintenance."

"Well I'd like to see the town
council when our guys have used up their quota of hours. Like the creeps stop
at five p.m. and don't commit crimes on weekends? What happens when the county's
dealing with its crime load and we're on the back burner? You think they're
going to come out when Mrs. Malloy thinks someone's peeking in her bathroom
window, or Fred Colfax's mini-mart is vandalized? Find Lizzie Greenbaum when
she wanders away from the Senior Center? Is it worth what little they might
save?"

"We have to show them we're doing
what they pay us for. Unfortunately, they don't think in terms of the little
things. That we're a small force where every officer pitches in. Where nobody
ever says, 'Hey, not my department.' That they're getting plenty of bang for
their buck."

The chief leaned forward and lowered his
voice. "I can't ask, and it can't be official, but I'd like the Pine Hills
PD to come out on top of this. County's got the resources, true, but they're
overworked. Do what you can, but play by the rules. If I can show the council
we were instrumental in closing a high-profile case to protect its citizens, I
might be able to convince them to keep the force."

Randy huffed. "For God's sake,
Chief. Our crime in Pine Hills is the minor day-to-day stuff. Showing we can
solve a big case is a stupid yardstick to measure our effectiveness. How many
of those do we see in a year? Hell, in a decade?"

The chief's expression said he wasn't any
happier than Randy. "Politics. Never liked it, but the council approves
the budget."

Randy's pulse throbbed. Acid dumped into
his stomach. He sucked in a breath. "What do you want me to do?"

"Your job. Efficiently.
Professionally. I spoke to Sheriff Davenport yesterday and we agreed that you
and Eldridge will work jointly on the case. And equally. Your salary will come
from County while you're working over there, which should take a little
pressure off my budget for a while. I want you to get your ass over to County
and get on the same page. I want updates. Daily. I want to have something to
say the next time some damn reporter sticks a microphone in front of me."

He glared at Randy. "And the next
time someone sticks one in your face, your answer will be 'No comment'.
Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Gladly." Filled with
an anger-induced adrenaline surge, he went to the door.

He had one hand on the knob when the chief
said, "Remember. The budget cuts are between the two of us."

"Understood." He closed the
door behind him and went back to his office. When Kovak raised his eyes in
question, Randy shook his head. "I still have most of my ass left, but it's
got teeth marks in it."

"Too bad. At least he didn't put you
on suspension."

"Right." He grabbed his notes. "I
have to get over to County."

"Hang on." Kovak stared at his
monitor. "Holy crap. Did you see the chief's e-mail?"

"Which one?"

"The one that says as of next week,
there's no overtime."

So that much was already out. "Chief
mentioned something about it."

Worry lines creased Kovak's face. "This
is
not
a good time."

"Look on the bright side. You've put
in more than enough hours this week. You've got the entire weekend to celebrate
your anniversary."

Kovak didn't look particularly excited.

"Something wrong?" Randy asked.

Kovak gave him a weak smile. "Nah. I
was overreacting. Go do your thing. I'll run down all the local leads."

They'd been partners long enough for
Randy to know when Kovak was lying.

* * * * *

When UPS delivered Hugh's six boxes at
two o'clock, Sarah did mental cartwheels. She'd inventory the pieces—at least a
decent sample of them—and have them on display for her advertised opening.

During a lull, she called Jennifer and
left a message. "If you can come in early tomorrow—anytime after
eight—Hugh's pottery is here and we can be ready. I'm staying late. Call me on
my cell."

Her next call went to Hugh's assistant,
confirming receipt of the shipment.

"I felt so bad," the woman
said. "I called UPS and had them expedite the order. I'm glad they were
able to get it to you."

"Thanks so much. And if you talk to
Hugh, tell him I'll be thinking of him and I hope whatever his emergency was,
that everything is cleared up quickly."

"I'll pass the word along when I
hear from him," she said and the line disconnected.

Sarah replaced the handset and retrieved her
box cutter. She hadn't slit the first box when her door chimes alerted her to
people entering the shop.

The smile she greeted them with was
genuine, although it was more in anticipation of the end of the day than being
of service. It was all she could manage not to shoo all the late afternoon
customers out the door, but finally, it was five and she flipped her door sign
to "Closed". By seven, she had photographed three cartons of pieces,
each one cataloged and priced based on Hugh's list.

When she slit the fourth carton, seeing
it was full of mugs reminded her of Mr. Pemberton's request. After locating the
right ones, she added their details to her files and repackaged them for
shipping.

As she found the address of the Bellevue
Hilton, she thought about Janie Kovak. Would her anniversary celebration be
special enough? Fifteen years was a milestone. What had caused her concern
yesterday? Money, no doubt about it. Cops didn't make that much, but Randy
lived comfortably. Then again, he didn't have a family. She tried to remember
if Janie worked.

Not your business. It's not like you're
close friends. You hardly know her. But if you and Randy—

Stop.
She addressed the carton and called UPS, arranging a pickup
for tomorrow. Mr. Pemberton had certainly paid enough for weekend service and
she took satisfaction knowing he'd have his wife's present on Monday.

She'd added one carton of pottery to her
displays when her cell rang. When she heard Randy's voice instead of the
expected call from Jennifer, she almost dropped the platter she was holding.

"Randy." She tried to keep any
emotion out of her voice. He was an expert at reading her face, but maybe she
could keep her innermost thoughts private. It might be easier if she had the
slightest clue what those thoughts were.

"I haven't called—"

"Well that's a surprise," she
said, not letting him go on. "Thanks for letting me know."

"God, Sarah, I'm sorry. This has
been a hell of a few days. I haven't had a minute. I called last night, but it
was late and I couldn't handle your machine. I … can we get together? Even for
a little while? I've barely been to bed since Tuesday."

His voice hitched, sending crackles
around her heart like the finish on the platter she was holding. She dug for
the resolve she was determined to maintain. "I'm kind of busy," she
said. "And I have to be in early tomorrow."

"Sarah, please? Drop by."

"I'm not sure. You should probably
go to bed and get some sleep. You don't need me for that."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "I
do, Sarah. I want to sleep with you beside me, in my arms. That's all." He
gave a rueful laugh. "I don't think I could manage anything else. But I
need you." Another long pause. "Please?" His voice broke.

So did her heart. "I'll be there in
half an hour."

He blew out a shaky breath. "Thanks."

She covered the distance to his house in
thirty minutes instead of her normal forty. His porch light was on, but all the
windows were dark. She locked her car and dashed up the wooden steps and tapped
on his door. When there was no response, she twisted the knob. It turned easily
and she pushed the door open.

Starsky and Hutch, Randy's cats, mewed
and serpentined around her legs. She crouched and scratched them behind the
ears. "Hi, fellas. Where's your tall friend?"

Strains of Beethoven coming from the down
the hall answered her. She locked the front door, flipped on the lamp in the
living room and wandered toward the music. The door was ajar. She crept into
the shadow-filled room and sat in the sagging seat of the easy chair that had
been his grandmother's. Randy didn't look up, didn't stop playing. Was he even
aware she'd come in? Closing her eyes, she listened.

"Pathetique"
. The first piece he'd played for her.
His grandmother's favorite. When he finished, he immediately segued into "Bridge
Over Troubled Water" and she knew he'd noticed her presence.

She got up and slid onto the piano bench,
her thighs touching his. "Is it my turn to be a bridge for you?" She
reached for the light on top of the old upright, but he clutched her wrist.

"No," he whispered.

"I want to look at you," she
said. "You sounded … miserable on the phone."

"Tired."