Finding Sarah (13 page)

“Are you kidding? I burned them.”

“What about his phone number?”

“You’re not going to arrest me,
are you?”

Randy shook his head. “Give me
the number. And who gave you the equipment?”

“It was delivered last week. All
new, in factory boxes.”

“You have the boxes?”

“No, they went out with the
trash. But look, you can have all the stuff. I’m out of here tomorrow
anyway—the lights and gas are already on, and the furniture’s coming.” He was
scribbling something on a scrap of paper and when he finished his eyes finally
met Randy’s. “You won’t tell him I squealed, will you? This is the number I
called. I left messages. He called me with instructions, and I haven’t heard
from him since.” He handed Randy the paper.

“What sorts of things were you
reporting to Mr. Adams?”

Mazzaro ran his fingers around
the neck of his t-shirt. “I was supposed to listen to phone calls, see who came
and went.” He looked up at Randy. “Oh, no, no, I never—I didn’t—I mean, she’s not
my type. And she never did anything. Came home, sat at the computer or watched
television. I couldn’t see into her bedroom. I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll pretend I believe you, Mr.
Mazzaro, and you’re going to go back to your temp agency and ask them for a new
assignment.”

“Yes, sir. I’m done here
tomorrow, anyway.” He scuttled to the kitchen and brought a large plastic bag
to Randy.

Randy packed the gear into the
bag and carried it to his pickup, leaving Tony Mazzaro to his misery. On his
way back to Maggie’s, he punched the phone number Mazzaro had given him into
his cell. One ring and a mechanical voice told him to leave his name and
number. He didn’t.

When Maggie opened the door,
Sarah jumped from her perch on the couch. “What did you find out? Can I go home
yet?”

Randy got the same rush that he
did every time she spoke. Or smiled. Or entered his thoughts. He gave Sarah and
Maggie Tony Mazzaro’s sob story. “Do you know anyone named Adams?” he said. “Andrew,
or Andy?”

Sarah wrinkled her brow. “No, not
that I can think of. He’s not one of my artists. It’s possible he was a
customer, but definitely not a regular.”

“I’ll look into it. You can go
home, but I still want you to be careful. For all I know, there will be someone
taking this guy’s place.”

“Stop it,” Sarah said. “You’re
acting like I’ve got a mad stalker who’s going to jump out of the bushes and
grab me.”

“Why didn’t you arrest that
peeper?” Maggie asked.

“He hasn’t broken the law,” Randy
said. Much as he wanted to throttle Mazzaro for watching Sarah, his hands were
tied.

“What about a restraining order?”
Maggie said. “Has he done anything that would let Sarah get one of those?”

“No, there are no grounds for a
restraining order.” Randy fumed inwardly. Hell, he didn’t even have legal
grounds to look for this Adams person. He’d have to bend the rules a little.

Sarah’s eyes flashed bright blue.
“No matter who’s behind all this, he’s trying to hurt people I’m close to, not
me. Face it—the one hurtful thing he’s done has been to the cats. Maybe you
should be the one looking over your shoulder all the time.”

He wanted to wrap her in his
arms. Forced himself to be the cop instead. “You win. Sticking to your normal
routine is probably the best way to go for now.”

“Thank you very much, Detective.”
She looked at him, then at Maggie. “And if the two of you don’t mind, I have a
normal routine to return to. Good night.” She pushed past him and flounced out
the door.

Randy looked at the clock again.
Six forty-five a.m. After a fitful night, filled with erotic dreams quashed by
visions of tortured cats, he had given up on sleep at five. He emptied the
remains of the cats’ food and water dishes into plastic containers, scouted the
house and yard for their toys, bagging everything. He stopped short when he saw
an unfamiliar stuffed mouse. He was sure he knew every feline plaything in the
house. It went into its own bag. He wondered if he should send them to the
police lab for testing, or if the vet might be able to run tests at her clinic.

Seven-thirty. He called the vet.
She was with a patient, but she’d call him back when she was free, her
assistant said. Randy placed all the cats’ things behind his seat in the truck
before driving to work.

He grabbed a cup of coffee in the
break room, took a sip and grimaced. All these years and he still couldn’t get
used to the sludge at the station. He brought his cup to his desk and turned on
the computer.

“Hey, Detweiler. How’s it going?
You gonna shoot me?”

Randy looked up to see Colleen
standing in his doorway. “No, I’m not going to shoot you. You did good.”

Colleen looked around, then came
in and shut the door. She leaned over the desk. “Be straight with me, Randy. How
are you doing?” Her deep green eyes demanded the truth.

Randy looked down at his desk. “I’m
dealing with it.”

“She’s good for you, you know.
Let her in.”

He paused for a moment, then
looked up and stared back into those eyes. “I have.” Never mind that this case
might end up pushing her away.

“Good. Here are the phone numbers
you asked for. Shop and emergency home contacts.”

Randy took the list, scanned it
and glanced at his watch. He set it by the phone. “Thanks. I owe you.”

She moved to the door. “I’ve got
to go. Anything else you need—help with the case, escort duty, whatever—call me.”

“Be safe.” Already dreading the
false alarms from those who would want him to check out a single book out of
place, or a blouse off a hanger, Randy started phoning the merchants. He’d
barely finished the last call when Dr. Lee called.

“I’ve identified the poison.”

Randy ripped off a clean sheet of
paper and clicked his pen open. “What was it?”

“Are you familiar with ciguatera?”

“No. What is it?”

“It’s a kind of seafood
poisoning.”

“How do you spell it?” Randy
wrote down Dr. Lee’s reply. “Go on.”

“It’s caused by a dinoflagellate—”

“Whoa. Slow down. English,
please.”

“Sorry. A microorganism. This one
produces a poison, ciguatoxin, and all three cats tested positive. The toxin is
common in large reef fish, like barracuda and some groupers. One of the early
ways that fishermen tested for tainted fish was by feeding it to cats.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I admit, it’s not a particularly
pleasant thought, but that was the way they made sure their catch was safe.”

“So you think someone fed
tropical barracuda to my cats?”

“Probably not. There’s a
synthetic toxin. While I was in vet school, I worked in a local lab that
manufactures test kits. They used a synthetic in the process.”

“How local?”

“It’s in Portland. Med-Tekke
Industries. I can give you their number.”

“Thanks.” Randy wrote down the number
she dictated. He’d call them later.

Dr. Lee went on. “Othello is
recovering quickly, but apparently your cats ingested a much higher dose. It
wouldn’t take much—the synthetic is highly concentrated. I can’t lie to you,
Detective, their condition is critical. But the fact that they’re still
fighting is a good sign.”

Randy’s throat tightened. “I see,”
he managed. A sip of coffee helped. “Dr. Lee, if I brought you the cats’ toys,
their food and water, would you be able to test for this poison?”

“I should.”

“I’m on my way.” Randy snatched
his jacket and dashed to his truck.

On the drive, the churning in his
gut was back, but this was the good kind of churning—the kind he got when he
was following a lead. At the vet’s office, Randy approached the receptionist. “I
was speaking to Dr. Lee about testing for poisons.”

“She’s expecting you. Why don’t
you have a seat?”

Dr. Lee appeared moments later. “You
can come back now, Mr. Detweiler.” She held the door for him.

Randy gathered his paraphernalia
and followed the doctor to her office, her rubber soles squeaking softly on the
tile floor. She motioned Randy to a chair and took a seat behind her desk.

Randy got right to business,
laying his packages on her desk. “I brought their food, water and all their
toys.” He pointed at the mouse in the plastic bag. “I don’t recognize this one.
I’d suggest you start there. Please keep everything in case we need it as
evidence.”

“I’ll get to it tonight. I’ll
call as soon as I know anything.” She stood and looked at him, a solemn expression
in her deep brown eyes. “Would you like to see your cats?”

“Please.” Fighting the feeling
that he’d be saying goodbye, he followed her down the hall.

She stopped in front of a large
door with a glass window. “They’re semi-comatose, so don’t be alarmed if they
don’t respond.” When she pushed the door open, he followed her into a narrow
room with a bank of stainless steel cages along the far wall. The antiseptic
smell was stronger here and the sweat trickled down his neck.

Dr. Lee unfastened the front of
the first cage. Starsky lay there, an IV dripping into his front leg, the neon
green bandage in stark contrast to his black fur. “Can I touch him?” Randy
asked.

“Of course,” Dr. Lee said. “I
have to get back to my appointments, but Erin’s here to answer any questions.”

“Thank you. For everything.”
Randy reached into the cage and stroked Starsky with an index finger. “Hi, guy.
They’re taking good care of you.” His voice caught and he swallowed hard. “You
rest and get well, guy.” He did the same for Hutch and stood in front of their
cages for several minutes, watching their small chests rise and fall with each
breath. Before he left, he glanced at Erin. She gave him a sympathetic smile.
He couldn’t muster one in return.

Randy walked out to the parking lot
and looked at his watch. Nine-twenty-three. This was going to be a long day.

* * * * *

Randy sat in his pickup for a
full ten minutes before going inside the station. Head lowered, he hurried to
his office and shut the door. Thank goodness Kovak was still on vacation—he had
the place to himself.

Work. He needed to work. He
looked at the pile of papers on his desk. One thing at a time. Prioritize.

Timberline Lodge confirmed Billy
Brandt worked for them, but he’d been giving lessons at the time of the phone
call. Scratch him from the list. A call to the receptionist at Consolidated
told him they had three employees named Adams, two male, one female, none named
Andrew, and the phone number Mazzaro had given him wasn’t one of theirs. He’d tackled
phone directories and reverse directories when the chief called.

“In my office.”

Dreading the moment, Randy obeyed,
tapping on Laughlin’s doorjamb before walking in.

Laughlin looked up from his
files. “Fill me in on your Gertie case. Woodford has her, right?”

“Yes and no. They have her for
the Woodford and Cottonwood robberies. She’s not the person who held up Sarah
Tucker’s store.”

“What about the robberies in town
last year? Did she do those?”

“I’m still working on that.”
Randy studied his fingernails. “I blew it, Chief. I brought Sarah Tucker to
Woodford for a lineup. I was sure she’d ID the woman and I could use that ID to
connect her to Consolidated. I didn’t check with the other victims first. But I’m
doing that today. I need to pull some comparables from our photo files for an
ID.”

“Not like you, Detweiler.”

Randy looked up. “I jumped to a
conclusion and left out some steps. Won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t
happen again. You know better than to get involved. I want reports on all your
open cases before I go home. And I’m planning to go home early today.”

So much for following up on
Adams. “Yes, sir. On my way.” Randy got up to leave.

“Detweiler.”

Randy turned back. “Sir?”

“You don’t look so good.
Something the matter?”

He hesitated. But there was no
lying to the chief. “Someone poisoned my cats. I’ve been … distracted.”

A few of the lines in Laughlin’s
face dissolved. “You know who?”

“No, but I’ll bet a week’s pay
there’s a connection. One of Ms. Tucker’s neighbors—her cat was at the vet with
the same symptoms.”

“Look into it.” He paused. “Oh,
and I suddenly remembered something else I have to get done before I go home.
End of the day for those reports will do.”

“Right.” Randy walked double time
back to his desk and pulled the files on the other three Gracious Gertie cases.
He took the photo of Gertie and brought it to the clerk. “I need you to find me
four other women of similar height and build. Hair color doesn’t matter—she
wore wigs. Full body and head shots. Bring them to me ASAP.” Nothing like a
chewing out from the chief to help you focus.

* * * * *

Sarah hung up the phone and put
away her bank statement, satisfied she was in control. For the first time since
the robbery, she felt like Sarah. Randy hadn’t called with an update on her
case. Maybe she’d pissed him off last night, but she was tired of letting
everyone else tell her how to live her life.

It was almost five when he
called. She could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m still wading through
paperwork, but my eyes are crossing, I’m starving and … I miss you.”

All testiness floated away like a
carnival balloon. Give him a break. The man had finally dealt with his
grandmother’s death, his cats were barely alive, and he was doing his job. “I
miss you, too. I should be free by five-thirty. Want to meet at Sadie’s?”

“I had something else in mind. I
thought we’d go to Martinelli’s.”

“Martinelli’s?” Quiet, private,
on the outskirts of town, someplace where his shaky hold on his emotions wouldn’t
be in plain view. She warmed at the idea that she wouldn’t have to avoid Randy
entirely while her case was still open. After all, he’d laid the ground rules,
so he ought to know what was acceptable.

But Martinelli’s was where she
and David had shared special dinners, including one shortly before he’d died.
And it was one of Chris’ favorite hangouts as well. The thought of the two of
them bumping into each other was not something she wanted to deal with. She
searched her mind for an alternative. “I’m not in the mood for Italian,” she
countered. “What about Rob’s?” It was even more remote and likely to be nearly
empty early on a Monday.

“That’ll work.”

“I’ll be waiting.” As she went
through her closing procedures, Randy’s grief wouldn’t leave her alone. She
knew all too well that leaping back into work masked the symptoms, it didn’t
cure.

At the tap on the front door,
Sarah peeked through the window and felt a smile spread across her face. There
was no mistaking Randy’s silhouette and she unlocked the door. Her grin faded
as she saw the slumped shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. She ached
for him.

He gave her a smile, one that
shone over his exhaustion. “You ready?”

She nodded. “Are you sure you’re
up to this? You look a little … tired.”

“You mean I look like hell, but
yes, I’m up to this. And you look lovely, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Randy’s touch as he
helped with her coat sent goose bumps down to her toes. She shivered.

“You cold?”

“No. Quite the contrary.” She
smiled up at him and they walked down the block to where he’d parked. “Nice
clear evening,” Sarah said, trying to find something neutral to talk about. “Look
at the stars peeking through.”

“Should be even better when we
get to Rob’s.” Randy’s truck lights flashed as he used the remote to unlock the
door. He pulled it open for her and extended his hand. “Watch your step.”

When he climbed behind the wheel,
Sarah studied him in the overhead light of the cab. His eyes were bloodshot and
the muscles in his jaw moved as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Then the
light went off, leaving him in shadows.

“Randy, we don’t have to do this.”

“Please. Drop it. You deal with
things your way, I’ll deal with them my way. Besides, don’t you want to know
what I found out?”

“Of course, but we don’t need to
go to Rob’s for that.”

“Look, I’m tired. And hungry. You’re
not the only one who gets too busy for meals. Rob’s isn’t that far. We’ll be
there in twenty minutes.”