32

As lead investigator on the Gale case, Walt was shown and was required to sign off on the case paperwork. The longer and more involved a case, the greater the paperwork. He was no stranger to bureaucracy. As sheriff, he was in charge of people management and budget oversight; he essentially ran a decent-sized company with a charter to solve crimes and keep the peace, work that was typically delegated to others. He and Nancy had developed a routine, a rhythm to the administration of his office that allowed him, as with the Gale case, to keep his hand in the work that interested him, while keeping the office work moving ahead. Like any worthwhile assistant, Nancy was crucial to the process. She knew what had to be done when, and saw to it, chasing him down for signatures and ensuring he attended the necessary meetings with the county commissioners and politicians.

He finished signing a stack of papers and slid the next in front of him, recognizing the top sheets as the inventory from Gale’s rented SUV. He’d been so obsessed with his own handling of the baseball bat found outside the vehicle that, while he’d been briefed on the contents of the vehicle itself-including the victim’s missing wallet, found under the seat; blood evidence, not on the headrest but near the ignition and on the steering wheel and passenger-side floor mat; and the car rental contract, discovered inside the console lock box-he’d not given a great deal of thought to any of it. The wallet contained no cash; the blood evidence had been collected and sent off to the lab, along with the rental contract to be processed for fingerprints. The vehicle’s interior and exterior had been processed for latent prints, with little more than a few smears and smudges to show for it.

He flipped through the detailed inventory, making sure to read it carefully as he continued to think about his handling of the baseball bat, and how he was going to eventually add it to the same list. Boldt had promised quick lab work; he made a mental note to follow up on that.

He read past the line before stopping abruptly and backtracking. It was listed under contents of the wallet.

“Nancy!”

She knew that tone, and rushed through the doorway.

“Double-check this, will you? It’s got to be a mistake.” He spun the page around and indicated the line. “Someone screwed something up. I’m almost positive Brandon said the ATM withdrawals were from a Visa with this same bank. As in, this same card. It can’t be in the wallet if it’s being used to make cash withdrawals in town, can it? Sort it out, please.”

“Got it.” She took the page with her. But Walt came out of his seat and followed her back to her desk and hovered there as she located Brandon. Walt held out his hand for the receiver. She handed it over, disappointed in him for micromanaging. She and Beatrice knew how to get to him.

“Tommy? The ATM card. Gale’s ATM card. It was a Visa with what bank?”

“Purchase Bank, in Mobile.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Walt cupped the receiver and said to Nancy, “Find out where Gale’s effects are. Specifically, his wallet. The lab, I assume?”

Nancy returned to Walt’s desk and carried a stack of papers back to her desk. She flipped through several and ran her finger along a line. “Yes. Still in Meridian.”

“Ask them to e-mail us a photo of the card, will you? Both sides. And I want that card fumed or dusted for prints.”

She held out her hand, wanting the phone back from him.

“Meet me in my office,” Walt told Brandon, surrendering the phone to her.

Brandon tried to fit himself into one of the two chairs facing Walt’s desk. He looked like Walt felt when volunteering to read to kids in kindergarten.

Walt passed him the inventory sheet, where a yellow highlighted line now jumped off the page.

“Son of a butte,” Brandon said.

“Banks don’t issue two cards with the same name on the same account.”

“All I can tell you is that Blompier, I think it was, was the one in touch with them, and it was this card on this bank. Maximum cash advances a couple days in a row.”

“And he was dead.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“And the card is now somehow back in his wallet.”

“I’m not saying I understand it.”

“Blompier handed it right to me, and I missed it,” Walt said, thinking aloud.

“Sheriff?”

“We were talking about cameras on the ATMs, how convenient it was that the ATM used didn’t happen to have a working camera as part of its security.”

“Okay,” Brandon said.

“We were made aware of this during that poacher case. You remember?”

“Sure.”

“So did Deputy Blompier. He mentioned it to me. Reminded me.”

“You lost me, I think.”

“All those trees, the forest as thick as it is where we found the rental-it occurred to me at the time that it was a miracle it threw off any kind of heat signature.”

“Now I know you lost me.”

“Gilly Menquez told me he found the truck because of its heat signature. The poacher case? Menquez handled that for the Forest Service. He knew that ATM didn’t have a camera.”

“Menquez?” Brandon couldn’t believe it.

“We need a way to prove it. What about traffic cams?” Walt asked.

“What traffic cams? We don’t have any traffic cams.”

“You and I know that, but is that common knowledge?”

“If I knew where you were going with this, Sheriff, maybe I could help.” Brandon stood out of the chair, making it look normal-sized again.

“Nancy!” Walt shouted, forgoing the intercom. “Get me Kenshaw.”

“I’m on it!” she shouted back.

Brandon, his face a mass of confusion, pointed out the office door, miming his request to leave. Walt assented.

“Sometime today would be good!” Walt called out to Nancy.

“I said: I’m on it.”

Walt addressed Brandon saying, “Find Gilly. Get him down here for a chat.”

“Menquez? How am I supposed to do that?”

“I’m not asking, I’m ordering,” Walt said.

His phone rang. She’d put him through.

Shaking his head, Brandon took off.

Walt answered the phone. “Sheriff?” Fiona said, sounding ever so professional.

“I need you,” Walt said.

For the sake of security and secrecy, there was no window in the door of the office’s Incident Command Center. But Walt felt as if he could see inside to where Fiona was working at his request. He stood outside the door as agitated as an expectant father, the prosecuting attorney’s voice ringing in his ears. Finally, he summoned the courage to knock and let himself in.

“Why?” he asked her. She sat all alone in the room, dwarfed in what could pass as a lecture hall, her laptop connected to a large hi-def television screen.

“Why what?” she said, breaking her attention away from the screen.

“The Engletons turned down my request to search the property.” He felt confused by the look of surprise on her face.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“Why? Why would they do that?”

“I warned you: they’re private.”

“It’s a murder investigation.”

“It’s their home. Their sanctuary. Leslie is… I tried to warn you. She’s all about energy centers. Chakras. She would see this as a violation of everything she’s built up there. The peace and tranquility. A bunch of men she doesn’t know going through her things. It’s just who she is. It’s nothing personal or intentional.”

“You actually believe that?”

“You think I asked her to refuse you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your face just did.”

“I need this search,” he said, his frustration vented. “Kira needs for me to do this search.”

“You’re welcome onto the property. You know that.”

“It needs to be a legal, authorized search.”

“I contacted them. That’s about all I can do.”

“You could do more,” he blurted out.

“You’re welcome,” she said.