Keeping the Peace (19 page)

“I don’t know.” John shuffled some papers on his desk. Then, looking up, he said, “We do have a lead on a suspect, though.”

“Yeah? So soon?”

“It appears Gabriel Strand took out a restraining order on an ex-boyfriend of his mother’s, and the guy didn’t take it too well.”

“It didn’t say anything like that in the initial report I read.”

“He failed to mention it to me.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Mia.”

“Mia, your daughter?”

“Mia, my daughter.”

“Hmm.”

“She read it in a tabloid magazine. You believe that?”

Jason shook his head again. “Well, what do we do?”

“We’ve got to find out where this guy is. If he’s been in California with an airtight alibi for the past three days, then we have to revise our plan, but I’m thinking he
hasn’t
been in California with an airtight alibi for the past three days. I think he’s been here.”

“What makes you think that, Chief?”

John leaned over his desk, his wry smile on his face. “I’ve always wanted to say this. Here goes.” He paused for effect. “Just a hunch.”

Jason laughed. “It makes sense.”

“You can hit the trail on the computer and the telephone, then,” John said. “Try to find this guy. Find out where he has been. If you get him on the phone, let me talk to him.”

“Cully’s out there by himself,” Jason said slowly.

“Cully’ll be fine. He’s not stupid.”

Jason arched his eyebrows.

“He’s just overzealous.” John smiled. “There won’t be much going on today anyway. He’s busy right now getting Burt Clemens out of a snow bank. If you’re needed, he’ll let us know. Right now, I need you here so we can untangle this before it gets out of control. This town isn’t set up for murders. I’ve got Strand at my house now for safekeeping, and fish and guests, even rock star guests, stink after three days.”

Jason smiled, looked at the floor, and left the room.

The rest of the morning passed quietly. Richard Seeley had no criminal record. The only mark against him was the restraining order, but John found the detective at LAPD to be more than cordial.

“There are a lot of people,” he said to John, “who don’t have a rap sheet, but they’re still out there doing the crimes, day after day. Sounds like you might have the right instincts, Chief. I’ll follow up for you. Shall I call you or your officer?”

“Call me,” John said. “I’ve got my officer trying to find out whether he might have gotten a flight east in the last three days or so.”

“Smart move. Have you talked with the mother?”

“That’s next. Strand will be getting restless pretty soon. He’s got a concert to do at the winter carnival here. I’d just like to pin something down because I can’t stop him from getting on stage and making a target out of himself.”

“Yeah.” The detective snorted. “I hear you. Look, I’ll dig around and get what I can for you. Good luck.”

John found he was right about Strand getting restless. No sooner had he hung up the phone than Becky called in through his partially open door, “Gabriel Strand on your line, John.”

“Hello,” he said. He hadn’t meant to bark into the phone quite so loudly.

“Hi,” the musician said. “Look, I can’t stay under house arrest like this. I’ve been on the phone with my manager. The band’s due in Boston tomorrow morning on the red eye. Then, it’ll take them two, two and a half hours to make the trip to Dartmouth. I’ve got to be there.”

“Strand, you’re not under house arrest. You’re under police protection. I can’t force it on you, but I strongly suggest that you stay where you are while we at least try to determine where this Seeley is. I’m calling the newspapers next, and we’ll get it out on the television news that there’s been a murder. We’ll let it slip that you’re still alive. That should flush out an action or a reaction of some sort.”

“I’ve at least got to have a conference call with my band. Melanie said she could get me down to her office and I could do it there. Then, if nothing’s done by tomorrow, I’ve gotta leave anyway.”

“You’ll be a sitting duck, Strand.”

“I’ve got security.”

There was nothing more John could do. He sighed, said goodbye, hung up the telephone, and sighed again. He wiped his hand across his face and looked up to see Becky standing in the doorway, looking concerned and sympathetic.

“You all right, John?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He knew, and knew that Becky knew, that Melanie was often a topic of discussion around town. Even though everyone liked her, and men blatantly loved her, her behavior sometimes pushed the parameters of respectable-wife-and-mother to the limit, stopping just short of woman-to-watch-out-for. Not that John could ever cite an instance where he thought his marriage was compromised. Rather, it was when something akin to the current situation came up, putting his wife in close proximity to another man, be it professional or social, that he sometimes thought, in the deep interior of his soul, what if this is the time? What if this is the man? What if this time, the gossip turns out to be true? Usually, he was successful in keeping these thoughts and fears relegated to his sub-conscious, but he and Melanie had been so distant from each other lately. Even their lovemaking the other night, though enjoyable, had something of the ordinary about it. Had he drifted away, or had she?

He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m all right. I’m tired, and this rock star thing is getting to me, but I’ll survive.”

Becky smiled. “A guy by the name of Brad Dunning is on the phone. He says he’s from the Hanover newspaper.”

John raised his head. “Great. We’ve got to get this story out there. I’ll talk to him.”

After Brad Dunning, the police chief talked to newspapers in the southern part of the state, as well as three television stations. In each case, he was careful to reiterate the fact that Gabriel was unscathed and staying in Clark’s Corner until his band arrived. As he hung up the phone once again, he felt his stomach rumbling. Glancing at the clock, he was shocked to see that it was almost one in the afternoon. He thought he would walk across to Chandler’s Grocery and get a sandwich. He was just about to open his mouth to tell Becky his intention when the outer door of the police office flung violently open and Cully, covered with half-melted snow, burst into the room in a blaze of profanity.

“Cully!” Becky reproved loudly. “Watch your mouth!”

“I can’t help it!” The young man threw his hat on the floor and tore his jacket off. “I’ve been stuck up on that hill with old Burt Clemens, who shouldn’t be driving anyway, trying to get his car out. Then Larry, instead of coming himself, sends his cousin Mike, who’s a moron and can’t even work the wrecker. We finally get the car out, and then what happens? Clemens runs me over!”

John, who had been listening to the tirade half-amused, now rose from his desk and stood in the doorway of his office behind Becky.

Her tone of voice changed. “Cully, calm down,” she said. “Are you hurt?”

The young officer shook his head vehemently, his eyes flashing. “No, but I would have been if the snow hadn’t been so deep. He drove the car right over my leg! He ground me into the snow bank.” Cully was slowly calming. “Mike Sample thought I’d been killed. Then the old idiot drove away down the hill. Never even looked around. He didn’t even know he ran me over.” Cully plunked himself down in the chair facing Becky’s desk and rubbed his leg.

John said, “Cully, maybe you’d better get it checked out.”

“Nah, Chief, I’m fine. I’m just mad. Really mad.”

Becky came out from behind her desk and gave him a maternal pat on the shoulder. Then she picked the hat and jacket off the floor and hung them on the coat hook above Cully’s head.

As Becky turned to get back to her desk, John noticed something. “What’s that on the floor?”

Cully looked behind him, and Becky stooped again to pick up a grimy white envelope. She looked at it, turning it over in her hands.

“Hey, John,” she said, “it says ‘Gabriel Strand’ on it.”

“Bring it here,” said John, taking the envelope from her outstretched hand. “Cully, what’s this?”

Cully looked up. “Oh, that’s a letter or a note or something some fangirl gave me yesterday to give to Strand. I stuffed it in my pocket and forgot about it. I showed it to you, remember, when I came back from the inn in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, I seem to remember you waving something,” Becky confirmed.

John was opening the envelope carefully. As he peeled back the flap, he could smell some sort of perfume, like he’d smelled in magazines the girls brought home. Inside was a folded piece of note paper with writing on it.

Jason joined the confusion. “Hey, Chief,” he said. “I got something.”

John nodded at him to speak.

“That guy, Richard Seeley, did take a plane east. Friday evening, he took a red eye. American Airlines to Boston. Arrived six-oh-five a.m. Rented a car from Enterprise at the airport. He told the clerk there that he was on a ski vacation.”

John forgot his rumbling stomach. “Is that so?” he said, starting forward.

“Yes, sir. I asked the clerk if he had mentioned where he was going, but he didn’t.”

“Did he use a credit card to pay for the car?”

“Yes, sir, he did. I’ve notified the credit card company, and they’re faxing us the records now.”

“Good job, Jason.”

“Thanks.”

John took the folded piece of paper out of the dirty envelope. The note was handwritten in a large, rounded script. He read the note to himself.

Dear Gabriel, I can’t believe this is the end for us. I know you have conflicting feelings for a number of reasons, but we can work it out. I’m here for you anytime. Just let me know. Just communicate with me, please. I can’t stand it when you don’t call me. It drives me crazy. It’s not too much to ask. I will never be far from you. Count on it. Please don’t ignore me. Never ignore me. I’m too important to you. Just look over your shoulder, and I’ll be there. There is something important I have to tell you. Yours, heart and soul, Kayla

He read through it twice, then he said, “Cully.”

Cully looked up and got to his feet. “Yes, Chief?”

“Do you remember who gave you this envelope?”

Cully tilted his head and rubbed his jaw in an effort to remember. “No, Chief, I don’t. I know it was a girl, though.”

“Can’t remember what she looked like?”

“Hmm, not really. There were a lot of people milling around. I was just trying to calm things down.”

“I understand that,” John persisted. “Try to remember, though. Just go sit in the office and see if anything comes into your mind. You should rest that leg anyway.”

“Okay, Chief.”

The telephone on Becky’s desk rang. She answered it, “Clark’s Corner Police Department.” There was a pause, and she said, “Yes, sir. I’ll put him right on.” She turned to John. “John, it’s the detective from LAPD.”

He nodded, went into his office, and shut the door behind him. “John Giamo,” he said.

“Hey, Chief,” said the voice on the other line. “I did discover something, and I think you may find it quite interesting.”

“What is it?”

“This Richard Seeley took a flight out of LAX Friday. American Airlines. He rented a car in Boston.”

“My officer just found that same information, but thanks anyway, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not all.”

“Oh?”

“Richard Seeley was born in Vermont.”

“Really!”

“In a town called Rutland. I Google-Earthed it. It’s not far from you.”

“Yeah, it’s right next door. That’s quite a discovery, Detective.”

“There’s another thing, too. I don’t know if it’s connected at all, but it’s another factoid, so to speak, about this guy.”

“Go ahead.”

“Apparently, after he quit his teaching job, he got a job as a college placement counselor. He worked out of his home for a company. Now that company has brought charges of embezzlement against him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I guess the guy was counseling and only reporting a fraction of the business he was doing and only turning in a fraction of the money he was making. They fired him on the spot when they found out, and now they’re making their case.”

“Well, that’s interesting. Thanks a lot, Detective.”

“I hope it helps you out, Chief.”

“I hope so, too.”

“Hey, let me know, will you?”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good luck, Chief.”

“Thanks.” He hung up the phone and went back into the anteroom. Becky, Cully, and Jason all looked up expectantly.

He cleared his throat. “Turns out Richard Seeley was born in Rutland.”

“You’re kidding!” Becky exclaimed.

“The LAPD detective discovered it.”

Becky shook her head. “I don’t know any Seeleys around here.”

“Me, either,” said Cully.

“How about you, Jason?” the chief asked. “You know any Seeleys anywhere? The name is ringing some sort of bell with me, but I can’t place it.”