The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [87]
“None,” said Sally, and took a sip of the coffee. “Strong.” She winced, and put the cup down. “To tell you the truth, I was busier that a cat burying shit. I didn’t have any ‘impressions’ of anybody, that day.”
“Oh.” I went back to the pot, and poured myself three-quarters of a cup, and let the brewing continue.
“That hardly seems worth a cup,” she said. “Anything else you need?”
I sat down opposite her. “What can you get me regarding Inez? Or Cletus, for that matter.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “Just right. Anyway, I need anything you can dig up. Any criminal history at all, even misdemeanors. Any contacts out of the area, and why.”
“It’d help if I had someplace to start. Misdemeanor stuff isn’t likely to be in the CCH or NCIC.” She was referring to the Computerized Criminal History and the National Crime Information Center. They were very useful as places to start a background check.
“Try the town in Florida where they have their cabin,” I suggested.
“Okay…”
“Anything you can find. Anything.”
“Do what I can … but I’ll tell you right now, this coffee isn’t all that good.”
There was a knock on the open kitchen door. We looked up, and there stood Shamrock, all big eyes and smiles.
“Mr. Houseman? They said I’d find you back here …” She looked around the room, and her eyes settled on Sally. “Hello, ma’am,” she said. “I’m a photographer. Just call me Shamrock.”
Oops. Sally stood, drawing herself up to her full five feet. “Ma’am” was referred to as “the M word” around the department. Especially if delivered by a younger woman. “Glad to meet you. I’m a dispatcher. Sally will do. Coffee?”
“Oh, sure. You bet,” said Shamrock, coming through the door. She grabbed a chair and pulled it around to the end of the table, then sat.
Sally glared, turned, got a cup from the cupboard, poured the coffee, and set it down in front of the pretty photographer. “Can I get you anything else?” It was a very pointed remark, I thought. I would have said no. I would have said, “No, thank you,” in fact.
“Some sugar, maybe?”
I’d seen Sally use chemical Mace on a gal once. The slightly flushed face below her red hair looked very familiar. “Sure. Anything else while I’m at it?”
“No, that’s fine,” said Shamrock, brightly. Actually, she and Sally were very similar in appearance, except for the hair color. Even with Sally being a good ten years older. Something I made a mental note to never bring up.
Sally came over with a box of sugar cubes. It’s really hard for someone of ninety pounds to stomp effectively, so she overcompensated and almost glided across the floor. Tense, kind of, but more like a coiled spring than a stiff board. No. No, more like a stalking cat.
“We went back and we talked to the old dude at the farm and he told us some stuff and I think it’s pretty good,” said Shamrock. About ready to burst. She was really getting into this.
There was another knock at the door, and Nancy stuck her head in. “Hi?”
Sally sort of knew Nancy. “Hi! Come on in!”
Nancy glanced at Shamrock. “I don’t suppose that’s decaf,” she said.
“Nope, full strength,” I said.
“Just what she needs, more zip,” said Nancy, pulling up a chair. “Sugar, too, I see?”
Sally was already getting a cup for Nancy. “Should I have gotten her parents’ permission?”
“Mine,” said Nancy, “at least.”
“I just can’t wait to tell what we found out yesterday,” said Shamrock. She gestured toward Sally. “Is she cleared for this stuff?”
I really didn’t think Sally’s back could have gotten stiffer. She started to turn, and I told Shamrock, “She’s gotten clearance on federal cases. She’s currently cleared for the most sensitive cases in our department.”
“Cases,” added Sally, sweetly, “that you’ll probably never even hear about.”
“Oh, good!” said Shamrock. Genuinely glad. Innuendo-proof, I saw.
“So, what you get for us?”
Shamrock looked at Nancy.
“Oh, go ahead, kid,” said Nancy. “I’ll just translate as we go.”
Shamrock began talking in an excited rush. “So, okay, we went back to the farm