The two investigators from Ingersol stood inside Brian's cramped office waiting for him to complete his phone call. The weather outside was getting colder and the nearly two-hour drive down left both men impatient and hungry.
"I'm takin' the two detectives over to Gilly's, Marge so if anyone needs me I'll be over there for the next little while."
"Don't you have a deputy or at least an assistant?" The older of the two men asked.
Brian chuckled and locked up his desk, grabbing his jacket and leading them out. "Marge is the one-size-fits-all assistant. She operates the courthouse switchboard, runs the post office. She's the court clerk and our emergency operator as well as the lady who typed up the report you have in your case. Oh, and once a week she spells the librarian."
"So who does all the other stuff then?"
"Her daughter takes a day off school. She's fourteen."
"Jesus, what have they got you for?" The younger man asked sarcastically.
"She's too small to wrestle the drunks into the cells." Brian winked at the other detective and held the door as they stepped out into the brisk, windy air.
Rick Gilly dropped three menus on the table, poured three unordered coffees and left with no more than a nod. While the three men fixed their coffees and scanned the menus, Wegman, the older investigator, opened his case and took out the report, setting it on the table.
"Your pathologist says death was from multiple blows to the head; our people tend to concur."
"Since I found a chunk of pipe with dried blood on it, it's not a stretch."
Wegman nodded and read further. "We're still looking at that. He also says that the stab wound was postmortem."
"Wasn't it?"
"Maybe, but we found it odd that a small town doctor would make such a thorough examination when he knew we'd be redoing the whole thing. Do you know why he would do that?"
Brian sipped his coffee and smiled. "First of all, Doc Butler is no pathologist. He's a simple country GP that treats coughs, colds, cranky babies and their parents. I think the doc included a qualification disclaimer in the report.
Secondly, I'm just a hired hand with the honorary title of Sheriff, no legal qualifications. This is the first homicide Split Oaks has experienced. We thought it would be a real feather in our caps if we could put together enough evidence to solve it. Obviously we couldn't keep it a secret... we wouldn't, it was just an ego trip I guess."
"You managed to screw up the crime scene." Reece complained.
Brian answered, keeping his eyes on Wegman. "Between the mailman who discovered the body and the wild animals snooping out of curiosity, the crime scene was pretty much a mess before we determined it was one." Wegman's eyes crinkled, and he looked back down at the report.
"You got any thoughts on who mighta done this?" Jonas Reece, persisted undeterred.
"All I know about Gough is he was a miserable old bugger that kept to himself. Once in a while I had to take him home when he drank too much in here. I do know that somebody named Gwen Armitage wrote to him fifteen years ago. I sent you the card along with the will I found."
"Ready to order?" The three looked up at the slim brunette standing hipshot by the table.
"Hi, GG," Brian said. "This is Gilly Gilly—soft gee, hard gee— the owner's wife. Meet a couple of real investigators from Ingersol, Gilly." Brian smiled at their reaction to the willowy beauty.
"Hi boys, Starchy Workman still running the book in Ingersol?"
Wegman's stony faced cracked and he jabbed his finger toward Gilly. "I know who you are," he said. "The Blue Nights club, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Another life, detective, another life. What can I get you?" Clearly, the topic was closed.
Most of the conversation while they ate was small talk about Split Oaks. Brian gave them a brief history and a run down on who was who in town, knowing it was part of their strategy for gathering information. He was curious about the older detective's sly interest in Gilly but didn't pursue the subject.
Over coffee and cigarettes they covered the rest of the report, pinning down several details about Brian's handling of the crime scene and the dissatisfaction they shared over his procedures. Reece had been particularly obnoxious, suggesting that Brian was nothing more than a glorified security guard. At the end, Brian picked up the cheque, dropped a generous tip for GG and stood up from the table.
"Can't say I've enjoyed our talk, but then I guess respect and cooperation isn't a big city attribute. Just do our town the courtesy of leaving it the way you found it, okay?" He stomped away, meeting Gilly's eyes with a hard stare as he pushed out through the doors.
Brian stayed out of the investigator's way until they left town. Wegman had paid a courtesy call to say goodbye and to apologize for his partner's attitude. He said he would send down copies of all the reports and findings for Brian's records. Brian accepted the apology, thanked the detective and watched their car leave town heading north to Ingersol.
><><><><
The weather was undecided; one day it blew cool to cold winds, the next a warm sun had people shedding their jackets midday. The sun was out today and Brian left his office to join Janet Bogart for lunch. Instead of meeting her at Gilly's, he chose to walk down to her salon and enjoy the almost balmy weather.
This decision was to change Brian's schedule for some time to come.
"Sheriff Weller." Fred Garrison stepped out of his hardware store doorway, one hand raised for attention.
"Hi Fred. How's it goin'?" He walked back a few steps.
"I wanted to speak to you about those two detectives. They gave me a real hard time about that piece of pipe." Fred Garrison wore a suede car coat, which he pushed back to place his hands on his hips. Tumbleweed hair and eyebrows over a florid face jutted toward Brian accusingly.
"I don't follow, Fred." Brian moved over to the building so he could lean on the wall.
"Accused me of not keepin' legal sales records."
"You'll have to start from the beginning, Fred. I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"The piece of pipe that was used to thump old Gough came from the inventory in my store and when I couldn't tell them who bought it, they started threatening me about my record keeping. Damn it all, Brian, I don't write names on the receipts I give out. Somebody buys somethin', they pay cash and I give 'em a receipt from my adding machine with the amount, I don't write their name on it." Fred's face became redder as he spoke.
"But you would know who bought pipe wouldn't you?"
"Hell, yes!" Fred waved an arm across the town. "All that new railin' at the marina was made from that pipe. The judge bought some to use for his grandson's tent. The plumbing repairs at the courthouse probably used that size. How am I supposed to know where a couple of feet off of all that came from? I do know old Gough never bought any. Cheap bugger never bought anything."
"How'd they know it came from your store?"
"All the pipe's got manufacturer's codes stencilled on it. Apparently each order gets a different code so they know what markets are doin' well. I don't reckon what I order causes much of a stir. Just my luck the piece used on Gough had that code on it."
Brian pulled at his lip, thinking. "Do many folks passing through town buy pipe from you?"
Fred frowned and looked at the sheriff as if he was dense. "Do I really need to answer that?"
"Uh, no..." Brian blushed. Whoever killed Paynter Gough used a piece of pipe from this store. The Ingersol cops must have figured that out too; it's not a big deal in itself but maybe a little further snooping wouldn't hurt.
He stood up straight as Janet closed the door of her shop and bounced up onto the wooden porch fronting the clinic. She waved and pointed to the diner. Brian said he had an appointment and he would drop in and discuss Fred's complaint when he was free. Patting the man on the back, he hurried down the street.