Free Unseen by Nancy Bush Page B

was always fishing, where he was concerned, inordinately interested in how he reacted to any information. And Burlington “Burl” Jernstadt was about the biggest horse’s ass Will had run across in law enforcement. He made Ralph Smithson look like a piker. The fact that Burl was retired and had given up his job reluctantly—which translated loosely to leave or be let go—and that Will had been promoted into Burl’s job, didn’t mean that Burl had given up haunting the department offices. It didn’t matter that he’d been a loud, ineffectual, socially inept buffoon who’d screwed up more cases than he’d aided in, and that he’d been lucky to be eased out of the department rather than fired. Burl couldn’t stay away. That he resented Will for taking his job went without saying. To date no one had had the gumption to tell him to get out and stay out. Will sensed that day was coming. He half-dreaded, half-welcomed it.
    Whatever the case. He really didn’t want to talk to Burl. Except that the man knew something about Gemma LaPorte, and Gemma LaPorte was still his number-one guess for the avenger who’d run down Edward Letton.
    “Anything on Jean LaPorte’s car?” he asked.
    “Still no sign of it.”
    As soon as Will had learned Gemma’s name and situation, he’d done a background check on every member of her family. He’d learned a number of things about them, but what had snagged his attention first was that the LaPortes had owned two vehicles: Peter’s white Chevy truck—which he’d seen at the house—and Jean’s silver Camry, which was apparently MIA. Maybe the guy who’d dropped Gemma off at the hospital had it, or maybe Gemma had crashed it into Edward Letton, or maybe it was parked somewhere on the LaPorte property. Whatever the case, to date it hadn’t been found, and Gemma hadn’t called to say differently. There was no vehicle in Gemma’s own name.
    “Burl still around?” Will asked Barb.
    “Always. Probably by the coffee machine.”
    Which was next to the doughnut boxes. “No other silver Camrys with front-end damage discovered?”
    “Not in this county. One in Clatsop County but it was a Dodge Durango and the guy who smashed it up is in jail with his second DUI. Dot says your little friend’s been calling. Pellter with two l’s. Check your voice mail.”
    Will punched in the numbers of his phone and waited. Carol Pellter, having been saved from assault and probably death at the hands of Letton, had taken her story public, though her parents were clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing. The media had run the girl’s story of a really bad man trying to get her into his van, and had taken pictures of the outside of the impounded van. But it had been nearly a week since the event, and since Carol was alive and well, the prurient interest of the news watchers had moved on to events with more salacious pictures and tragic outcomes.
    Carol, however, was hanging onto her fifteen minutes of fame with all ten fingers.
    “Hi, Detective Tanninger,” Carol’s recorded voice stated primly. “I want to help in your investigation. I think you might need me. Could you please call me?” She left her number, speaking it clearly in a precise tone, twice.
    Will smiled to himself. Looking forward more to talking to Carol than dealing with Burl, he placed a call to the number she’d given him and ended up with Carol’s prim voice suggesting he leave a message on her voice mail. He waited for the beep then told her it was Will Tanninger returning her call.
    Kids with cell phones. It was the norm rather than the exception.
    Barb was pretending not to be avidly listening to his every syllable. Will had to push aside the distraction of her laser-like interest in him with almost physical force. God, things were getting bad.
    He got up from his desk. “Where’re you going?” Barb asked, swiveling around as he circled toward the door.
    “Gonna see Nunce,” he said.
    “I’m coming with you.”