Thin Luck

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Detective Joseph Turner

JOE WALKED OVER to the empty coffee pot. No one ever had the decency to make more when the pot was empty. He was exhausted and still covered in dirt. His sleep had been restless and he'd only gotten home shortly after 2:00 a.m. when the last officer assisting him had to go home before his wife called the police. The phone reception in that far corner of Connecticut was dreadful.

The four hours of sleep Turner got were restless. The dog took up most of the bed. He couldn't stop thinking that he was so close, far too close to give up. If he found the body there would be evidence, no one ever buried a man without leaving a trace.

Before he had a chance to take a shower that morning the Lieutenant called him in. There was a verified sighting of Robyn Hughes in New Mexico. He'd need to follow up immediately before Welch blew a gasket.

The report from New Mexico turned out to be preliminary only. There were three short lines: Suspect 'Robyn Hughes' seen at gala at local museum. Fingerprints confirmed. Drug dealers captured in raid.

The report was thin at best. Turner supposed more information would be coming as the details were fleshed out. The part of the report about 'capture' was his favorite. Perhaps they had detailed Robyn Hughes, since they confirmed her fingerprints?

He hadn't heard from her, or her wake of wreckage, for almost four days, not since the snowstorm in Kansas. He was sure she'd found some shelter there, somewhere, but the men on the ground didn't have the manpower to go door to door. His calls with Officer Knutson almost had him convinced that Robyn was probably dead somewhere in the woods. They might not find her until spring.

But Turner had a nagging feeling. Robyn was too wily for giving up and dying in the woods. She'd already managed to wrestle a gun from a man and shoot him with it. The detective in Ohio made the story sound fantastical, like somehow she had actually become the devil the crazy victim said she was.

Turner stared at the coffee pot brewing. He knew exactly how long it would take. He knew he could go to the computer, and check on any one of his other three cases. When he came back the coffee would be ready. But he also knew about the vultures in the station. If he left the pot alone for too long it would mysteriously disappear, just like Robyn, so he waited.

"Phone for you, Turner," Officer Garrison called out from her desk. Joe looked over. Isabella Garrison was prettier today, every day, since the day she walked into the station seventeen weeks ago. He was counting. She had another six weeks or so of training, and then she might, just might, catch a call that he would need to investigate. Heat rose in his cheeks and the back of his neck every time he saw her. She was married, of course, but what did that matter? After a few years, her husband would get jealous of the job or she'd leave and have a baby. At least that's the track record he'd witnessed in his twelve years at the station.

He shouted back to her, "Take a message, will you?"

"You're going to want to take this one, Turner," she said. "It's about that woman."

Wasn't it always about a woman? Even when it was about a man, whoever that man was, whatever crazy thing he did, and the crazier the thing he did the more likely it was true: for that man, it was about a woman. He reluctantly abandoned the coffee machine. "All right, transfer it over."

The phone rang at his desk before he got there. "Detective Turner."

"Hey, this is Detective Soto in Meza Gardenia, New Mexico." Hispanic, Turner figured from his accent. He sounded even more tired than Joe.

"What can I do for you, Detective Soto?"

"It's what I can do for you, Detective Turner. IAFIS here says you flagged the fingerprints for a Mrs. Robyn Hughes, a.k.a. Robyn Young, a.k.a. Stacey Young a.k.a. Destiny Young."