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And finally, an unopened new Transformer toy, an unopened bag of balloons, Play-Doh, and a yellow half-sized football, all of which had been wrapped in paper with balloons and “Happy Birthday” designs.
Connors edged up next to her. “Well, there we are. Some odd stuff. Some suggestive, though nothing jumps out, except for the bullets and diving gear.”
“What do you think?” she asked. “A diving nut or abalone poacher?” She ruled out a Nepalese Gurkha bird fancier with two different-sized feet, more than two hands, and who composed music.
Connors countered her question by throwing it back to her. “What would you think?”
“Poacher. From his history, I somehow don’t see Toompas as a recreational diver. Certainly not along this coast.”
The cold waters and the strong current parallel to shore discouraged all but the best divers or those with strong reasons to risk the conditions, such as taking abalone out of season and below the legal size limit. The scarcity of abalone and their reputation as a delicacy made for ridiculous prices, as far as she was concerned. The one time Greta had ordered abalone at a coast restaurant, the meal cost twice as much as any other item on the menu, and all she could taste were the breading and spices covering the thin, well pounded layer of abalone meat.
“No. Poaching almost certainly,” added Tomasek, after listening to them. “That, plus the history with drugs and his general obnoxiousness, gives us places to start.”
“What about the .357 dumdum bullets?” asked Boylan.
“Dumdum?” queried Greta.
Connors picked up the pouch holding the pistol bullets. “Expanding-head bullets. Designed to expand when they hit the target, thereby causing a larger wound. These are handmade. Someone cut a cross-notch in the bullet head. There’re other manufactured types, such as hollow point rounds. Depending on where you are, they can be illegal to own, except for law enforcement.”
“Okay,” said Greta. “Why call them dumdum?”
“Beats me,” responded Connors. “Never thought about it. It’s just what they’re called.”
“I think I read that dumdum comes from a place in India called Dum Dum,” Boylan explained, “where the British used to manufacture such ammunition.”
Connors grunted. “Live and learn.”
“So why would Toompas have these dumdum bullets? A planned armed robbery? Hunting dinosaurs? What?”
“Probably just to act tough,” Tomasek suggested. “Just having guns makes some folks feel better about themselves. You know . . . macho bullshit. The dumdums and brass knuckles, along with Toompas’s history of inept fighting, fit into that kind of pattern. Made him feel more like a man, would be my guess.”
To Greta, Toompas sounded like someone who was more pathetic than dangerous.
Connors placed the bullets back on the table. “Hopefully, it’s the self-image thing and not any intent to use these. You’d think a .357 Magnum round would be enough without also making them dumdums.”
“Like Greta said, maybe he needed to stop a dinosaur,” Boylan quipped.
The four of them discussed the items on the table for another twenty minutes. Greta checked her watch: 5:34 p.m.
“I’ll need to be heading back up the road pretty soon,” she said to Connors. “What is it you’ll need from me?”
“We’ll be putting together a quick list of Toompas’s known associates and will start questioning them. There’s bound to be some living in Tillamook County, though I expect most will be around Lincoln City. You can check those in your county as soon as we identify them.” He paused. “Should we call you with the names and addresses or what?”
“How about emailing me the list? Either as a Word document or a pdf file.”
“I didn’t realize Tillamook knew about email and pdfs,” Tomasek muttered.
Connors gave the Lincoln C
ity detective a reproving look, then turned to Greta apologetically. “Don’t mind Adam. He’s had issues with your boss.”
Tomasek grunted.
“No problem,” said Greta. “We also hear about these other new things coming along. I think they call them cell phones and the Internet.”
Tomasek managed a smile this time. “My, my. Tillamook really is moving from the dark ages into the semi-dark ages. And sorry, Deputy Havorsford. Nothing personal. It’ll actually be a pleasure to work with a new Tillamook deputy. We haven’t had much in the way of positive experiences since Bruce Penderman retired.”
“Bruce told me he worked well with you people,” Greta said, “so I’m happy to get a chance to do it myself.”
