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She talked on the phone for five minutes and just to her mother, the only one at home. Her mom was immediately suspicious that Greta had called in the middle of the day and on a Monday, instead of the usual Wednesday. Greta pretended she’d forgotten whether she had called the previous Wednesday and was making up for it if she hadn’t. Her mother’s normal tone of voice and the way she launched into the usual arguments for why Greta should move back home indicated that no news had gotten to Missouri about the attack. Greta cut her off, promising to make a longer call later that evening when everyone was there.
She’d done her duty; her family knew she was alive and talking.
When Simpson returned, she filled him in on what had happened since the last time they’d met and how the information his contact provided had confirmed Balfour’s scam, culminating in the fight for her life on the fog-shrouded beach.
Simpson shook his head. “He must have figured to take a chance you were the only one tracking him. Also wouldn’t surprise me if he’d talked to someone and got the impression you were the only person closing in on him.”
Wallace? she wondered. Could Balfour have talked with Wallace?
They hadn’t briefed the sheriff on the information about Balfour, and Wallace might have told him they didn’t know anything. Simpson might be right. By not clueing Wallace in early, it may have let Balfour think he had only one person to worry about.
They talked for another half hour about the case and . . . about nothing, which she preferred. When he took his leave, she was sorry to see him go.
The rest of the day turned into a stream of visitors, among whom were several department staff members—a few she knew only casually and others, like Jasmine, who were closer. Most of the Cloverdale girls basketball team and Mayor Blankenship came and even Wallace showed up for five minutes. Finally, she asked the nurse to shut down the visitors for the day.
She made an exception when Plummer came again later that evening.
“Things are hoppin’ around Tillamook. The State Police and the FBI are finishing a more thorough search of Balfour’s house and the church. I hear there’s supporting evidence about the phantom mission in Peru and indications of crimes he might have committed in Tennessee and Iowa. I don’t know the details yet.
“They’ve also been questioning many of the congregation. So far, it doesn’t look like any of them had a clue about the phony Peru mission. It never ceases to amaze me how gullible and stupid people can be—in this case, for not wanting more information about where the money they donated was going. Balfour was a real piece of work. He had them literally eating out of his hand. Anything he said had to be true. Many of them are trying to deny this, that it’s all some terrible police mistake and Balfour would have been exonerated if you hadn’t killed him.”
“I guess dumbness has no limits,” she muttered.
“I’d give them a little more slack. They put so much faith in this church that it’s hard to accept
Balfour played them all this time. Most will eventually accept what happened, though it’ll take time.”
“And I suppose I’m the bad guy?”
“To a few of them, yes, but only a few. To most people, even many in Balfour’s congregation, you’re the woman of the hour. I hear the story is being picked up nationally as one of those sidebar pieces like you see on CNN or Fox’s website. You know . . . heroic woman officer, blah, blah, blah. Reporters have been kept away from you the first couple of days, though that’s about to end tomorrow, so brace yourself. You might also be sure your family knows about all this. I wouldn’t be surprised if a reporter or two calls your parents to get more info on Wonder Deputy.”
Greta groaned, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back on the pillow.
When she opened her eyes again, Plummer hadn’t evaporated. She’d hoped he’d have left, like everyone else.
“How’s Wallace taking all this?” she asked.
“As predicted. He’s pissed as all hell at you for raising a fuss and messing up his image of Tillamook County as a haven for law-abiding citizens, all due to his sterling performance as sheriff, of course. He’s already shifted the story to how it is only through his skillful recruitment and training of such outstanding deputies as Greta Havorsford that lawbreakers in Tillamook County had better watch out. Good thing you haven’t seen any of his press conferences or quotes to TV cameras. Puking wouldn’t be advised in your present condition.”
She wanted to change the subject. “Who’s leading the investigation?”
“Looks like the FBI has moved in, but even they can’t hide everything from us. It’s clear there was more than enough evidence of Balfour’s Peru mission to have him put away for a while on that charge alone. Then there’s the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. That’s good for twenty years. Even if we couldn’t have pinned the Toompas murder on him, he would have spent the of his life in the state penitentiary outside Salem.”
“Nothing tying Balfour to Toompas?”
“Not yet. Here’s the one place where the FBI comes in handy. They’re taking fiber samples from Balfour’s house and seeing if any match those from Toompas’s car.”
“How about Mrs. Snyder? I got the sense she was hiding something when I spoke to her last. I now assume it was an affair with Balfour. Have you questioned her?”
Plummer smiled. “She’s disappeared. Her husband, Joe Snyder, claims he came home and she wasn’t there. Some clothes and other items are missing, so we think she took off. Possibly on some plan she had with Balfour. However, it hasn’t been discounted that he disposed of her before coming after you. We’ve also put out an alert, along with her description.”
“I hope she’s okay and wasn’t involved. Just gullible, stupid, or whatever.”
Later that day, Greta got another visitor from the Cloverdale High School: Sharon Tomasini. Greta was sitting up watching TV when the girl galumphed in.
“Coach Sievers said she brought you your brush and comb, but you were having trouble using only one hand. I’ll help.”
With that, Sharon motioned her to turn around and worked on untangling her hair. The nurses had just wadded it into a ball and held it with a net. It was a strange sensation for Greta, someone else combing her hair. No one else had done it since she was seven or eight and her mother brushed it occasionally. Then she abruptly stopped, for reasons never explained. It was luxuriating to sit and be groomed. When Sharon finished, she braided the hair into two pigtails and pinned them up so Greta could lie back on the pillow.
