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On the night Howard Toompas ate at Doris’s Bakery and Café in Pacific City, the same night the pink flamingo went missing, Josiah Balfour visited Helen at her house. Normally, they met at Balfour’s house behind his church. That night, Joe Snyder was in Reno, gambling, and Balfour had called, professing a need to see her. His “need” had consisted of a few words of affection and then a trip to her bedroom. When he was about to leave, Helen thought she heard a noise in their garage and convinced a reluctant Balfour to check it out. She heard more noises, of what she couldn’t identify, and then Balfour came back disheveled and agitated. He had said it was nothing, just some animal on the roof. He then pressed her to never admit he was there that night. She admitted that the demand surprised her. He left, and neither of them spoke of that evening again.
I’d have been surprised, too, by Balfour’s caution, Greta thought. Why would she ever tell anyone the good reverend was at her house in the middle of the night, while the husband was away? She certainly wouldn’t want anyone to suspect they were sweating together and not praying. Greta smiled, while trying to keep a straight face. Of course, I suppose it’s possible she let out some “Oh, God” cries at certain times.
Greta believed every word of Helen’s recollection. Not just because it fit nicely into her theory, but because Helen was believably distraught and disillusioned. They went over details again and again, but nothing new came out. At noon, they broke for lunch: Helen and her lawyer to a diner in town, accompanied by a deputy; Greta and Plummer to his office to eat sandwiches and potato salad made by his wife, Judy.
“It’s looking like your theory is pretty much on target,” Plummer summed up. “Toompas unluckily picks the same night to break into Snyder’s garage that Balfour is having his way with Helen.”
Greta picked up the thread of logic. “She gets him to check out noises, something Balfour wouldn’t want to do. He couldn’t have cared less about the Snyders being robbed, as long as he wasn’t recognized. Toompas sees Balfour and ends up dead. Whether it was deliberate by Balfour, afraid of his charade being exposed, or just a mutually surprising altercation that turned bad, we don’t know. It certainly might have seemed like a danger to Balfour if any word of his visit came out and led to a closer look at his other activities. Either way, the bottom line is that Toompas is dead.”
“That leaves a slew of details,” said Plummer. “Did Balfour kill Toompas at the Snyders’, or did Balfour follow him to Lincoln City and kill him there?”
“I’d assume the garage,” she said firmly. “That would explain Balfour’s disheveled look. And what about the weapon? What was it, and where is it?”
Plummer drummed the fingers of his right hand on the counter. “We’ll run lab tests on anything in the Snyder garage that looks plausible and see if any blood evidence shows up. As for where Toompas was killed, I’d agree on the Snyders’ house. Balfour then puts the body in Toompas’s trunk, drives south to the country line to dump the body, then drives on to Lincoln City to wipe and leave the car.”
“How did Balfour know which car was Toompas’s?” Greta asked, puzzled. “We can assume Toompas left it somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“I guess he just looked around,” Plummer answered. “He would have Toompas’s keys, so from those he’d know the car make.”
“I can see that,” said Greta. “He could figure Toompas hadn’t been driving a Lexus. Balfour probably drove around looking for an out-of-place vehicle, then checked the key until he fo
und the right car. But then how did Balfour get back to Pacific City to retrieve his own car, which was still near the Snyders’? All this is assuming Helen wasn’t involved, but maybe she drove him back.”
Plummer shrugged. “We may never know all the details, unless Balfour comes back to life.” Plummer turned his head slightly to look at Greta out of the corner of his eye.
“Something bothers me,” he said almost too casually. “Why did Balfour try to kill you? We didn’t have anything concrete tying him to Toompas’s murder. The fraud, yes, but it’s a big jump between stealing thousands of dollars and killing a law enforcement officer. Balfour has been around long enough to know what a bad idea that would be. Every sheriff, police officer, FBI agent, you-name-it would be after him. Was he that worried about losing his cash cow at the church? And why you, since I was also working on the case?”
Greta let thoughts she had kept to herself come to the surface. “Maybe he knew we were on to him. From Helen, he knew I was snooping around, and then he might have seen me after I followed her to the church. After finishing with me, perhaps he would have paid you a visit. Maybe he didn’t know it was both of us. Helen also might have been next because she’s the only person to place Balfour in the vicinity of Toompas on that night. Maybe, maybe, maybe. One problem is that, besides you and me, only Sheriff Wallace and Bruce Penderman knew the case was active again.”
“I think we can assume Bruce didn’t say anything to Balfour,” said Plummer, who then quit talking and left the other option open.
Greta didn’t miss the obvious omission. “Wallace? You don’t really think Wallace told Balfour, do you?”
“I have no idea, but it’s curious that when Jasmine came to visit you, she told me she saw Balfour talking to Wallace in the office a few days before the attack.”
Greta didn’t know what to say or think. They both were silent for several minutes while they thought through events.
Finally, Greta said, “Is she sure it was Balfour and Wallace?”
“No. It was only a quick glance. It didn’t really register with her until the news broke about Balfour and you being attacked.”
Greta sat quietly for a moment, then shook her head. “We don’t know for sure what they talked about. As big of a dick as Wallace is, I can’t imagine him deliberating leaking anything to Balfour. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, either,” Plummer said grimly. “It’s possible Balfour casually inquired about the investigation. Wallace might have said it was still closed, as far as he was concerned, but you wouldn’t let it go. It’s just . . . odd.”
They both shook their heads, and neither one could think of anything else to say.
A minute later, Sheriff Wallace walked into the room. Greta felt the hairs on her arms rise and a prickly sensation on her back.
“Good to see you recovering . . . uh . . . Greta. I’m glad this got wrapped up so quickly,” said Wallace. “No citizen wants a killer running loose. Oh, and nice job on the case. You’re a credit to the department. We’ll get you out and interacting with the general community more often in the future.”
Without another word, Wallace walked out of the room.
“Am I imagining it, or did our good sheriff almost seem to be in a jovial mood?” questioned Plummer.
“He’s probably relieved a loose killer won’t put a damper on his reelection, but he was actually nice to me. And what’s this about my doing more community stuff?”
Plummer smiled, though more from resignation than humor. “Think about it, Greta. You’re the hero of the hour. Don’t be surprised if he tries to be seen with you fairly often, at least until the election.”
