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Lawton appeared irritated, then picked up the photo and squinted. At first, he kept the same “Why you asking me this?” expression, then the wrinkle lines smoothed out.
Something’s changing, Greta thought. He does recognize Toompas.
“Okay, so I guess he’s vaguely familiar, but I don’t know from where. What’s this all about?”
“Howie Toompas was murdered, and we know he poached abalone. We’ve heard about abalone hotspots claimed by those who first found them.”
“You think I’m involved in this guy’s murder? You got to be kidding.”
“We seldom kid about murder cases,” Greta said, mentally adding, As if I’ve ever had one.
“Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree. I never heard of this Toompas or whatever his name was, and I certainly wouldn’t kill anyone over some abalone.”
“Not even to protect a rich pocket that had to be bringing you thousands of dollars?”
Lawton laughed. “You think that’s only a pocket?” he blurted. “That whole section of coast is lousy with abalone! No ten men could clean it out if they worked at it full time.”
They continued talking another fifteen minutes. Lawton forgot he’d asked for a lawyer. He didn’t admit to anything illegal but answered freely about the abalone plethora on the north side of Lookout Cape, and he indicated other rich spots elsewhere, without revealing specific locations. When they put Lawton back in the holding cell and walked to the main desk, Sheffel was smiling and all but whistling.
“Hot damn, Greta. If he’s telling the truth, this is going to be great news at my headquarters. They’re always looking for good stories to get to the press.” He then noticed her glum expression. “Oh. Sorry there, Greta. I know my abalone were not your main interest. And I doubt he’s your man.”
“I agree,” she said. “I think he really didn’t know Toompas’s name. He finally did recognize the picture, but it’s been in the papers enough.”
“There may still be something,” encouraged Sheffel, though from his tone she thought he was only trying to cheer her up. “As soon as he gets a lawyer and the district attorney talks with them, I get the feeling he’ll be copping a plea. Maybe he knows of someone else, another possible suspect?”
“Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Two days later, Sheffel stopped by Greta’s office. “Lawton can’t shut up. Turns out his family is pretty well off in Salem. Father’s a lawyer and a lobbyist. They had a falling out about six months ago, and the son got kicked out. He’s some kind of expert diver and stumbled on the Lookout Cape abalone beds by accident. Making some easy money and doing it illegally was somehow a way to tweak his father’s nose, him being a lawyer—even if the father didn’t know about it.
“Daddy Lawton put a big-time lawyer on this. Well, big-time for the Oregon coast. They worked out a deal of some kind. Lawton’s telling everything he’s knows, including who he passes the abalone off to and at least three restaurants they’re sold to, and they think they’ll also trace it to a seafood chain based in Portland.”
Sheffel gave Greta a questioning look. “I assume you know about the press conference?”
“Press conference? What press conference?”
Seconds of silence ticked by. “The press conference in Salem tomorrow. I take it you haven’t heard?”
“Dave, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Oregon Fish and Game headquarters called a press conference to announce the cracking of the biggest abalone poaching operation in decades. I think they’ll try to make a big splash with it to placate the tree-huggers and Earth-first people. I’m told to drive over to Salem first thing tomorrow for the press conference. I figured you would be there, too, since you’re the one that should get most of the credit.”
He was silent for a moment, while she mulled over the news. Then he continued. “I assumed you would be there since my understanding is that the Tillamook Sheriff’s Department would be represented, and the whole thing is being credited as inter-agency cooperation.”
Wallace! she thought. That piece of shit! He’s going to stand up and take any credit that comes.
Greta proceeded to internally blast the basic features of her boss. It involved various orifices and exudates from the same, along with other bodily functions, some possible and some not.
When her pause lengthened to uncomfortable silence, Sheffel said apologetically, “Sorry, Greta. If I get a chance, I’ll try to get your name in somehow. That’s assuming my bosses let me get a word in at all.”
She calmed down. Took a deep breath. “Don’t worry about it, Dave. It’s not like anything Wallace does should come as a surprise. And it wasn’t just me. We worked together, and catching him in the act was mainly you.”
“Whatever,” he said. “I owe you one. Call on me anytime for anything I can do. It was a pleasure to work with you on this.”
“Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it, and good luck with the press conference.”
Greta was appreciative. She knew she had done an acceptable job this last year, but it was the first time she believed a colleague honestly liked working with her.
Greta heard nothing the rest of the day from Wallace about a press conference. Out of curiosity, the next morning she called up to the Tillamook office and asked whether Wallace was in. He’d left for Salem early and would be back the next day, they said.
