AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Since he wasn’t a suspect in the Toompas killing, I didn’t see any reason to pass on the information about him. I pretty much put him out of my mind until I stumbled across his name when checking on another person.”
She told him about the Snyders, the pink flamingo, the dumdum bullets, and connecting Helen Snyder to Balfour. “There’s still nothing directly tying Balfour to Toompas, but the coincidences are starting to bother me.”
“As they should,” Simpson said approvingly. “What’s next?”
“This Peruvian mission his church is involved with. Something’s not right. I checked where it is, using Google maps, and saying it’s in the middle of nowhere is an understatement. In fact, it’s probably about as remote as you can get and still be on a map. Getting there would be a bitch, even with your own vehicle. One of the articles mentioned how Balfour’s church supports a church and a school in this village of Sevite. It said that a few months back, Balfour had gone to work at the mission for two weeks, something he does a couple of times a year.
“I don’t have any idea how he got to the village. Even if there was somebody waiting for him at the Lima airport and drove him there directly there, something is fishy. The article says he helped them build a new room on their school to accommodate an increasing number of students, plus he gave services on two different Sundays, and traveled to another village to gauge the possibility of expanding their mission. I don’t see it. He couldn’t have done all that and only been gone two weeks.”
“It’s always possible whoever wrote the article got the details wrong, or that Balfour exaggerated what he did,” cautioned Simpson.
“I know, but it makes me want to check on this mission of theirs. The problem is, I don’t have the resources for something like that.”
She paused and looked sideways at him, as they walked and continued talking.
“Now . . . you might have sources of information that I don’t, and I’d be appreciative of any help. Officer to officer.”
“Professional courtesy stuff, huh?”
“Something like that. I know Balfour’s a reach, but something just doesn’t feel right.”
Simpson thought for a minute. “I won’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try to pull in a few favors and see what I can come up with. I’ll call as soon as find out anything. Home phone or duty phone?”
“Make it my sheriff’s deputy phone. And thanks . . . Robert. I do appreciate it.”
“No thanks necessary. I like how you’re persistent on this case, the way police are supposed to be.”
Sheriff, not police, she thought.
“Anyhow, I don’t see how a remote inquiry from me about Balfour and his mission will affect anything else. There’s always people with nothing particular to do, so it’ll keep ’em busy.”
“I wonder . . . ,” she mused. “You mentioned Homeland Security before. I know someone in the Homeland Security office in Newport. He was involved in a traffic incident a while back. He indicated he might owe me a favor. Maybe I’ll give him a ring about Balfour.”
Simpson looked dubious. “No harm in calling, as long as you’re aware Homeland Security can make the FBI seem tame when it comes to being anal.”
They were quiet the rest of the way. A mile from home, Greta looked at her watch and said she needed to hurry along. She thanked him again and took off running. While showering, she realized she hadn’t given him her unlisted duty phone number.
Hell, she thought. He’s Marshal Service. He’ll figure out how to get hold of me.
Greta Havorsford and Robert Simpson were not the only persons thinking about the Toompas case at that specific moment.
For the first time, the killer had serious concerns. Everything had been going so well. There hadn’t been any suspicion pointing in dangerous directions. The media had forgotten about the case, and by all signs the police had essentially put it away with no leads. Why was it drawing attention again? The woman deputy asked too many questions, some that got a bit too close. Some discreet checking would be done to see whether the case had officially been reopened or it was just this one person snooping around. If the latter, other steps might be needed.
CHAPTER 21
Greta kept thinking about calling the man at Homeland Security in Newport. As soon as she got home, she checked her notes for his name. A call to the Homeland Security office in Newport passed through several intermediaries who apparently wanted to get Greta’s life history and justification for the call. When she finally got through to the man, he remembered her. He acted friendly until she asked for help with information on Balfour and his Peru mission. Then it was as if someone threw a switch. Protocol required any request for information to go through “proper channels,” which would take an unknown length of time to approve a request that was unlikely to be granted.
Greta translated this as: Please go away and stop interfering with our staring at walls. She wrote off Homeland Security. Bunch of useless dorks.
The rest of Wednesday morning she and Plummer finished any canvassing they had time for. They met for lunch at Doris’s Bakery and Café and went over everything again. Eight uncontacted names remained on the Tillamook County list of men with any plausible connection to Toompas and the burglaries, albeit the plausibility stretched thin in most cases. They split the eight names and managed to run down seven of the eight that afternoon, the eighth having moved to Seattle.
Finishing the list exhausted their “next action.” Greta spent a quiet evening depressed at home. They’d reached the end of where they could go, and she saw no other options. She made a big salad, had a glass . . . two glasses . . . of sauvignon blanc, and re-watched Fellowship of the Ring. She set the sound low and unconsciously lip-synced much of the movie.
Thursday morning came with sunshine, which, though nice, did nothing for her mood. Plummer called at eight o’clock sharp to ask whether a night’s sleep had inspired any new ideas. She had been thinking of calling him with the same question. As a fallback plan, they agreed to meet and go over everything one more time. Greta said she’d be at the main office in Tillamook at ten o’clock. She would do the traveling this time because Plummer had driven the other direction the last four days.
As she turned onto 101 between Cloverdale and Hebo, Simpson called.
“This is getting interesting, Greta. I still have feelers out for information, though so far it looks like your Reverend Balfour might be a very naughty boy. Someone I know in the State Depa
