Have you heard from your father?”
He heard the honest puzzlement in her voice as she answered, “Not for a few days. But he knows I’ve been busy, and so has he. Why?”
“I just needed to talk to him about some paperwork thing,” he said, “and he’s not answering. And it was time to check in on you anyway.”
“You worry too much,” she said, but her voice held that note of appreciation he recognized by now. It warmed him. If he’d gotten an early start, he could have had a daughter her age by now. Normally that idea would have frightened him; now it just made him feel oddly wistful. “Anyway, Dad’s probably at some site out in the sticks somewhere with no reception.”
“Maybe.” If Rick hadn’t told her yet, he wasn’t about to. Besides, maybe there was some mistake. Or maybe he was going to surprise her with some great news about a new, better job. “How’s everything else? Any problems with anyone, friends or anything?”
“Not that I know of. What’s going on? You sound weird. Like you’re in cop mode or something.”
“I guess I am,” he said. “You’d better get to class.”
She sighed audibly. “Unfortunately.”
She had sounded fine, he thought after the call ended. No sign of stress beyond that of any normal college student. No reason to think she was hiding anything. But clearly she didn’t know about her father and his job. Which worried him; if it had been a good thing, wouldn’t Rick have shared it with her?
He tapped a finger on his desk, his brow furrowed. There could be such a simple explanation for it all. One that could easily turn out to be true. One he might have assumed would turn out to be true if it hadn’t been for that instinct nagging at him. He couldn’t explain it—he never had been able to—but it was there, it was real, and it was right most of the time, in one way or another.
Still mulling, he picked a black dog hair off his sleeve. He’d more or less given up worrying about the fur for the duration. At least half the hair blended with his usual dark suits.
He wondered idly if Cutter’s bizarre instincts were anything like his own. Maybe he did what he did because his gut wouldn’t leave him alone either. He shook his head sharply; he was starting to sound like Foxworth, attributing human traits to a dog.
He picked up the phone and redialed Rick’s boss. Reacting to that instinct again, he used the main line to call out instead of his direct one. This time a harried-sounding voice answered. He asked for Rick, on the slight chance it was all a misunderstanding.
“Rick Alvarado?” the man said, as if he had several by that name working in his office. “Uh...he’s not here.”
“When will he be back?”
“He won’t be.” A bit of the overweening boss crept into the man’s voice. “He no longer works in this office.”
“Did he transfer to another department?”
“No. I can assure you he won’t be working for the county in any capacity again.”
Brett frowned. “Are you saying he was fired?”
The thought of Rick doing anything that could result in that was absurd. The man was a workaholic in the way only someone using his job to get through his grief could be. Brett knew a little something about that. It was probably why the man had gotten through the normal barrier between cop and citizen.
“Who is this?” Something sharper had come into the man’s voice.
“I’m a friend of his,” he answered.
“Then wouldn’t you know?”
If the man had been a suspect in something, Brett would have said he was stonewalling.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“How do I know you’re really his friend? You could be anyone.”
Brett sighed. “I’m with the sheriff’s office, as you can see by the number I’m calling from. Now can I get an answer?”
There was a moment of stark silence. He couldn’t even hear the man breathing, but he could almost sense his mind racing.
“So...is this an official inquiry?”
Brett had purposely not said he was a detective or given his name, all the while wondering if his own imagination was running wild for no good reason. But his gut was telling him to keep his identity as vague as possible, so he pushed to get past the point where it would be easily asked for. He took what Rick had told him about the guy and chose the approach that usually worked the best with those types.
“Make it official,” he said sharply, “if that will get me an answer. Now. Unless you want me there in person, shoving my badge in your face in front of anyone in the vicinity.” Not that he would. This wasn’t really official, and he was already walking a fine line.
“He was terminated.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you details. The investigation isn’t completed yet.”
Investigation? “Are you saying there was malfeasance involved?”
“I truly cannot discuss it. This is being kept completely in-house. For PR reasons, for the county. You understand, I’m sure.”
Oily. The man sounded oily. Trying to establish a rapport as if they were colleagues. He told himself that not liking a man’s attitude wasn’t reason enough to be suspicious. But stonewalling was.
“What is he being accused of that he’s been terminated rather than put on leave until your ‘investigation’ is finished?”
“I can’t discuss that either. I assure you, it’s no business of the sheriff’s office. Unless you suspect him of something?”
He sounded almost hopeful. I’d sooner suspect you, Brett thought. “No. I told you, he’s a friend.”
He considered, as he ended the call, bringing up the permit situation despite Sloan’s assurance it wasn’t necessary. But something stopped him. He wasn’t sure what it was.
The only thing he was sure of was that his gut was now screaming that something else was going on here.
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