Catch As Cat Can

41

On a hunch, Cooper had sent out the mug shot of the false Wesley Partlow to all state agencies. At four-ten in the afternoon, she was sitting at her desk writing a presentation. Next Wednesday she was to give a speech at Western Albemarle High School about law enforcement as a career. Much as she loved her job, she was tired and drawing a blank.

Part of the exhaustion came from always dealing with people who were themselves under great stress. She'd received a blast from Sean about the exhumation next Monday. He was honoring his mother's wishes but he thought the request was ghoulish and would prove inconclusive.

Once he let off steam she asked him if he knew about Roger's purchase of a share of a stock-car syndicate for forty thousand dollars, a big chunk of change for a hobby, and Sean said it wasn't any of his business how his brother spent his money. He regularly visited the track at Waynesboro and it made sense that Roger would want to get involved at the higher end of the sport if he'd saved some money. Dale Earnhardt and Richard Petty were his heroes.

“You can't take it with you” is exactly what Sean O'Bannon had said.

Then Coop had to meet Don Clatterbuck's mother at the bank to open his safety-deposit box. The title to his truck, his birth certificate, a few stocks and bonds were in the narrow metal box along with the combination to the safe.

Mrs. Clatterbuck swore she didn't know the combination and thought the safe was another one of Don's finds. Sooner or later he might sell it. He liked to trade. She didn't know where he acquired that trait. Neither she nor her husband were traders.

No love letters were sheltered in the safety-deposit box.

Coop thanked Mrs. Clatterbuck, wrote down the combination, and finally returned to the office.

At four-twenty she wandered over to the coffeepot. A jolt of caffeine might trigger speech ideas. All she could think of was, “How would you like to pick up drunks, deadbeat dads, and squashed accident victims? For variety you could question a drug dealer with his jaw shot off.” She knew if she continued in that vein she'd descend into the truly morbid. She no sooner had the coffee to her lips than Sheila buzzed her phone.

Returning to her desk, Coop picked up. “Deputy Cynthia Cooper.”

“Louis Seidlitz, the bartender from Danny's.”

“Yes, Mr. Seidlitz.”

“I remembered that little puke's name: Dwayne Fuqua. It was driving me crazy.”

“When I dropped by you said he didn't come in often.”

“No, he didn't. Like I said, maybe once a month. Dwayne was on a mission.”

“Sir?”

“Girls.”

“Lucky?”

“No more than most.” Louis laughed.

“Mr. Seidlitz, do you have a fax in the office there?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't hang up. Give me the number and I'll fax you a photograph. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”

He gave her the number. She faxed the photo of Donald and Roger.

She could hear the fax machine in his office grinding out the photo.

“Deputy?”

“Yes.”

“The guy with his hands in his pockets. He'd hang out now and then. With Dwayne.”

“Mr. Seidlitz, thank you so much. You've been a great help to me.”

“Sure. Any time.”

She hung up the phone, silently berating herself for being discouraged when she had first stopped by the bar. She'd felt she'd been sloppy. Well, Louis came through. He had just identified Donald Clatterbuck.