The Tin Collector

Chapter 19

The Arrowhead Sheriff's Department was wedged in betveen a gas station and a small country market. The parking L: behind the station had three empty Plain Janes.

Shane and Barbara were unloaded from the back of the patrol car and shoved angrily into the station. The two arresting officers were still burning off their chase adrenaline.

Shane was pushed into a chair at the booking desk while Barbara was taken into another room. Separate interviews were always the rule in any half-decent police department. All cops quickly learned that most criminals never expect to get caught. As a result, they rarely have a cover story. One would tell you he was going to the market to get beer; the other would say they were picking up a sick aunt. Separating suspects to take statements was pro forma.

Shane was pissed at himself for making the same dumb mistake as every deadhead felon he had ever busted. He didn't know what Barbara would say, so he planned to tell them the exact truth.

The Arrowhead Sheriff's Department was in turmoil. Earlier that day they had found a dead body in the lake. From what Shane could pick up, it was so decomposed that they hadn't been able to make an ID. In L. A., a dead body was no big deal, but up here an unexplained death was the kind of unusual tragedy it should be everywhere. Shane watched as the tall, balding, fifty-five-year-old sheriff of Arrowhead made multiple calls to the coroner's office. After five minutes he hung up and walked over to Shane. His nameplate read SHERIFF CONKLYN.

"Sorry to add to your problems, Sheriff," Shane said pleasantly.

"What's your story?" Conklyn asked angrily.

"I'm LAPD. I'm up here working on a case."

The sheriff nodded to one of the deputies, who handed Shane's leather ID wallet to Conklyn. He opened it and looked at Shane's tin.

"If you're a cop, why did you run?" the sheriff said, looking at him critically.

"I'm out of my jurisdiction and I didn't take the time to check with you guys like I should have, so I just decided to get small," he said. "Bad choice. Your guys were magnificent."

"Put away the jar of Vaseline," Conklyn said. "You got a CO we can call?"

"I'd really appreciate it if we didn't have to do that," Shane said. "He's not going to be happy."

"It's a big club. I'm not happy." He pointed to his deputies. "They're not happy. You're up here on Lake View Drive, busting caps, and now I've got lots of unhappy people in houses up there. All of a sudden it's like Mexican New Year."

"My captain is Bud Halley," Shane relented. "He's in Southwest Division Robbery/Homicide."

The sheriff took one of Shane's business cards out of his wallet and went to the phone. He talked softly for a minute, waited, then hung up and dialed another number. The second call was taking entirely too long, and Shane's danger lights started flashing. After another minute Sheriff Conklyn moved back and unhooked Shane's cuffs.

"He wants to talk to you," he said.

Shane went behind the counter and picked up the phone. "Captain?"

"It's Tom Mayweather," the deputy chief said in his resonant baritone voice. "Halley transferred this to me 'cause you're in my division now. What the fuck are you doing in Arrowhead, Scully?"

"Sir, something is definitely not right. Ray had a second house up here and another identity, maybe even a second wife."

"Says who?"

"Sir, a dry cleaner identified his picture and gave us the alias he was using. His picture was inside the house, on top of the TV."

"Scully, you are really pissing me off. Read your fucking badge; it says LAPD. You're ninety miles out of your jurisdiction with Ray Molar's widow, engaging in a gun battle with who the hell knows who. Then you have the stones to try and tell me Lieutenant Molar had two identities and a second wife. He was assigned to the mayor, for God's sake."

"Sir, I "

"Shut up!" Mayweather said. "Here's what you do. I'm gonna alibi your fucked-up story with Sheriff Conklyn. He'll cut you and Mrs. Molar loose. Then I want you to leave Arrowhead and drive directly to Los Angeles. I want you to park your car in the Parker Center garage, then turn yourself in to the Homicide Division duty officer. Send her home in a cab. I want this all to happen in less than three hours. Are we straight on this, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Put the sheriff back on."

Shane motioned to the sheriff, who took the phone, listened for a minute, then nodded. "No problem," he said, and hung up.

Fifteen minutes later Shane and Barbara were back in the parking lot behind the sheriff's station. Barbara rode in the front seat as one of the arresting deputies drove them back to the Acura and let them out.

"Good luck solving your John Doe murder," Shane said pleasantly.

"Want some advice from a fellow badge carrier?" the deputy said.

"You bet." Shane smiled, trying to be as nonconfrontational as possible.

"Don't ever come back up here."

"Okay, sounds reasonable." Shane put out his hand, but the cop just looked at it.

"All right, then. Good deal," Shane said, pulling his hand back.

He and Barbara got into the Acura and drove away, staying five miles below the speed limit. Shane kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror. The squad car was going to follow him all the way out of Arrowhead. He drove slowly down the mountain, until the black-and-white finally turned off and headed back toward town.

Shane pulled over and parked. He looked at his watch.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"Giving this guy fifteen minutes to forget about us."

"Only fifteen minutes?"

"Small-town cops have short attention spans," he answered, then added, "I hope." They sat and listened to the motor cool.

"What is it?" Barbara said, noticing a frown on Shane's face.

"Those guys in the speedboat? I was thinking, how did they know we were in the house?" Barbara shrugged. "I think the place is bugged. They heard us searching, then they came back, maybe drifted back to the dock, then jumped us."

Fifteen minutes later Shane started the Acura and turned around. This time he constructed a cover story.

"Here's the deal. We came back to get gas. We only have half a tank." He pointed to the gauge, and she nodded.

He drove quickly through town, made remembered turns, then found himself back on Lake View Drive. He drove up to the bushy hedge, jumped out, and retrieved the videotape box, camera, and answering machine. He locked them in the trunk, then got back behind the wheel and drove quickly out of the mountains, returning to L. A.