Stephen White - Warning Signs

"I don't know yet. God, I told you-of course not. She didn't do it." He waved at the case in front of us. "Are all these eggs the same? Does it make any frigging difference which box of frigging eggs I choose? Never mind, don't answer that."

I pretended to be interested in the fat content of Philadelphia cream cheese as I said, "I'm sure you heard about the explosion in Denver this morning." This was the real reason I'd agreed to meet Sam at the grocery store so late on Friday evening. I wanted to know what he could tell me about the car bomb that I'd heard about from Naomi Bigg and later, on the news.

"Sure. That woman was killed when her car blew up." Sam was still distracted by the eggs. "Denver," he added, shaking his head.

The tone implied that, as far as random explosions went, Denver belonged in the same category as Beirut or Sarajevo or Belfast.

I asked him, "You think it's just a coincidence that a car exploded the same day we found a device in the Petersons' house?"

Sam rolled his eyes, tugged a cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans, and scrolled through the memory until he found the number he wanted. While he was dialing, he said, "The ATF people are way ahead of you. They've been trying all day to see if there's any evidence the two devices were made by the same person. Chemistry takes some time." A few seconds later, he said, "Walter? Sam Purdy in Boulder. How you doing?"

I couldn't tell how Walter was doing, but describing his condition to Sam took quite a bit of time. Sam spent the time examining a rack that displayed single servings of highly processed cheese spread that was packaged with a wide variety of crackers and pretzels. There were some cookies packaged with globs of white goo that looked like frosting, as well. Finally Sam asked Walter what the Denver Police knew about the car explosion earlier that day. Sam apparently wasn't pleased with Walter's response, which caused Sam to remind Walter that Sam was the one who had located the radio-controlled explosive device in Royal Peterson's home that morning.

As I attempted to eavesdrop, I watched the woman with the strawberries from the produce department choose between vanilla and plain soymilk. In her cart she also had a big bag of Cheetos and some Häagen Dazs.

I tried to guess the parameters of her diet. Couldn't. But I guessed that she would go for the vanilla. She did.

Sam flipped his phone closed. "It was definitely a car bomb. They just got a read on the explosive an hour ago. As I said, ATF's involved. They're still filtering debris to try to identify what kind of initiator or timer was used. By the way, the explosive is totally different from what we found in the device in Royal's home this morning. Walter thinks they'll know something specific about the initiator in the Denver bomb the next day or so."

"Motive?"

"Walter says they're not there yet."

"Who's Walter?"

"Somebody I know."

"He's on the Denver Police Department?"

"He's somebody I know. That's all. And his name's not really Walter."

"Really? But you call him Walter? Who is he?"

"Tell me who tipped you off about the bomb in Royal's house and I'll tell you who Walter is. But I won't tell you his real name."

"You know I can't do that."

"It's a patient, isn't it? One of your patients knew that there was a bomb in Royal's house? You know something that will help Lucy and you keep it from me, I swear I'll find a way-"

"You know I can't tell you anything about my patients. Tell me who Walter is or I'm not going to teach you anything else about groceries."

"Promise?"

We walked down the pet food aisle. Sam was perusing the dog treats even though he and Sherry and Simon didn't have any pets. I asked, "Why isn't Lucy in jail? It sure sounds to me as though your colleagues have probable cause."

He pulled a little ball of tissue from his pocket, unfolded it the best he could, and blew his nose. After he stuffed the tissue back into his pocket, he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles before he replied. "Jeez, do you have allergies? What a pain. It's the only thing I don't like about springtime, the only thing. To answer your question: There're a bunch of reasons Lucy hasn't been picked up. One, in Boulder we have a rather well-known history of crossing every t and dotting every i before we arrest somebody, especially somebody with a high profile, and especially for a high-profile felony. Two, Lucy's no flight risk. Three, the prosecutors don't want to have to deal with Cozy and Lauren about discovery yet, and if we arrest Lucy then they have to start turning stuff over, and four-the real home-run reason-is that nobody has a clue about motive yet. They'd like to have at least a clue about her motive before they lock up a cop for murder. Especially a pretty, blond cop. PR, you know."

He'd let go of the handle of his cart. I pulled it behind me as I continued down the aisle; I still had hopes of finishing the grocery shopping by midnight. Sam trailed absently behind the cart. He was looking for something.

While I waited to find out what, I asked, "Why was Lucy at the Peterson house that night? Has she told you?"

He waved at the incredible variety of dog treats on the upper shelves. "Do your dogs like this crap?"

"Emily will eat anything. Anvil doesn't eat anything. Answer my question about Lucy."

"That little dog is a weird dog. I like him, but he's a weird dog."

"I'm glad you like him, Sam," I said. I didn't argue; Anvil was a weird dog. I loved him anyway.

"I'm in an awkward place here, Alan. I don't mind telling you what I know, but if you go and tell Lauren and Cozy, then the people who are willing to talk to me so far won't be willing to talk to me anymore. Does that make sense? If Lucy gets charged, Cozy and Lauren will get all the investigators' reports. So everybody just needs to be patient."

"I won't tell them anything, Sam."

He stared at me with rheumy eyes. "Okay. I don't know why Lucy was at Royal's house that night. When Susan Peterson was interviewed by our detectives, she confirmed that a female cop had visited Royal 'numerous times' in the past, but she maintains she never met the woman, says she was always upstairs in bed during the visits. Susan figured the woman who was stopping by had something to do with the prosecutor's office, a case Royal was working on, or something like that."

"Susan's sure it was a cop, not a DA?"

"That's what she says."

"Does Susan have a name for the cop?"

"No. Royal never told her or she doesn't remember. Susan says the voice she heard downstairs was female. That's all she knows."

"But she thinks it was the same cop each time?"

"Yeah."

"Multiple visits?"

"Yeah."

"Lucy never mentioned Royal to you, Sam?"

"Not once that I can remember. Not even casually. That's what's so goofy. But she's private, always has been."

I said, "She suggested to me that the reason she was there that night has to do with something she's really ashamed of."

Sam stopped and grabbed his cart back from me. "She said that to you? Recently?"

I nodded.

He checked all around him for the presence of other shoppers, lowered his voice to a whisper, and said, "You think Lucy was sleeping with Royal? Is that what she was saying?"

I could tell how distasteful the thought was to Sam. I could also tell that this wasn't the first time in the past couple of days that the thought had crossed his mind. I said, "I don't know. She was just talking about things she was ashamed about. Said one of them had to do with the reason she was at Royal's house that night."

"She's engaged, you know," Sam said. "Just got engaged. Wouldn't wear a ring, though, wanted to keep it private."

"She told me that, too. You know the guy?"