Page 74 of Inside Silence
I tried to get Brenda to refer CdAP Detective Rick Althof’s call to the CID, assuming he had information on the Franklin Wyatt case, but she thought I should be the one to take his call. She was right.
“You realize there’s no way we could match whatever it is you’re making in Coeur d’Alene, right?” I point out.
“Trust me, I wasn’t on the Idaho list of top earners anyway. Not to mention, for what I paid for my condo here, I can buy a whole house in your neck of the woods.”
“Look,” he continues, I realize I’m trying to bypass whatever protocol you have in place, but you’ve gotta admit; me catching your ad on the police union’s career center page was some kind of karma. You’re looking and I’m in the market for a change.”
“But why?” I blurt out, trying to make sense of this unforeseen boon. “Why would you leave your job and want to come work for a much, much smaller department in a mountain town off the beaten track, with far less resources, and for less pay?”
“Wow, you’re really selling this position, aren’t you?” he observes teasingly before continuing in a more serious tone. “I guess you deserve to know. I need a change of scenery in the worst possible way. A healthier way of life, a healthier pace, and some new fucking friends. I just need a reboot. Been doing this work since I got my detective badge as the youngest officer in the department, seventeen years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the work, but with the volume of cases we handle on a day-to-day basis here, I’ve kinda lost touch with why I loved this job to begin with. I don’t have time to give each case my all, and I don’t derive nearly the same satisfaction when I solve one these days.”
I wait patiently when he falls quiet, because I have a feeling he’s not done yet, but I can’t help notice how much I recognize what he is sharing. I get it, the constant daily grind to stay on top of things really starts wearing on you. I’ve never felt that more than I do now, and I’ve held this position barely five years. But the difference for me is, I actually have the ability to change my circumstances, which is what I’ve started doing. Delegating more, fighting for a budget increase so I can afford to hire the likes of Rick Althof.
“And on a personal level…” He scoffs derisively. “Let’s just say the job isn’t exactly conducive to any kind of relationship or home life. I don’t even know what that is, but I’d like to find out.”
It’s uncanny how accurately those thoughts describe what I’m struggling with.
“When can you start?”
The speed with which the words fly from my mouth unchecked illustrates how pathetically desperate I am.
“I need to give two weeks’ notice, and I can get on the horn with a real estate agent right now.”
We haven’t talked about the details of his employment, and I obviously haven’t done any of the prerequisite background checks or reference calls, but that doesn’t stop me from smiling big when I say, “In that case, welcome to the Edwards County Sheriff’s Office.”
One thing off my list, twenty more to go, but we’ll take the small victories.
My earlier sense of achievement doesn’t last long when I answer a call from Tessa Androtti.
“I’m driving in tomorrow morning. Are you going to be in the office?”
“Yeah. That was the plan. Why? Has something happened?” I ask. I like to be prepared for what might be coming my way.
I just talked to Tessa yesterday when I called to let her know the judge had released Sanchuk on bail. He said his decision to grant bail was based on a lifetime of service and past merit. How ironic, given what we now know about Sanchuk’s conduct over the years.
Both of us had been quite bummed about letting him walk.
“You could say that. I just came from the lab, and I’m pretty sure our cases are connected.”
I sit up straighter.
“Oh?”
“The lab’s been processing evidence, giving priority to what was collected from the actual crime scene, but has now also started working on what was found in and around Franklin Wyatt’s car and cabin. They recovered several different shoe and foot prints from the porch and from inside the cabin. One men’s size eleven boot print found in the bedroom turned out to be a perfect match to the partial at your crime scene.”
One print at one crime scene might be explained away as left by accident, but to have that happen at two separate sites by the same person can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way.
I feel the rush of excitement that usually accompanies the promise of a solid lead. As much as I don’t like the arrow possibly pointing to a first responder—even if it turns out to be Sanchuk, which would be the best-case scenario—I want this killer caught.
I have to admit, part of my reaction is also relief this will take the heat off Dozer and Wanda. As ill-timed as it may be to make their relationship public, I wish those two any happiness left for them to grab.
“That’s great news.”
“It is, and now the size is confirmed it should narrow down our list. But I want to keep the discovery of this print in the Wyatt case under wraps. I don’t want that to be public knowledge.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m hoping to be there at ten thirty or thereabouts, and I’m bringing a crime tech to take prints. I’m hoping you can gather your men so we can try to make this as quick and painless as we can.”
