target and the other was an unlucky bystander, or both victims were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said.
“So what’s logical considering what you know about the victims,” Leslie asked.
Ralph sat forward. “Kohler was a model citizen. He was just out there fishing before he went to work like he did most mornings.”
I said, “And Ronny was a wise-assed kid who shot his mouth off and never turned down a fight, and was a possible drug user. But of course people’s lives are often not what they seem and we need to look into both victims’: their workplaces, relationships, finances, bad habits, secrets, etcetera.”
“Exactly,” Leslie said.
Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He had a disgruntled look on his face like we were doing something wrong. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but thought better of it because I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. He had less experience with homicide than Leslie and Ralph did.
We added to our interview list and Ralph adjourned the meeting. “Okay, try to get your interviews done today and tomorrow. Call me with anything new and significant, otherwise we’ll meet bright and early Monday morning,” Ralph said.
When the room cleared and Ralph and I were alone, I asked him if he heard Jack’s “bullshit” remark.
“Yeah, he’s under a lot of pressure, but that’s no excuse for rudeness.”
“Ralph, I didn’t mention in the meeting that Eleanor Kohler had fifty-six minutes of unaccounted time but I haven’t checked it out.”
“Eleanor’s on my agenda for today. I’ll ask her about it,” he said.
Chapter 7
B ob Brutlag was my only suspect, and he was due in twenty minutes. While I waited for his arrival, I looked over my notes and questions I’d written on note cards. Jack forged into Interview Room 3, dropping what was left of the doughnuts and a carafe of coffee on the small table, then left without a word. I guess we’re having a coffee party . Man, I had a bad feeling about Jack being in on this interview.
At 10:03 a.m., a deputy escorted Bob Brutlag in, and I asked if he’d let the sheriff know we were ready. I shook Bob’s clammy hand. He smelled of cologne and Listerine. His beard was trimmed down to about a half-inch, and his hair, still damp on the ends, was pulled into a ponytail. He wore a black down jacket, black slacks, and cowboy boots. No Harley gear today.
“How are you this morning, Mr. Brutlag?” I said.
He smiled crookedly. “I’m good. And you?”
“Dandy, thank you.”
“There’s a real media circus outside, huh? Jack warned me not to say anything to the reporters.”
Jack entered carrying three white mugs that clanked as he placed them on the table. Nothing quiet about Jack.
“Take off your jacket and stay a while, Bob,” Jack said. “Coffee?”
Bob gave him a wide smile and nodded. Jack poured coffee into a mug and pushed it across the table toward our interviewee leaving a wet streak. Bob took off his jacket revealing sweat stains under the armpits of his blue cotton shirt. He slung the jacket on the back of his chair.
“Those Dixie’s doughnuts?” he asked flashing a smile.
“Help yourself,” Jack said.
“Great. Dint have breakfast this mornin’,” he said as he reached across to grab a doughnut out of the bag. He left a trail of cinnamon sugar and as he lifted the doughnut to his mouth, more dribbled down his shirt. He bit off half in a single bite. He brushed the sugar off the table and from his shirt onto the floor. He sniggered and said, “Sorry ’bout that.”
The second bite finished off the doughnut. I impatiently waited until he chewed and swallowed before I started furnishing the case information for the tape. I turned on the small recorder on the table and while I stated the case number, those present, date and time, Bob grabbed another frickin’ doughnut. I was pissed Jack brought them into the interview.
“Dixie makes the best damn doughnuts. Don’t she?” he
“So what’s logical considering what you know about the victims,” Leslie asked.
Ralph sat forward. “Kohler was a model citizen. He was just out there fishing before he went to work like he did most mornings.”
I said, “And Ronny was a wise-assed kid who shot his mouth off and never turned down a fight, and was a possible drug user. But of course people’s lives are often not what they seem and we need to look into both victims’: their workplaces, relationships, finances, bad habits, secrets, etcetera.”
“Exactly,” Leslie said.
Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He had a disgruntled look on his face like we were doing something wrong. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but thought better of it because I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. He had less experience with homicide than Leslie and Ralph did.
We added to our interview list and Ralph adjourned the meeting. “Okay, try to get your interviews done today and tomorrow. Call me with anything new and significant, otherwise we’ll meet bright and early Monday morning,” Ralph said.
When the room cleared and Ralph and I were alone, I asked him if he heard Jack’s “bullshit” remark.
“Yeah, he’s under a lot of pressure, but that’s no excuse for rudeness.”
“Ralph, I didn’t mention in the meeting that Eleanor Kohler had fifty-six minutes of unaccounted time but I haven’t checked it out.”
“Eleanor’s on my agenda for today. I’ll ask her about it,” he said.
Chapter 7
B ob Brutlag was my only suspect, and he was due in twenty minutes. While I waited for his arrival, I looked over my notes and questions I’d written on note cards. Jack forged into Interview Room 3, dropping what was left of the doughnuts and a carafe of coffee on the small table, then left without a word. I guess we’re having a coffee party . Man, I had a bad feeling about Jack being in on this interview.
At 10:03 a.m., a deputy escorted Bob Brutlag in, and I asked if he’d let the sheriff know we were ready. I shook Bob’s clammy hand. He smelled of cologne and Listerine. His beard was trimmed down to about a half-inch, and his hair, still damp on the ends, was pulled into a ponytail. He wore a black down jacket, black slacks, and cowboy boots. No Harley gear today.
“How are you this morning, Mr. Brutlag?” I said.
He smiled crookedly. “I’m good. And you?”
“Dandy, thank you.”
“There’s a real media circus outside, huh? Jack warned me not to say anything to the reporters.”
Jack entered carrying three white mugs that clanked as he placed them on the table. Nothing quiet about Jack.
“Take off your jacket and stay a while, Bob,” Jack said. “Coffee?”
Bob gave him a wide smile and nodded. Jack poured coffee into a mug and pushed it across the table toward our interviewee leaving a wet streak. Bob took off his jacket revealing sweat stains under the armpits of his blue cotton shirt. He slung the jacket on the back of his chair.
“Those Dixie’s doughnuts?” he asked flashing a smile.
“Help yourself,” Jack said.
“Great. Dint have breakfast this mornin’,” he said as he reached across to grab a doughnut out of the bag. He left a trail of cinnamon sugar and as he lifted the doughnut to his mouth, more dribbled down his shirt. He bit off half in a single bite. He brushed the sugar off the table and from his shirt onto the floor. He sniggered and said, “Sorry ’bout that.”
The second bite finished off the doughnut. I impatiently waited until he chewed and swallowed before I started furnishing the case information for the tape. I turned on the small recorder on the table and while I stated the case number, those present, date and time, Bob grabbed another frickin’ doughnut. I was pissed Jack brought them into the interview.
“Dixie makes the best damn doughnuts. Don’t she?” he
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