Long Time Gone (17 page)

Right
. Erik picked up his coffee cup and headed back toward his office. Behind him he heard the door open.

He half turned and watched Friesenhahn’s bulky form move through the doorway. The man had to weigh at least three hundred, most of it packed into his substantial gut. He took off his cream Stetson and reached into the pocket of his khaki pants, then pulled out a large white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

Erik leaned back against the doorway to his office.
Well, goddamn. There goes half the day.
“Morning, Sheriff, how’re things at the county?”

Chapter Sixteen

Friesenhahn started to put his hat back on when he caught sight of Helen sitting at her desk. He nodded, tucking his Stetson under his arm. “Ma’am.”

Helen’s expression was guarded. “Sheriff.”

He turned back to Erik. “Morning, son. You got yourself an office somewhere around here?”

“Yes sir.” Erik pushed himself up from the doorway. “Right this way.”

He could hear Friesenhahn walking behind him. His leather belt creaked beneath his paunch and the heels of his boots thumped heavily against the linoleum. The sheriff was long past the days of sneaking up on the bad guys. Erik slid into his desk chair, while Friesenhahn subsided into the visitor’s chair in front of him.

“Well, son, you seem to have settled in.” The sheriff glanced around the office.

Erik could see no evidence of his settling in, given that the only thing on his office wall was a generic picture of the old Lutheran Church on Main, but he figured he’d let Friesenhahn play it his way. He nodded. “Yes sir, I guess I have.”

“You and the locals getting along okay?” The sheriff’s beady eyes, like black peppercorns, regarded him steadily.

Erik suddenly had a hunch where this conversation was heading. He rested his elbows on the desk. “Most of them, yeah.”

“Not all of them?” Friesenhahn raised a shaggy eyebrow.

“No sir. I’ve had one or two run-ins. Par for the course.”

The sheriff blew out a breath. “Figured as much. Heard a rumor you’d been stirring up the local ranchers—mayor claims he’s had complaints.”

“Ranchers? Plural?” Erik leaned back in his chair again. “I had one angry rancher in here yesterday, but we smoothed everything out. He’s had some illegal dumping on his land.”

Friesenhahn’s eyes narrowed. “Dumping? You call TCEQ?”

Erik nodded. “We’re on it. I’ve got a list of the trucks that drive across his land, and we’ve got another dump site in the same area we’re checking out. Now people around there know what to look for, we should be able to track the guy down.”

“Keep me posted. We’ll need to check if other people in the county have been hit. Now what about Pittman?”

Erik sighed. The sheriff was a bulldog when he had a question he wanted answered—he never let loose. “Pittman’s one of those mayors who gets in the way a lot.”

Friesenhahn’s laugh rumbled from his considerable gut. “Might as well call him by his rightful name. Pittman’s an asshole, son.”

“He is that. You have any idea how much trouble I may be in over this?”

Friesenhahn shrugged. “He wants to get rid of you. My guess is the city council’s not inclined to let Hilton Pittman tell them what to do. However, it’d be a good idea to peel him off your back, or you’re not gonna get much done around here.”

Erik kept his expression bland. Given his choice, he preferred to ignore Hilton Pittman and his complaints. But he had a feeling he didn’t have any real choice if he wanted to keep this job. “Any ideas about how I might do that?”

“Well—” the sheriff scratched his chin, meditatively, “—in your place, I’d probably apologize for any misunderstandings. Tell him you got off on the wrong foot. That won’t make Pittman altogether happy, but it’ll at least give him the idea that he’s won one. For somebody like Pittman, that’s a big deal.”

Erik’s stomach knotted briefly. Apologizing to Pittman struck him as a great way to develop an ulcer. “What would be your second choice?”

“Son, apologizing is the best way to take care of this situation. You know it as well as I do. Pittman may be an asshole, but part of this job is working with assholes.”

Erik’s jaw hardened. There were a variety of responses he could make, most of which would piss the sheriff off. He didn’t do apologies all that well, not even with his family—who deserved them more than Hilton Pittman did.

Friesenhahn’s grin began to fade as he waited. “You know something, Toleffson? In a lot of ways, you’re one hell of a cop. You had a good record before you came here, and you’ve been outstanding in this shithole job. I don’t know why you’re here exactly, but the town is damn lucky to have you.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming up here?”

The sheriff grinned again. “But…you got a tendency to go off half-cocked when you get pissed at somebody. Like your relationship with Pittman. You been stirring him up when you didn’t need to. That’s just pure stupidity on your part, son.”

“I think we’re agreed on that. I haven’t exactly handled it well.”

“But you’ve managed to keep things going here so far. So far.” Friesenhahn cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “Basically, you need to improve your people skills. Or your dealing-with-asshole skills. Part of a job like this is learning how to work with ’em because believe me you’ll never get rid of ’em. You got a chance for some on-the-job training here. Don’t blow it.”

“Dealing with somebody like Pittman’s not an easy skill to develop.”

The sheriff sighed. “It’s something you’ve got to do, Toleffson. If your relationship with the mayor gets too bad, the city council is likely to decide since they can’t fire Pittman, it’s easier to fire you, hire Linklatter and save themselves the hassle.”

A band of tension began to form across Erik’s shoulders. They both knew the corollary to that. Linklatter took over and Erik left Konigsburg. For good.
Apologize to Pittman or find yourself a new job somewhere else. Like Iowa.

Friesenhahn hauled himself to his feet in stages, pushing up against the arms of his chair. “But I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I got confidence in you, son.”

“Well, thanks for that, anyway.”

The sheriff placed his hat firmly on his head, then turned back toward Erik again. “Just don’t do anything that would make them fire you, Toleffson. It would really frost my butt to let Pittman think he’d won this one.”

As Erik considered that possibility, he had to admit it would frost his butt too.

Hilton Pittman sat in his office, waiting for Ozzie Friesenhahn to arrive. He knew Friesenhahn was in town because his assistant, Brinkman, had seen him drive by. And he knew why he was there. To warn Erik Toleffson about the need to play along.

All Friesenhahn needed to do now was drop by Hilton’s office and confirm the obvious—Toleffson was back in line, Hilton was back on top, and all was right with the world once again.

On reflection, Hilton could have kicked himself for waiting so long to complain. If he’d just made his unhappiness known the first time Toleffson made trouble, he could have been spared the whole biker debacle.

An hour later he was still waiting for Friesenhahn and beginning to feel seriously pissed off. After all, Friesenhahn needed his help almost as much as he needed Friesenhahn’s. They were both elected officials. Hilton could help Friesenhahn round up support with the Konigsburg Merchants Association. Friesenhahn really couldn’t afford to annoy Hilton too much.

Could he?

Friesenhahn finally showed up around one, about the time Hilton was planning to head off to the Coffee Corral for lunch. Hilton might have asked the sheriff to join him under other circumstances, if he weren’t so seriously annoyed.

Or, given Friesenhahn’s size and probable appetite, maybe not. Feeding the sheriff might put a strain on the city’s budget.

“Sheriff.” Hilton extended his hand for a quick shake, then directed Friesenhahn into one of the overstuffed leather chairs he’d gotten the city to purchase for his office.

Friesenhahn sank down against the chair cushions, which subsided beneath him with an audible hiss.

Hilton waited for the sheriff to tell him he’d talked to Toleffson and then depart, but Friesenhahn gave him a benign smile as he glanced around the room. “Nice office you have here, Mayor. Real comfortable.”

Hilton nodded, trying to keep his impatience in check. “We try to make visitors feel real welcome in this town, particularly in the mayor’s office. My door is always open.”

The sheriff’s smile flickered for a moment, and Hilton felt himself flush. Okay, so he couldn’t use the same lines with the sheriff that he used with the Merchants Association. His jaw firmed. “I assume you’re here about Toleffson.”

Friesenhahn’s smile turned dry. “Good man, Toleffson.”

Hilton’s jaw clenched for a moment. Then he pulled himself together. “Maybe in some situations. He’s had problems here.”

The sheriff nodded slowly. “I spoke to him about that. Unfortunately, these misunderstandings do happen.”

Misunderstandings?
Hilton gritted his teeth. It was all he could do to restrain himself from grabbing a handful of Friesenhahn’s shirt front. “This is more than a misunderstanding, Sheriff. The man’s created several problems around town.”

Friesenhahn narrowed his eyes, leaning his head against the leather chair back. “What problems were these? You mentioned some ranchers—if you could give me their names, I could follow up on that. Go have a conversation with them. See what the trouble is, maybe smooth down some feathers.”

Hilton swallowed. He didn’t know how reliable Powell would be if Friesenhahn talked to him. The man was already beginning to waffle about filing a complaint against Toleffson. In fact, he’d told Hilton to forget the whole thing. He figured he’d have to spend some time stoking Powell’s wrath again in order to get him down to city hall. “I prefer to keep their names confidential, Sheriff. But I can assure you he caused several problems with the visitors during the motorcycle rally last week.”

“Problems?” Friesenhahn raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“He arrested several of our guests. Chief Brody always managed to avoid arrests. Bad for the town’s reputation as a tourist destination.”

The sheriff narrowed his eyes and Hilton did a quick backtrack. “Not that Chief Brody was a model policeman by any means.”

“I didn’t see any sign Toleffson was doing anything wrong at that rally. The people he sent over to the county jail were plastered. If I’d been here, I’d have picked them up myself. They needed to sleep it off before they hurt somebody.”

Clearly, the sheriff wasn’t going to do what he was supposed to do without some major prodding. “Nonetheless, if we continue to have problems with Chief Toleffson, I’m afraid I’ll have to take this matter to the city council and ask them to reconsider his appointment.”

“I’ve suggested that Toleffson work out his problems with you. I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it soon. He knows it’s important.”

Hilton drew himself up. “Well, perhaps we can avoid any public unpleasantness. But if not…” He spread his hands and tried to look like a reasonable man, which meant concealing just how pissed off he was at the moment.

Friesenhahn didn’t look particularly impressed by Hilton’s gesture, but, of course, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Hilton smiled again, getting to his feet. “Thanks for dropping by, Sheriff.”

Friesenhahn hauled himself out of the chair’s depths with some difficulty. “I’ll keep track of how things are going here, Mayor. You can be sure of that. After all, if the police department doesn’t function, the county may have to take over again.” He gave Hilton another predatory smile.

Hilton narrowed his eyes. “Surely we won’t have to go that far, Sheriff. A change in personnel might take care of the problems.”

“It might, Mr. Mayor, depending on who gets changed for who. On the other hand, we can’t have a town the size of Konigsburg without effective law enforcement. Believe me, I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

Somehow neither his words nor his smile made Hilton feel even slightly better. He stared after Friesenhahn’s retreating bulk. It seemed that the ammunition he was currently using wasn’t going to blow Toleffson out of the water. Which meant new ammunition was definitely called for. He’d turn that little rat fucker Brinkman loose on Toleffson’s records tomorrow and see what he could dig up.

Erik put off talking to Pittman until the end of the day. He figured the taste it would leave in his mouth would demand a trip to the Dew Drop at the very least, possibly the Dew Drop and Brenner’s, if he could run Morgan down. Of course, no matter what happened with Pittman, he intended to run Morgan down.

Pittman’s secretary, a tiny, birdlike woman named Doralee, looked up at him with narrowed eyes as he walked in the office door. Erik could read her thoughts—it was four forty-five and he was going to make her stay late.

“It’s okay, Doralee.” He managed a smile, but it wasn’t much of one. “This isn’t something you’ll need to stick around for
.” Hell, the fewer witnesses the better.

Doralee gave him a better smile than he’d given her. “Thanks, Chief. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She gathered up her purse and lunch sack, then walked over to Pittman’s door and flung it open.

“Goddamn it, Doralee.” Pittman’s voice filled the outer office. “Can’t you learn to knock on the goddamn door?”

Doralee treated that as a rhetorical question. “Chief of police is here to see you. I’m going home.”

Erik took a deep breath as Doralee brushed past him.
On-the-job asshole experience. Right.

He stepped into Pittman’s office to find the mayor industriously writing something on a notepad at his desk. Erik was fairly sure Pittman had picked up a pen for his benefit. The mayor made a great show of ignoring Erik’s existence for a few moments, then looked up, unsmiling. “Yes, Chief. What is it you want?”

To be at the Dew Drop with Morgan Barrett.
“Just a minute of your time, Mr. Mayor.” Erik sat abruptly in one of Pittman’s overstuffed leather chairs since otherwise he figured Pittman would leave him standing for however long this particular meeting took.

Pittman drew his brows together in a scowl. “I’m very pressed for time, Chief. Please get on with it.”

Erik took a deep breath. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Mayor. I apologize for any misunderstandings that might have occurred over the motorcycle rally.” His stomach was clamped tighter than when he’d faced a teenage drug dealer with a four-inch knife. At least he’d gotten to kick the teenager in the gut. Not that he wouldn’t have liked to do the same to Pittman, who was currently giving him his best imitation of a pissed-off high school principal.