Page 63 of Hostile Witness
A minute later, Tony reappeared with a bone, which he set down on a big towel. After he gave Flynn a second round of serious affection, the dog got right to work. “He can gnaw to his heart’s content in here but not in the kitchen. Health department rules.” Tony stripped off his butcher’s coat and replaced it with a fresh one, then washed his hands in the corner sink. “Just stick your head in the kitchen if you need me.”
Ethan wheeled around and caught the butcher before he closed the door. “Is this the guy you spoke of?”
Tony stepped around Flynn and peered at the monitor. “Yup, that’s him. Strangest eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for trouble where there isn’t any. What do you think?”
That this guy had a run-in with Flynn and the doggie door.“He does need medical attention; that’s for sure.” Ethan enlarged the face-forward picture from the checkout line. It was grainy, but a pro could analyze the bone structure and maybe get a positive ID on the man. “Do you mind if I forward this footage to the precinct?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever it takes to get him the help he needs. That’s one of the reasons we’ve got cameras, to protect ourselves and the public. Just make sure to black out our name on the feed so he doesn’t get mad at us.”
Ethan nodded. “Yes, of course. We’ve got the software to remove the background so the girl who checked him out won’t be in the photos, either. We’ll make sure of it.” He forwarded the footage to his phone and Earl Thompson’s. “Thanks, Tony.”
“Sure thing. Let me get those bones ready for Flynn.”
36
Harlan Brinker cursed as he got out of the pickup truck.
“Damn sciatica.” Muttering a string of oaths, he hobbled to the entrance of the Sandpiper Diner. The bells jingled as he opened the door and stepped over a worn marble threshold.
“Happy Tuesday morning, Harlan,” hailed Jake, the diner’s owner. “Nice to see you in town. How’s the farm these days?” He poured a glass of water and set it on the counter where Harlan usually sat.
“Fine, Jake, just fine. But this damn sciatica’s put a hurtin’ in my leg and back.”
Harlan spared a glance at the blaring television hung high on the wall behind the counter. “Can you turn that contraption down a little bit, please? And would you cook me three sunnies with well-done sausage, no potatoes, and burned rye toast? Give me real butter and none of that margarine stuff.”
“Sure, Harlan. It’ll be about five minutes.”
“Okay. I’m still mad at the cable company for raising my rates, Jake. How can a person afford to pay almost two hundred dollars a month for cable and cell-phone bills? It’s nuts. Justcrazy. I canceled the cable and internet a couple of months ago and go to the library now and use their computers when I need to order feed and seeds. Sure do miss the games on the internet though. There’s nothing like playing backgammon with someone you don’t know and can’t see. It brings out the competitor in an old man.” He gave a sardonic laugh.
“I’m sorry, Harlan. I know you enjoyed the old-time movies and game shows, too.” Jake prepped the filter for another pot of coffee.
“I haven’t seen the news in a couple of weeks. Can’t say the sabbatical’s done me any harm. All they do is talk about terrorists and politics anyway. I’ve read a slew of my favorite books instead.”
Jake set the plate of breakfast in front of Harlan and reached under the counter to grab silverware rolled in a napkin. “You need anything else? Want some orange juice?”
Harlan shook pepper over his eggs. “Nah. I’ll take a cup of that fresh coffee once it’s done brewing. This looks great. You know how to burn food good and proper.” He speared a blackened sausage link and poked a hole in an egg for dipping. Raising his eyes to the television, he watched a house fire burning somewhere in the world.
“Hey Jake, change the channel to the local news, would you, please? I may as well catch up on the town happenings. The international news will give me indigestion.”
Jake aimed the remote, and the picture settled on a pretty blonde newswoman. He set the remote on the counter before pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
Harlan stabbed a second sausage link and pierced another egg. He mopped the steaming yolks with burned toast and eyed the television again. The pretty blonde was replaced with Chief Carson speaking into a microphone on the left side of the screen and an artist’s rendition of a suspect on the right. Harlanstrained to hear what the chief was saying and squinted at the face in the drawing.
Something was familiar about that face.
I’ve seen that guy somewhere.
Where have I seen that face?
The screen changed, and a ticker ran across the bottom offering a twenty-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the person who’d killed Lieutenant Plante.
Harlan spat out a bite of sausage and dropped his fork. He swiveled his stool and ran for the remote at the end of the counter but crumpled against another seat and cursed, “Damn, damn sciatica.” Reaching down the counter, he grappled for the remote, raised the volume, and froze the picture before hobbling back to his stool.
After dunking his spectacles into the glass of water, he dried them on his blue flannel shirt and perched them back on his nose. Harlan studied the picture on the screen again. “Well, I’ll be a Christmas ham... hey, Jake! Come out here... I need you, Jake!”
Jake burst through the swinging doors, drying his hands on a towel. “What’s the matter, Harlan? What’s wrong?”
“Look at that face on the screen. I think that’s my renter.”