Harriet parked on a side street half a block from the police station. You could no longer park directly in front of the station, as those spots had been turned into an elaborate planter system that was in reality a concrete buffer to protect the station in the event terrorists arrived in Foggy Point and decided to storm the FPPD.
Aunt Beth just shook her head as they threaded past the floral displays.
"You never know,” Harriet told her. “Foggy Point could become a target."
"I'm sure you're right,” Aunt Beth said with just a touch of sarcasm. “There's a real possibility terrorists would bypass the Trident nuclear submarine base in Bremerton and come on into Foggy Point."
"It could happen,” Harriet said and laughed.
They reached the door, and Harriet held it for her aunt. The room they entered was beige, from the worn linoleum underfoot to the plastic ceiling tiles. The chairs had to have been there since the nineteen-fifties and belonged in a museum, not a working police station, but things were slow to change in Foggy Point.
Harriet heard him before she saw him.
"You tell the de-tec-tive I want to know what he's doing about my wife,” Rodney Miller said, emphasizing each syllable of the word. “Someone killed her, and she needs justice. No one cares, but she needs justice.” He banged his fist on the bulletproof glass that separated him from the receptionist. “She was my wife,” he said and started crying.
"Can I help you?” the receptionist called to Aunt Beth.
"I need help,” Rodney shouted. “Why ain't you helping me?"
"I came to see Detective Morse,” Aunt Beth said in a firm voice.
"What do you need a detective for?” Rodney said to her. “She supposed to be finding out who killed Neelie."
Detective Morse started to come through a door into the waiting area, but Rodney lunged for her, and she quickly closed the door and went back into the part of the reception area behind the glass. A moment later, two patrol officers came in the front doors. Harriet recognized Officer Jason Nguyen from previous encounters, but she'd never seen the second officer, a muscular young man with a military-style crewcut.
The two men flanked Rodney, grasping his arms. Rodney countered by slithering out of his leather jacket in an attempt to escape. The two officers were ready for the move and grasped his now-bare wrists, quickly pulling them behind him and applying handcuffs.
"Calm down, Mr. Miller,” Officer Nguyen said in a firm voice. “I know you're upset about your wife, but this isn't helping."
"No one will tell me anything. An’ they ain't doing anything. Neelie's dead. Dead!"
"That's not true,” Nguyen assured him. “The detectives are following several leads, and the lab is processing evidence, but until they get some results, there's nothing to tell. That doesn't mean they aren't doing anything."
Harriet wanted to know what they were doing, too, but it didn't seem like the time to ask.
"If you don't stop coming in here and screaming at our receptionist, we're going to have to put you in a cell and charge you with disorderly conduct. I don't want to do that, but if you can't control yourself, I will."
The second officer had remained silent till now.
"Take a deep breath,” he said softly, and Rodney did.
He relaxed, and they sat him in one of the chairs in the waiting area.
"You okay now?” Officer Nguyen asked after Rodney had been quiet for a few minutes.
Rodney nodded.
"Okay,” said the other officer. “We're going to walk you outside and undo the cuffs. I promise, as soon as we know anything about what happened to your wife, we'll give you a call. We've got your cell phone number."
Rodney looked at him intently then said “Okay,” and let them lead him out of the station.
After another minute had passed, Detective Morse came through the side door again.
"Sorry about that,” she said. “I feel sorry for that poor man, I really do."
"So, are you still working on the case?” Harriet asked. Aunt Beth nudged her, but it was too late-her question was out there.
"I wish what the officer said was true, but the fact is, we don't have any leads. The lab is processing what little forensic evidence we have, but we don't have much to go on. Ms. Obote isn't from around here, so we don't have any known associates to question. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but we don't even know for sure where the actual crime scene is. If you ladies can add any more to your statements, that would be helpful, but even if you'd seen her collapse in Dr. Jalbert's yard that wouldn't help much."
"It seems like she came to town to con Aiden,” Harriet said. “She was waiting for him to return from eastern Washington. I don't understand why someone would kill her. She hadn't even made her play yet."
"Why do you think Ms. Obote was going to con Dr. Jalbert?"
"She had a baby she claimed was her sister's, and that her sister had died and asked her to deliver the baby to Aiden. I told this all to Detective Sanders."
Detective Morse raised her left eyebrow.
"Did you, now?” she said, more to herself than to Beth and Harriet. “I take it the baby is not Dr. Jalbert's."
"No,” Harriet said in a firm voice. “He knew nothing about it, and in fact says he'll be very surprised if it's Nabirye Obote's baby."
"Where's the baby now?” Detective Morse asked.
"She's in foster care,” Aunt Beth answered quickly.
"Well, this is something, anyway. Tell me the name of the baby's alleged mother again."
Harriet told her. “Aiden has a call in to her. He did work with her in Africa before he came back to Foggy Point,” she added.
"It's strange Mr. Miller didn't mention a baby."
"He claims he knew nothing about the baby or the sister in Africa,” Harriet said.
"You've spoken to him?” Morse asked.
Harriet ducked her head. “I did run into him at dinner one night,” she said sheepishly.
"I'm pretty sure you've heard this before, but you need to let the police do the detecting. People who commit crimes are dangerous. Officer Nguyen told me you've had some experience with that. He said you got a nasty bump on the head. Next time, you might not be so lucky. If you hear anything, see anything or, heck, even think anything related to this case, you call me immediately.” She pulled a business card from her shirt pocket and wrote a number on the back. “That's my cell number. Call me."
Harriet felt like a little girl in the principal's office.
Detective Morse turned to Aunt Beth, who handed her a thin pattern book.
"Here's that pattern you asked about."
"Thanks,” she said and leafed through the booklet. “This looks perfect for my sister's baby. And by that, I mean it looks like I could finish it in time."
"If you need any help, give me a call,” Aunt Beth said. “I'm in the phone book."
"Thanks for taking the time to drop it by. And please, keep your niece out of the detecting business, for her own sake."
"Will do,” Beth said and nudged Harriet toward the door.
"Will do?” Harriet repeated when they were back at the car.
"What did you want me to say? I wasn't about to tell her I was your accomplice. Then she'd never tell us anything."
"If I'm not mistaken, she didn't tell us anything. We told her stuff."
"She will,” Aunt Beth said. “Once she trusts us. You saw how she acted when you talked about the baby. That Detective Sanders is keeping things from her. She'll talk to us because he's trying to make her look incompetent, or at least less competent."
"Typical male ego,” Harriet mused.
"She's going to need allies, and we could use her insider knowledge."
"She could just be playing us."
"I don't think so,” Beth said. “It's only a couple of blocks to the quilt store. You want to walk?"
Harriet looked up at the cloudy sky. “Sure, why not."