Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

everything together,” I said.
    “For sure. Careless of her, though, not to get rid of that uniform, don’t you think?”
    “Without a doubt.”
    “Listen, I’ve been thinking about something and I want to run it past you,” said Kate.
    “Okay.”
    “I think we should wait until later in the day, and then go confront Allred. Let’s give it enough time for him to realize that he’s been placed under surveillance. It might make him a little more cooperative. And I’d like to do the interview on my turf to give us the psychological edge. The truth is, I’m getting pressure from my department. Hyrum was waiting on my doorstep when I got in this morning. He made it abundantly clear we’ve still got two unsolved homicides on our hands, and he isn’t seeing sufficient progress on either one.
    “And if that isn’t enough, the shit hit the fan over our lack of cooperation in handling the James Allen thing. Evidently, Allen complained to Richard Vogue, who then got on the horn and raised hell with Mayor Baldwin, who in turn chewed on Chief Hansen, and on down the administrative line to Hyrum.”
    “It sounds like an entire chain of command is awash in a sea of political diarrhea,” I said, sounding slightly amused. Kate wasn’t amused.
    “You find this humorous, Sam, only because you haven’t been on the receiving end of the criticism or political diarrhea, as you call it. But yours is coming, trust me,” she snapped.
    “I expect you’re right.” Trying to change the subject, I said, “Look, I don’t have a problem pulling Allred in for questioning. I’ve been anxious to sit down and give him an opportunity to clarify a few things for us. As to the pressure you’re feeling, the real issue for Locke is that he’s afraid the Sheriff’s Office is about to break the case wide open and steal the credit. Hyrum can’t stand the thought of that.”
    “Always the cynic, Kincaid. Why do you always assume the worst when it comes to people’s motives?”
    “I guess it’s because I’ve spent an entire career watching people like Hyrum seek the spotlight, take credit for the work of others, and push people aside as they climb the organizational ladder. His kind usually have little conscience about who they hurt on the way up. I’ve also learned that if you don’t expect much from people, you aren’t often disappointed, and occasionally, you’re even pleasantly surprised.”
    “Jesus, Kincaid, you’re a real piece of work.” She promised to call me later in the day and hung up.
    ***
    Sloan was in the midst of a budget meeting with his two deputy directors when I was ushered into his conference room. He briefly glanced up, looking at me like I was the grim reaper.
    The barrage of intense media scrutiny the department had endured since the murder of Levi Vogue was admittedly unpleasant, but nothing like the shit storm that would occur later today when the press learned the Sheriff’s Office had a first degree murder warrant against a corrections officer for killing an inmate. Already newspaper stories quoting unidentified sources were calling for the state legislature to launch an investigation into the management of the department. So far, the governor was doing everything possible to discourage the initiative, calling it premature. I suspected that would all change after today.
    I reviewed the evidence against Stimson for Sloan and his top aides. The bad news prompted him to abbreviate the budget meeting and bring together a larger contingent of his management team to strategize ways of weathering the impending storm. Fortunately, I didn’t have to take part in that meeting. I’d had enough of department headquarters for the time being, so I headed to my office at the prison.
    I intentionally didn’t tell Sloan about the additional evidence linking Allred with three prison employees until we were alone. The issue for me was whom could I trust. Sloan wasn’t a problem, but I had no idea how far up the chain of command the scandal might reach.
    ***
    Uncertain how vigorously the police would try to find her, Stimson spent the night in an obscure mom-and-pop motel in the sleepy bedroom community of Bountiful. After a restless night, she drove to the main branch of the Wells Fargo Bank in downtown Salt Lake City early the next morning. She didn’t expect problems, but she circled the bank several times before parking and going inside. She closed both of her accounts, realizing she would have no