Chapter 22–Tuesday, 6:00PM

Herb arrived back at the station around 6:00pm. He’d taken a slight detour on his way in, stopping by his house for a dash through the sprinkler and a change of clothes. The paint crew had been there. The scarlet-lettered threat no longer marred his bedroom wall. Someone had shut the drawers everywhere and had cleaned up the papers, stacking them neatly here and there.

As Herb entered the back door, he sensed something was wrong. The lab door was standing wide open and shouts were coming from within. Truman’s voice rang out as Herb dashed to the door. “You’re interfering with our investigation!” the tech was saying.

“What’s going on here?!” Herb bellowed as he stepped into the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Everyone jumped. As one they turned to face the chief. “Who are you?” Herb shouted, pointing at two men he did not recognize. “And what are you doing in this lab?”

The one nearest him, a skinny carrot, spoke for the two. “We,” he began, indicating himself and the fat cuke in the corner, “are investigators sent by the mayor’s office to look into the incompetent handling of the chopping spree by this department. And who are you?”

“I’m the chief of police, you idiot!” Herb screamed. “And you are leaving! Now!”

“I’m afraid we can’t do...” The carrot never finished the sentence. Herb grabbed him by the leaves and drug him out the door and down the hall. He ripped the rear door of the station open and tossed the mayor’s representative out into the parking lot.

“We’ve got work to do tonight,” Herb’s words were short, clipped. “We do not require your assistance. Get!”

Herb turned to re-enter the building and nearly bumped into the cuke. The chief glared at the man who quickly ducked passed him without a word.

Herb stepped back into the back hallway and slammed the door, locking it behind him. He then marched to the front lobby. Parsley and Jones were just returning from the in-house stalk holder where the onion was being kept as he entered.

“You two,” Herb shouted. “Secure the entrance to this building! No one outside department personnel comes in without my permission. I’ll be in the lab.”

With that, he turned back down the hallway. The squash was complaining to his partner. Herb knew it and didn’t care one bit.

“What do we have?” Herb shouted as he re-entered the lab. Everyone jumped again. “Sorry,” the chief said. He spoke more softly. “What’ve we got?”

“We know the kind of tires the caller’s get away car was running,” Truman began. “And, thanks to Ted, we know who altered the photo.”

“You do!?” Herb was beside himself. “Tell me.”

“Actually, we don’t know his real name,” Ted interjected, “but his username is CelMate. He altered the picture using a VeggiePower 6902 eBook laptop. Very expensive. Very nice. Better than anything we have here in the lab.”

“The VP 6902 is what they use in the training labs at the academy now,” Truman offered. “Crazy! There isn’t a department anywhere that can afford more than one or two. The eBook spoils them. When they get a job, the real-life machines the encounter drive them nuts.”

“Enough!” Herb interrupted. “I don’t need a review of the computer. I need info. Who is CelMate? That’s what I want to know.”

“We’re working on that,” Capote chimed in. “We sent the name to VBI headquarters. They’re running it for us.”

“Okay, so what else?” Herb asked.

Jordan spoke up. “The onion wasn’t lying sir,” he said. “There’s a rhubarb in town. The partial footprints by the car and one or two prints from the phone – rhubarbarian. We’re sure of it.”

“A rhubarb in Garden City,” Herb mumbled to himself. Never dreamed he’d see the day. “Have we got a match in our database?” he asked.

“The computer’s still working on it,” Ted said. “There are a lot of rhubarb’s in a lot of stalk holders. Even more with records. It may take a half hour or more.”

“Fine!” Herb said, turning to leave. “Tell me when you have a match. I’ll be in my office.” At the door he paused. “When did the mayor’s people show up?” he asked.

“About fifteen minutes after we returned from the crime scene,” Harry said.

“The timing’s interesting,” Herb quipped. “Mighty interesting. Can anyone here tap into the mayor’s office’s phone bank and check incoming calls? I’d like to know who called him about a half-hour ago.”

“We can’t do that, sir,” Truman answered. “We haven’t got a warrant.”

“I can do it,” S said. “We’ve got authorization for reasonable searches on this case. Seems reasonable to me. Anyone think otherwise?”

They all smiled and looked away as S took a seat at a computer. No one thought otherwise and S began tapping away at the keys.

Herb chuckled as he closed the door and headed down the hall to his office.