Chapter 23–Tuesday, 6:30PM

Herb had just seated himself at his desk when his intercom came to life. “Call, sir!” It was Marge. “Redman. Line 3.”

That quick? Herb smiled wryly. “Record it, Marge.”

“Will do,” came the quick reply.

Herb reached for the handset. “Mayor Redman, what can I do for you?” Herb did his best to sound sweet and carefree.

“You can let my investigators back into your station!” the mayor began.

“No, sir, I can’t.” Herb spoke quickly before the radish could butt in. “They were interfering with investigative work in my lab. We’ve got leads. Lots of them and we have less than twenty-four hours to put the puzzle together.”

“Twenty-four hours?” the mayor was obviously skeptical. “You’ve been working on this for six weeks or more and suddenly you think you can solve this case in a day?” His voice raised a decibel or two. “You are an idiot, Herb. A genuine, certifiable idiot.”

“Are you done, sir?” Herb asked.

“For now,” the mayor barely held his temper in check.

“Good,” Herb said. “Now listen to me, and listen carefully,” spoke softly, but with great intensity. “There’s a rhubarb in town, Mr. Mayor. Maybe more than one!” The chief paused to let the information sink in. “We have reason to believe that he or they are the choppers.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Goodbye, sir,” Herb said and hung up.

The sat still for a moment, savoring his victory. The mayor had been speechless. He laughed as he pulled out his yellow pad, the one he’d been doodling on. He needed to think. They were missing something he was sure of it.

He scribbled notes on the new evidence in the margin. CelMate. VP 6902. Rhubarb prints at the 1 Stop. Tire tracks leading away from the tree.

“Tire tracks,” he almost knocked the intercom off his desk in his haste. “Truman!” he shouted into the mic.

A second later, the tech answered. “Yes, sir. What is it?”

“You said you knew what kind of tires the caller’s car had.”

“Yes, they were...”

“Never mind the details, Tru. What kind of car are they standard on?” the chief asked.

“Just a sec.” Truman was silent for a moment. Herb could hear the tapping of keys. “SUVs, sir. They’re standard on the Edger 400 and this year’s Clodhopper.”

“Truman, forget criminal records,” Herb instructed. “I want you run checks on owners of those SUVs and on registered owners of V8 Juicers. See how many matches we get.”

“Will do, sir,” Truman answered. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Great! Call me on my cell when you have something.” Herb paused. “Oh, and one more thing. Has VBI got a trace on that Sunday night cell phone call?”

“I’ll check, sir. Capote stepped out a minute ago. Said he’d be right back. I’ll ask him when he returns.”

“Where are Harry and S?” the chief asked. “And Monica?”

“Harry’s helping S with the mayor’s phone tap,” Truman reported. “Not sure where Monica is. She must’ve slipped out when I was working on something.”

“Okay,” Herb said. He hated waiting, but he didn’t want to interrupt work in progress. “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir,” Truman responded.

Herb sat back in his chair. An idea was forming in his mind. He only needed a couple more pieces and the puzzle would come together. He could feel it in his ribs. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the courthouse.

“Frond, it’s Herb,” he said when it was answered. “I need some help.”