“Lieutenant Montgomery is taking a couple of days’ personal leave. I’m his commanding officer. What can I do for you?”
“It’s important that I talk to him. Could you give me his home and mobile phone numbers?”
“Talk to him about what?”
“It’s private.”
“Then give me your number, and I’ll give him the message when he calls in.”
“You said he’s taking personal time.”
“He is. But he’s a diligent officer, so he’ll call in.” Tucking the phone between shoulder and ear, Burke tore off a sheet of paper from a pad and wrote Call Pete. Custody. ASAP. He handed the paper to Kowalski, who looked at it and hurried out of the room.
Burke could feel the hostility coming through the phone line.
“Look,” Scaffoldon said. “I need to verify Montgomery’s whereabouts for the past forty-eight hours.”
He waited a beat. “Why?”
“Damn it, Burke!” Heavy breathing before Scaffoldon continued with more control. “He’s a person of interest in the suspicious death of Elayne Borden.”
“He couldn’t be. Lieutenant Montgomery hasn’t been off duty enough consecutive hours to make the trip to and from Toland.”
“You said he’d taken personal time.” Scaffoldon had latched on to those words.
“Which began after his shift ended yesterday.” Burke got tired of dancing. “He’s taking personal time because his daughter arrived for a surprise visit.”
“She . . . She’s there? How?”
The surprise in the voice wasn’t genuine. Scaffoldon, or someone he’d talked to yesterday, suspected Lizzy was in Lakeside.
“She had a ticket and got on a train,” Burke said.
“No.” Scaffoldon’s denial bordered on vehemence. “Celia Borden, Elayne’s mother, told me Montgomery had been making threats, that Elayne feared he was going to forcibly try to take her daughter. If the girl is there, it’s because Montgomery took her and Elayne was killed when she tried to stop him.”
“Montgomery couldn’t have made the trip,” Burke insisted. “If I were you, I’d be looking at the man who moved in with Elayne shortly after Lieutenant Montgomery moved out. He’s an unsavory character living under an assumed name.”
“What name?” Scaffoldon asked warily.
“Nicholas Scratch.”
Silence. Then, “Do you know who Nicholas Scratch is?”
Burke heard fear as well as hostility in Scaffoldon’s voice. “No. That’s the point. If I were you, I’d see what kind of alibi he has for the time of the murder.”
“You impugn . . .”
While he waited for Scaffoldon to regain some control, he looked toward his door, waved Kowalski and Pete Denby into his office, then held a finger to his lips to indicate he wanted them to be quiet.
“You have no proof, none at all, that Nicholas Scratch was associated with Elayne Borden, let alone living with her,” Scaffoldon snarled. “You’re trying to smear a man’s reputation by connecting his name to a murder inquiry.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing by trying to drag Lieutenant Montgomery into this? My man is a seven-hour train ride away from the crime scene. Your man is in the same city. I know who I’d be talking to.”