Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

Daybreak Donuts on the way to school for some hot chocolate and a doughnut?”
    “Sure. I think we can manage that. You hurry and get cleaned up, and I’ll pick you up in about thirty minutes. And Sara, no arguing with Aunt June about what you wear to school today. You can’t wear the pink dress with the white tights again this week. They’re dirty, and besides, if you wear them again, people at school might think it’s the only outfit you own. Okay?”
    “Okay,” she said, a note of disappointment in her voice.
    “See you in a few minutes.”
    I knew the run home would be inconvenient. But I’ve also learned how important it is to Sara for me to keep my promises. It has been especially hard for her since the divorce.
    The divorce was amicable as divorces go, but Sara and I both attended family counseling for several months after the split. Aside from the usual problems common to most marriages, how do you tell an eight-year-old that her mom had grown tired of the full-time mother role and simply wanted to get out of Utah and back to her career? Nicole was a flight attendant when we met and has returned to the airline. She’s based in Atlanta, which puts her back in her Georgia roots, close to her parents, but a long way from Sara. She travels to Salt Lake City as often as her flight schedule allows. Because of Nicole’s frequent travel, we decided on joint custody with me as the custodial parent.

Chapter Five
    Sara was wiping chocolate from her mouth when I dropped her at school before returning to Salt Lake City. I stopped at the Salt Lake Roasting Company, where I ordered a large cup of French roast and perused the morning Salt Lake Tribune looking for news of the Vogue murder. There was only a small breakout piece, since it had occurred too late at night to receive full coverage. It would be the story of the day and probably the story for weeks to come.
    After downing the coffee, I used my cell phone and called the number I’d found in Levi’s wallet. On the third ring, a male voice answered, “Starlite Motel; how can I help you?”
    “How much is your rate for a single for one night?”
    “Forty plus tax,” came the reply.
    “Okay, and what’s your address?”
    “3640 South State Street.”
    “Okay. I’ll call you back. Thanks.”
    I wondered what Levi Vogue was doing with the phone number to a motel on South State Street. While I didn’t know anything about the Starlite Motel in particular, I knew the area well enough to recognize that it was located in a part of town devoid of upscale hotels, and that it was well known for its hookers, pimps, and drug dealers.
    ***
    It was still early as I headed for the Board of Pardons office in South Salt Lake, a few blocks from the headquarters of the Department of Corrections. The Utah Board of Pardons and Parole had five full-time members appointed by the governor, each serving staggered, renewable, five-year terms. As the result of Vogue’s murder, the board had lost not only one of its members, but also its chairman.
    My reasons for visiting the Parole Board office were twofold: I wanted to interview any available board members. I also wanted to search Vogue’s office and seal it so that nothing could be removed without our knowledge. I wouldn’t need a search warrant as long as I received permission from Lawrence Gallagher, the Board’s administrative secretary. By the time I arrived, three board members were sequestered behind closed doors in executive session, while the secretarial support staff appeared noticeably subdued. I found Gallagher in his office sitting behind his computer, clustered behind two large stacks of parole files. Gallagher was a politically well-connected Democrat with a strong desire to be appointed to the Board of Pardons himself. Unfortunately, members of the Democratic Party in Utah were about as common as white tigers in North Dakota.
    He glanced up from the e-mail message he was preparing and said, “Sam, I hope you’re coming with good news. I’ve got a group of very nervous parole board members meeting in executive session right now trying to figure out who’s going to run this place in the absence of the chairman, and wondering whether they might be next in line for a surprise visit when they go home tonight. I stopped fielding calls from the media more than an hour ago. They’re hungry for information, any information, and they’re driving us nuts.”
    “Sorry, Larry. My quota of good news ran out as