He picked up another potted plant from the porch and went back into the house. He closed the door and locked it. He then sped to the rear of the house, grabbed his black Hawkeye sweatshirt off the peg by the side door and exited into the makeshift carport beside the house. Tony never parked there, but used the cover to protect his barbecue grill and lawn furniture. Because the neighbor’s house was close, Tony knew it was unlikely he would be seen from the street unless from a position directly across from his home.
Now he was glad he was in good shape because he ran swiftly through the neighbors’ back yards in seconds. Less than a minute after he’d left his front porch, he was crouched behind the air conditioning compressor unit beside the second house, staring directly into the passenger window of the car parked on the street. It was a big, late-model sedan, dark in color, with standard wheels and two antennae on the back. In other words, a government car.
Tony plopped back onto his butt and leaned against the side of the house. What did this mean? Was this someone sent by the governor? Had Tony just confirmed his crazy, wild-ass idea? Or was this an agent keeping him under surveillance because he was still a suspect in Lisa’s death? Or was this just some cop who stopped to eat his donuts in peace?
Mustering more courage than he ever dreamed he had, Tony decided there was only one way to find out. He stood up and marched down the neighbor’s driveway to the side of the car and yanked open the passenger door. Sitting behind the steering wheel, whirling in surprise to face Tony, was Rich Davis.
“What the hell?” Both men spoke in near unison.
Tony jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Paranoid or not, he couldn’t imagine Davis doing anything to harm him. Or at least couldn’t imagine him doing it in a government vehicle on a public street.
“Hey, I…” Davis began.
“Shut up,” Tony snapped. “No, don’t shut up. Tell me what the hell you’re doing here, night.”
“What? Wait, you know I can’t tell you…”
“Damn it, Rich. You are going to tell me. This is my life you’re messing with. So tell me. Now. What are you doing here?”
“Okay, okay. You won’t believe me but here’s the truth: I honestly don’t know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I received orders to watch you and to report everything you do. No explanations. Nothing further.”
“Orders from whom?”
“From my boss of course, but before you go after him, I’m not sure he knows either.”
“You’re not sure…”
“I’m serious. When he told me to do this, I could tell he hated the idea. It’s coming from somewhere else. I thought maybe it had to do with Lisa’s death, but no one seems to be looking at you for that. You in trouble with the FBI or the IRS or something?” Davis attempted a smile but Tony wasn’t in the mood for it.
Tony stared straight ahead for a long while. Finally, he said, “I have to know.” He turned and looked directly into the agent’s eyes. “Even if it means you haul me off to a gravel pit and put a bullet between my eyes, I have to know.”
“Whoa there. Easy. I’m just watching your house. You’re supposed to feel safer when the DCI is watching over you.”
“I’m serious. I have to know if you were in on all this from the beginning.”
“In on all what? What are you talking about?”
So Tony told him. He spelled out his entire crazy, wild-ass idea.
***
Davis shook his head and showed a wide array of negative facial expressions as Tony walked him through it but, to his credit, he kept quiet and listened attentively. When Tony finished, Davis said, “Okay, my turn. First of all, I think you’re out of your damn mind. No. No, wait. I did not and would never have any part in a crime. Good God, the series of crimes you’re talking about are horrendous beyond my comprehension, and I have to say I’m offended as hell you would even ask me that. But getting back to the main point, what you’ve described is beyond imagination. Politicians don’t kill people for political gain. Especially not popular politicians. He’s a three-term governor for God’s sake, and he’s an Iowa governor. We don’t elect criminals to public office in Iowa. You’ve found a cute theory that happens to fit some of the facts of these cases, but that’s all.”
“Rich, I swear I hope you’re right. But Roskins has just gone from potentially losing to winning re-election, all because of this series of events. The more I contemplate it, the more I think it’s possible.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Now get out of my car and go to bed before we both get in a lot of trouble.”
“Not yet. Tell me about the thumb tacks.”
“Oh shit,” Davis replied glumly. “You noticed that, did you? I wondered if you had. The guys in the room with you reported that you’d examined every single picture up close.”
“Yeah, I noticed the tacks with no prints and the photos with no fading or dust. What do you guys make of that?”
“Well, we don’t know. Wait…before you say anything. We’re not stupid. We’re off the record here, right?”
Tony nodded, but secretly wished he hadn’t thought to ask.
Davis continued, “We know the implications could be that this obsession thing was a setup, and maybe the whole suicide was faked. But it doesn’t necessarily make it so. It could simply be that Peters wore gloves when he hung the pictures in order to keep them pristine. Lots of people wear gloves when working with photographs. It also could be that he polished the tacks as part of his adoration of the pictures.”
Tony looked skeptical and Davis acknowledged it. “I know, it sounds like we’re grasping at straws, but there are other explanations than the one you apparently are choosing to believe.”
“I’ll give you that, but when you consider…”
“One more thing, and again this is strictly off the record. After we found Peters’ body, we did a rush job on his DNA. It was a perfect match with the DNA of hair found at the scene of the original double homicide. So now we know Peters was there when they were killed; or he was in the Ennis’ bed sometime previous to that. Either way, it supports the current theory of the crimes. Hopefully that puts your mind at ease and gets you off this crazy idea about political conspiracies.”
Tony sincerely appreciated knowing this latest piece of the puzzle, and told Davis so.
Davis looked at him expectantly, assuming they were done. They weren’t.
“Rich, tell me this,” Tony continued. “Where is Peters’ cruiser?”
“You mean his deputy sheriff’s patrol vehicle?” Davis was baffled at the turn in the conversation.
“Yeah, his car. Has it been reassigned or is it in custody or what?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but the last I knew we still had it impounded. It would be unusual to let anything go before the case was completely closed. Why in the world would it matter?”
Tony looked hard at Davis and took a deep breath. “I have another itch I need to scratch.”
“Well, scratch away,” Davis said. “Nothing you say now can top what you’ve already thrown at me tonight.”
Tony swallowed hard. “It has to do with Lisa’s death. I’m pretty certain it was no accident.”
“Tony…” Davis began.
“No. Hear me out. I was with her once, in my Explorer, in that same corncrib. Parking.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, but please, just listen. When we were there, Lisa would not let me close the crib doors because of her fear of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Davis’ eyes widened, but he held his tongue.
“If I’m right, and she was killed, then who’s the likely perpetrator? Well, we have to hope it was Denny Peters, right?”
Davis nodded, understanding the logic.
Tony continued. “If it wasn’t Peters, then we have to admit we have two homicidal maniacs running around Orney. That’s pretty tough to swallow. So, if we assume it was Peters, then
why? And just as importantly, if he did it, then why didn’t he confess to it in his supposed suicide note? Where was his remorse and apology for his third murder?”
Davis was at a loss for words. Again, he simply nodded and waited for Tony to continue.
“So here’s what I think. I think Denny Peters did kill Lisa. It occurred to me later that I may have seen him near the scene. At least a car like his drove past me as I headed out to the farm that night. I think he didn’t confess to Lisa’s murder because he didn’t kill himself. Someone else staged the suicide to cover up the bigger conspiracy. Whoever killed him didn’t put it in the suicide note because they didn’t want Lisa’s death linked to him. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”
“It may not take a genius,” Davis said, “but it takes someone smarter than me. You’re going to have to finish the story for me.”
“Think about it. Where was Lisa working the night she was killed? She was at party headquarters working for Roskins.” Tony paused to take a breath and get his emotions under control. “Connecting Peters to Lisa would significantly increase the risk of someone making the connection between the politics and the murders.” Tony turned to face the windshield, fell back in the seat, and closed his eyes.
“Tony, you must know how farfetched all of this sounds,” Davis said quietly. Tony nodded but could tell he had sparked at least a smoldering interest from Davis.
“Do you have any evidence at all, other than seeing a Sheriff’s Department car on a rural road; which, by the way, is where those cars are supposed to be at night?”
Tony turned back to face his friend and opened his eyes. “That,” he said, “is why I asked about the car. I’m hoping we’ll find something in it that links Peters to Lisa’s murder. I know you’ve been through his house with a fine-toothed comb and I’m sure whoever killed him did the same before you got there. But maybe there’s something somewhere else.”
“I doubt it’s in the car,” Davis said. “I don’t even know what we would look for, but if it’s incriminating he’s too smart to have left it there.”
“Then where?” Tony asked, with a note of pleading in his voice.
“Probably nowhere,” Davis said, not meaning to sound as abrupt as he did. To fend off Tony’s reaction, he quickly added, “but there is one place we could look.”
Tony’s eyes widened and his brow furled as he waited for Davis to finish the thought.
“Peters’ aunt owns a farm not far from Orney. No one lives there and Peters was pretty much the designated caretaker for the place. Dan and I were going to give it a once-over at some point, just so we could say we did if anyone asked. We never expected to actually be looking for something.”
“So you’ll let me join you. Tomorrow.” Tony spoke in statements, not questions.
“Well, I guess my boss couldn’t complain about me keeping an eye on you if you’re riding with me,” Davis said wryly. “So sure. Why not?”
“I need some sleep,” Tony said. “If you don’t mind, let’s head out at ten in the morning. I’ll be ready if you don’t mind picking me up again.”
“It’s a date,” Davis said, trying to sound lighthearted but failing.
Tony grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door. He could see Davis’ face, his friend’s face, pale and strained in the stark light from the car’s dome.
“I’m sorry I had to ask you about being in on all this,” Tony said. “I just had to know.”
“It’s okay. We’re both tired and we’ve both been consumed by a series of unspeakable events. Tomorrow will be a better day for both of us.”
Tony closed the car door and turned for home, hoping Davis was right but fearing he wasn’t.
Chapter 24
It was a spectacular fall morning. Despite his desire to sleep in, the bright sunshine leaking past his bedroom blinds rousted Tony at dawn. He decided he could use the extra time to eat a decent breakfast for a change and get a few chores done before Davis arrived. He groaned as he climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.
Once scrubbed, brushed, and shaved, Tony headed for the kitchen to scramble some eggs. Standing at the stove, he could look out the back of the house. A wooden birdfeeder hung from the branch of a huge and ugly ash tree. The tree was a major feature of the small, well-kept yard, but it was a pain in the ass. At the slightest breeze, it rained sticks and small branches like confetti at an astronaut’s parade. Tony had always said he didn’t need to do stretching exercises because he was in the yard picking up sticks every other day.
Keeping the birdfeeder filled was also a hassle, but Tony didn’t mind that chore. He enjoyed watching the cardinals, finches, and occasional hummingbirds flitting on and off the perch. On a good day, Tony would catch the woodpecker as it came in for a snack. The woodpecker had beautiful shades of red and orange and was twice the size of any other bird in the yard. He clearly scared the stuffing out of every other avian creature on the property.
Tony wasn’t quite smiling, but he was glad to be thinking about something other than Lisa, or murders, or conspiracies, or work. Ah yes, work. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and gave Ben a quick call. After explaining he would be with the DCI for at least a couple of hours and promising to be careful and check in when he was done, Tony ended the call and sat down to his plate of eggs and toast and gulps of orange juice right out of the Minute Maid carton.
Davis and Rooney were right on time and Tony climbed in the back of the DCI sedan. As they drove, Tony thought for the hundredth time how different Davis and his partner were. While Davis was tall and dark, Rooney was short and had red curly hair. He didn’t look at all like an agent, which probably explained why the DCI liked him. He was perfect for undercover work.
Rooney also was different from Davis in that he was quiet and had a very subtle sense of humor. Tony had rarely heard him speak, and when he did, it always seemed Rooney was primarily talking to himself. That was fine with Tony. He didn’t think his biorhythms could survive two agents who liked to call him in the middle of the night.
True to form, Rooney remained quiet as Tony and Davis chatted in the car. It was mostly small talk, a feeble attempt to ease the tension and avoid topics such as Lisa’s death. Davis mentioned he had re-taken his physical tests recently to keep his DCI badge, as well as re-qualified on the shooting range. “I don’t mind saying I score pretty well on my targets, but I have to admit I nearly miss the reload deadline every time.” Tony must have looked puzzled because Davis continued, “In addition to demonstrating your ability to hit a bad guy under pressure, you have to show them you can reload your weapon quickly. I’m always fumbling the magazines and dragging my score into the ‘pathetic amateur’ range by taking too long.”
Tony had no doubt Davis had scored just fine. “Speaking of physical activity,” he said. “I’ve finally decided to actually put some miles on my bicycle.”
“This is the time of year for it, when it’s not too hot or too cold.”
Tony nodded his agreement. “So far I haven’t done much but ride to the store, but if the weather is like this tomorrow morning, I think I’ll take the bike path down to the Raccoon River. It’s just far enough and hilly enough to give me a decent workout without doing me in. If I’m still able to move by the time I get to the river, I may even keep going.”
“I’d join you if I could. I could use a good ride myself, but I have to work.”
Tony didn’t reply. He thought about extending an invitation to Rooney, but realized Rooney didn’t expect it and would only have to think up an excuse of his own. They finished the trip in silence.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the farmstead owned by Peters’ aunt. Rooney had a warrant signed by Judge Schroeder, which they left on the dashboard before climbing out and locking the car. Each man was wearing blue jeans, work boots, and a sweater or long-sleeved T-shirt. All wore light jackets only because a breeze made the morning seem more chilly than it actually was.
&nbs
p; As Tony zipped up his windbreaker and looked around, his heart sank. There was almost nothing here but weeds. There was a small grove of trees to the left and, to the right, a small shed that appeared ready to collapse on itself at any moment. The gravel driveway onto the property ended in a small circular patch of gravel in front of the remains of a brick foundation, undoubtedly that of the now destroyed farmhouse. The rest of the property was just unmowed brush. The property totaled perhaps ten acres. The weeds were matted down in two parallel rows – the obvious tracks of a modern four-wheel drive tractor that used the farmstead as an access path to the cornfield beyond.
With no house, garage, or barn to search, Tony feared they would be done and empty-handed in very short order.
“Where do we begin?” he asked.
Davis said, “Dan, if you don’t mind, why don’t you take the shed? I don’t want our civilian guest going in there. With our luck, the roof would fall on his head. He’d get rich suing the state, and you and I would be working traffic stops for the next decade.”
“No problem,” Rooney said, sounding almost like he meant it. He quickly headed toward the shed.
Davis then voiced what Tony was thinking. “If Peters did bring anything out here, he could have just heaved it into the weeds and the three of us might never find it. I won’t have any luck pulling together a larger team to search the grounds without some idea of what we’re seeking.”
“I know, I know,” Tony said. “And if he buried it, a team of a hundred people might not find it.”
“Actually,” Davis said, “if he buried it that would be good. We should be able to spot signs of a fresh dig, If we spent enough time looking.”
Tony looked at the grove. “Maybe we could spot something if we got up above it.”
Davis glanced at the trees. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
Burying the Lede Page 22
