NATE EDGERTON LEAFED slowly through the haphazard stack of papers piled in front of him, his glasses resting at the end of his nose. “Well, Ernie, I appreciate you bringing in all this information. I do see you’ve got liability insurance and agreements with the owner of the field. What I don’t see is any information about your employees. I don’t see tax withholding information; I don’t see employment records with social security numbers; I don’t see any of that.”
“Uh, well, I haven’t had any time, Nate. You didn’t give me much time to gather up all my records. And,” Ernie started to bluster, “I need to get back out there to the festival. The day’s starting, and I need to be there.”
“Uh-huh,” Nate agreed. “Well, when do you think you can get me that information, Ernie?” Nate asked patiently but with a hint of a threat in his voice.
Ernie frowned. “Aw, come on, Nate. Let’s stop kidding each other here. A lot of this is casual employment, just an agreement between friends, a handshake, a little cash under the table. I don’t have time for all that record keeping. You know that.” Ernie ran a finger around his shirt collar. His expensive suit looked a little more rumpled this morning.
“So you’re tellin’ me you have no employment records? How many people you got out there, Ernie?”
“Well, not many. There’s the guy who runs the pony rides, and the stupid kid who’s taken off now, after I went to the trouble to pick him up, but he’s with the band anyway. I got a few day laborers who’ve done odd jobs, settin’ up and stuff like that, and a guy who runs the little kiddie carousel. The mechanic who takes care of the ride works for the company, not me. The farmers are on their own. My bookkeeper in Lincoln Falls keeps track of them; they have to sign up for their spots.”
“What kind of records do you have for the Gaelic band?”
“Nothing. Why should I? They’re independent contractors. I pay them in cash.”
“No 1099s for them either?” Nate asked quietly.
“No,” Ernie sulked. “Why should I? They’re happy to get paid in cash, and I’m happy not to have to do all that paperwork or report to the government.”
Nate nodded. “Nice little setup you got, Ernie. You declaring income tax on the proceeds? Or is that too much for you and your bookkeeper?”
Ernie flushed a deep red. “You’d have to talk to my accountant.”
“Ah, good idea,” Nate said, a dark tone in his voice. “Maybe I will do just that. You make sure you leave his information with my deputy on your way out, will ya?”
A vein throbbed in Ernie’s forehead. “Why are you hassling me, Nate? I don’t get it. Here I am,” a whining tone crept into his voice, “bringing people into Snowflake, putting this du . . . putting the town on the map and making money for businesses here. It’s a win-win situation.”
“I’m sure the village of Snowflake deeply appreciates your efforts on its behalf,” Nate replied sarcastically. “But there’s something else I’d like you to have a look at.” Nate slid the photo of the dead man across the table.
Ernie glanced down. His complexion had lost all its color. “What the hell . . . ?”
“You tell me. You recognize this man?”
Ernie’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up. Finally he said, “Never seen him before. Who is he?”
“He’s the victim of a shooting. He’s the man we found in a van in a ditch outside of town.”
Ernie looked up, his expression closed. “Why would you ever think I knew him, then?”
“Just a hunch.” Nate leaned back in his chair. “You see, we found a pretty good footprint out there. And we found it behind the van. Now, obviously our dead guy didn’t rise from the dead and walk behind his van after he went into that ditch.” Nate waited, studying Ernie’s face. “So, it’s reasonable to assume that somebody else was there after the van went off the road.”
“Very interesting. Terrific detective work, but why are you tellin’ me all this?”
“Well, I guess I’m passing this information on to you so that,” Nate shouted across the table, “you stop screwing around with me and admit you were there.”
Ernie jumped involuntarily. “What the hell?” he spluttered. “That’s crap. I don’t know anything about this dead guy or the van or the accident. I didn’t have anything to do with it. Why are you hassling me?”
“Because Ernie, we’ve matched your footprint.” Nate’s voice boomed. “I’m sure when we search your room at the Resort, we’ll find the exact shoes you were wearing that day.”
“That’s crazy.” Ernie was sweating profusely. “I wasn’t there. That can’t be my footprint. It just can’t.”
Nate sat back and raised his eyebrows. “How many men do you think have small feet like you, Ernie? And how many of those men with small feet wear expensive Italian leather shoes?” Nate relaxed even further. “Why don’t you make it easy on yourself? Just tell me what you were doing there.”
Ernie’s breathing had become shallow. Nate realized he was hyperventilating. His face had turned a beet red. Ernie, overweight as he was, was already a prime candidate for a heart attack. Nate just wished that if he were going to have one, it wouldn’t be at the police station.
Nate’s tone became warm and friendly. “Just tell the truth Ernie. We’re gonna find everything out anyway.”
Ernie looked as if he were about to burst into tears. “All right,” he shouted. “All right, I was there! Okay? Are you happy now?”
“Tell me all about it,” Nate replied in his warmest avuncular tone.
Ernie took a deep breath. His shirt collar was soaked with perspiration. “I saw the van, okay?” he replied truculently. “I was drivin’ into town, and I spotted it down below. That’s all. I pulled over and went down to see if anybody needed help.”
“That’s real big of you,” Nate replied.
Ernie shot Nate a look, the sarcasm not lost on him, but he refused to rise to the bait. “But . . . there was nothin’ I could do.”
“So how come you just told me you didn’t recognize this guy?” Nate shoved the photo closer to Ernie.
“I never did. I never . . . I didn’t look at his face; I didn’t want to. Besides, his face was in the windshield, I couldn’t see it very well anyway.”
“Did you by any chance check to see if he was still alive?” Nate replied gently.
“Uh . . . well, no, I mean I figured he was dead.”
“I see. Then what?”
“Well, I wanted to check if there was anybody else in there. So I looked in the back of the van to see. And there was nobody there.”
“And did you by any chance climb into that van?”
“No. Of course not. Why would I? It was empty.”
“You didn’t climb into that van and remove anything? That’s what you’re tellin’ me?”
“That’s right,” Ernie said firmly.
“Then what did you do?”
“Huh?”
“Then what did you do?” Nate repeated.
“Well, nothing.”
“Nothing,” Nate said flatly. “You didn’t think to report the accident? You didn’t think to make sure the man was still alive? And you didn’t search the van just to see what you could find?”
“You got no right, Nate. You got no right to accuse me of anything.” Ernie’s voice had risen. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t steal anything. All’s I was doin’ was making sure nobody needed any help.”
“You’re a regular Good Samaritan, Ernie. Is that how you see it?”
“Well, yes,” he replied, puffing up his chest and sitting up straighter.
“So you won’t mind if we go outside and have a look at your car, then?”
Ernie’s shoulders relaxed. “Not at all. Look away.”
Nate waited a long moment. “Okay, Ernie. You can go. But wait out in front. I’ll be out in a minute to have a look at your bumper.”
Ernie rose from his seat. His shirt was sticking to his ches
t. He shot a dark look at Nate and then turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
Nate sighed and placed Ernie’s documents in a folder, laying the photo of the dead man on top. He buzzed the intercom for Bradley. The door flew open, and Bradley stood on the threshold. Nate was sure the deputy had been listening at the door to glean whatever information he could.
“Go follow Ernie outside and check out his car. See if you see anything that might look like damage to the front.”
“Okay, Chief. But I gotta tell . . .”
“Have they sent over that impression yet? The one of the footprint we found?”
“Uh . . . no, not yet.” Bradley sneezed violently.
Nate smiled to himself. “Well, get on the horn and tell them to hurry it up, and then . . .”
“Chief, I gotta tell you . . .” Bradley cringed, already imagining his boss’s reaction. He sneezed again. “What’s that smell?”
“Ernie took a bath in his aftershave I guess. What are you tryin’ to say?”
Bradley sneezed once more and wiped his nose. “They just called from Lincoln Falls . . .” Bradley gulped.
“And?” Nate replied testily.
“The van’s been stolen.” There, he had said it. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Whaaat?” Nate bellowed. “It’s been what?” he shouted.
Bradley was sure Nate’s voice could be heard all the way out on Green Street. “They dusted it for fingerprints, but then they got busy and had to move it to that impound lot a few blocks away. It’s privately run; they have a contract for storage with the station. The guard fell asleep, didn’t hear a thing, and some kids broke in, they think, and drove it right through the chain-link fence.”
Nate rested his head on his hand. “I don’t believe this.” He shook his head from side to side. “Kids, my . . .” He rose from his chair, almost knocking it to the floor. “Go check out Ernie’s car. I’m going over there.”
“Where?”
“Lincoln Falls. I’m gonna give those idiots a piece of my mind.” Nate stormed out and headed for the back door and his cruiser.
Chapter 24
LUCKY BUSIED HERSELF clearing away dishes and cups from the counter after the morning rush. As far as she could tell, the large number of customers consisted of farmers and locals stopping in for breakfast before setting up their stalls at the Harvest Festival.
She had woken with a low-grade headache after tossing and turning half the night. Elias hadn’t stopped in at the Spoonful once, either for lunch or at closing time, as he often did. She counted on her fingers. Three days had gone by since their meeting at the Pub. Since then there had been no blinking light on the answering machine when she returned home. Other than the time she had invited him to Sophie and Sage’s apartment, she hadn’t spoken to him, nor had he called the Spoonful to talk to her. He was either angry or ashamed or guilty. Maybe he no longer cared. The possibilities spun around in her head.
Sophie’s news had completely confused and devastated her. She didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, Elias had made a point of saying that nothing in his past affected their relationship, but yet his routine had already varied. That night at the Pub she hadn’t felt the same energy or humor or passion from him that she had always felt in their relationship. Was he losing interest in her? Or was he just distracted? Or worse yet, was he lying and making a fool of her?
Jack was taking a break, reading his newspaper at a table by the front window. He had had no trouble noticing there was something wrong between her and Elias. Possibly everyone in town already knew. Was she the last person to learn her relationship was over?
The bell at the door rang. She glanced up and saw Nate at the threshold with Joe Conrad in tow.
“Hello, folks,” he called. He held up a hand in greeting and headed for the table where Jack sat.
Janie was in the kitchen helping Sage prepare vegetables for a fresh pot of soup. Meg returned to the counter and grabbed the plastic bin full of dirty dishes. “I’ll take care of these, Lucky.”
“Thanks, Meg.” Lucky pulled out a tray and poured four cups of coffee, one for each of the men and one for herself.
Jack looked up expectantly. His eyes brightened at the prospect of chatting with Nate. “You’re early today, Nate. It’s not even three bells.”
“Started early. Didn’t have a chance to get breakfast.”
Lucky set the tray on an adjacent table and served the coffee. “I’ll have Janie get some muffins for you.”
“Lucky told me about the excitement at the festival yesterday,” Jack said. “What’s the story with the guy who tried to run away?”
“Not much. He’s just a kid. He’s with the group from Cape Breton—the musicians. Ernie hired him to help run the pony rides.”
Lucky was instantly alert, remembering Miriam’s story of where her family came from.
Jack harrumphed. “He have an ID?”
“Believe it or not, he did. Canadian driver’s license, if it’s real. I’m checking it out. Couldn’t figure out why he ran like that. And he wasn’t very cooperative. Said he didn’t know anything about the dead man in the van. Didn’t own a gun. Whole thing had nothing to do with him. Then Ernie White showed up to get him. Told me I was sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong and started threatening to call his lawyer about interfering with his business advantage and a lot of nonsense like that.” Nate shrugged. “Had to let the kid go.”
“So he’s a traveler for sure,” Jack stated.
“Well, he’s with them, so I guess he is,” Nate replied. “They’re a real weird bunch. They’ve set up camp not too far from the Stones. I guess it’s one of their places they visit every few years.”
“Heard about that. Lucky mentioned she heard it’s a sacred place to them.”
“Go figure.” Nate shook his head. “Always thought those things were left over from the Indians. Bottom line is I’m no further along identifying our guy in the van. And speaking of the van, everything that could go wrong with this investigation has gone wrong. The van’s been stolen. The people in Lincoln Falls sent me over a photo of our dead guy though. I printed it out on the color printer to get a better idea. He does kind of look like the police artist’s sketch from that robbery years ago—shape of the face and the eyebrows,” Nate said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “But I couldn’t swear this is the same guy based on that sketch.”
“Can I see?” Lucky asked.
“Sure, as long as it won’t bother you. There’s some facial damage, and his complexion isn’t exactly what it should be,” Nate replied with a grimace. He passed the photo to her.
Jack peered over her shoulder as she unfolded it. She stopped breathing. She hoped her face didn’t reveal the shock she felt. She was looking at the same man she had seen on stage at the festival. Except the man in this photo was obviously not among the living. But how could that be? This was more than a similarity that might exist within a family. It was as if the man who played the violin at the festival, the man who had been watching the Spoonful, the man that Miriam was sure was Janie’s father had a twin. That had to be the explanation. But which twin was still alive? She glanced at Jack. His face betrayed no recognition. Of course Jack wouldn’t recognize him. The man watching the restaurant had stood in the shadow of an awning. He had turned away quickly once he realized he was being observed. Jack had never had a good look at him. Only she, Sophie or Janie might recognize that the dead man was a carbon copy of the man they had all seen on stage at the festival. Nate must not have had a chance to speak to the musicians. If he had, he would know these two men had the same face. She glanced over her shoulder. Janie was safely away from the table, still in the kitchen with Sage. Lucky quickly folded the paper up and passed it back to Nate.
“What about that driver’s license?” Jack asked. “Did that check out?”
“Nope. The man on that license died years ago, and the address doesn’t exist. It’s a vacant
lot in Bangor. The building was torn down seven years ago. They’ve taken fingerprints over at Lincoln Falls, so maybe he’ll show up in a database—here or across the border.”
“What about you, Joe? You still think the dead guy might be the one you were looking for?” Jack asked.
Joe nodded. “I’ve got nothing to prove it. But I think he could be. You saw the photo, and it fits the witness account—very similar to that police artist’s sketch. The woman who was at the traffic light could have been one more fatality, but she was able to hit the brakes and the van swerved around her. She got a quick glimpse of the man driving as he pulled off his ski mask. He looked right at her for a second or so. But you know how undependable eyewitness accounts can be. People are in shock. The brain does strange things. Information can get processed wrong. But she’s the only witness they had. She seemed pretty levelheaded once she calmed down. So, for all we know, this is an accurate sketch, and Nate says it sure does look like the guy found on the road.”
“If he was a traveler, how could he have gotten a job where he’d have to have a background check or be bonded by a company?” Lucky asked.
“Well, don’t forget. He didn’t work for the company. He just wore one of their uniforms. It was the other guy who actually worked for the armored truck company.” Joe continued, “You’d be amazed how creative criminals can be—the smart ones. The inside guy at the facility, the one who turned off the alarm, eventually we matched him and found out who he really was—Jim Devlin, Jimmy Devlin to his friends.” Joe laughed ruefully. “Devlin claimed to be a victim at first. But the more the police started to look at him, the more they were leaning on him as the man who set up the robbery. Maybe this poor fool driving the truck never thought it would come to a murder charge. Maybe he took off with the money and was too scared to go back or contact Devlin. Devlin stuck around for a while, claiming complete innocence, but the more the police—and I—started checking him out, well, that’s when he got nervous and took off.”
“And no one could ever track him?” Lucky asked.
“He was good. Probably had another ID already set up in case anything went wrong. Maybe he had a few of them, for all I know.” Joe took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe I’m crazy, but it’s bugged me all these years that the money was never recovered and my company had to pay out. More than that, really, is that some poor guy with a wife and kids had to die for no good reason.”
A Roux of Revenge Page 12
