Finally, sipping whiskey, she thought about the cop who had come from Detroit. Mul, his name was. The rest of the name wasn't so easy to recall: -lyzer, or some such. Nice-looking man, she thought. A little sad in the face, but he looked competent and not mean. A woman wouldn't have to look after a man like that, she thought, and he wouldn't beat on you. In fact, a man like that would probably be a bottom-line plus. He'd bring more than he took. She had invited him, and Jacky, to dinner that time, but she hadn't been too surprised when they hadn't accepted: Jacky was married now, and he must have realized that the invitation wasn't really meant for him. And if Jacky didn't accept, then it would have been a little obvious if Mul had. She'd been a little disappointed, but not greatly.
She thought about Mul for a good long time, gently scissoring her legs in the warm water. A nuthatch yank-yanked on the furrowed bark of a nearby ponderosa and then a chickadee flew down and landed quite close to her head. For a while she watched a pure white ermine slipping around the gnarled roots that were exposed among the rocks. Mul had asked her to keep an eye on this place, for any unusual activity. She'd heard that the owner, Humann, was still in the hospital. He might never get better, poor devil. That's what they said in the Tinstar Saloon. Got shot in the head by a hitchhiker, they said. Must be pretty tough, she thought, to survive a bullet in the head.
So, when she couldn't take the heat anymore, she got up and slicked the water off her, then dressed before she could get cold. She set off up the trail. She had not actually walked out of the trees when she realized that there was someone in the cabin. She stopped in the trees to watch. Smoke was coming out the chimney and there was a car in the yard, near the garage. It was a blue Ford, and Sally could read the license plate number—the “1” prefix indicated that it had been registered in Butte–Silver Bow County.
Sally stood and watched for a few minutes, but the wind and the snow swirled around the cabin and it chilled her. She was about to go back down the trail when a woman came out of the cabin. From her position she didn't actually see the woman come out, but she heard the front door open and close. The woman, who had blond hair under a wool hat, walked across the driveway toward the woodpile in the shed/garage. She stopped then and turned to look back toward the cabin. After a moment she started back toward the cabin, but Sally heard the front door open and close, and a larger woman soon joined the first woman and they continued on to the shed. The larger woman loaded the smaller woman's arms with wood, then filled her own arms and followed her back to the cabin. Sally waited a short time, but there was no indication that they were coming back out.
When she got back to the trailer, there were a couple of Christmas cards in her mailbox and the telephone bill. It was still a couple of hours before the kids would be home. She built up the fire and made some tomato soup, using canned tomatoes, which she pureed in the blender, plus some of her own vigorous, garlicky vegetable stock. Her kids loved this soup and so did Sally, though she added a spoonful of hot chili sauce to her bowl. When she had eaten the soup and read the Christmas cards—one of which was from Lake Milling and Feed—she called Jacky at the station.
Jacky Lee was very interested in Sally's observations, not least in the fact that she'd been skinny-dipping in the hot springs. It sounded like something worth doing on a bitter Montana day, but he didn't comment on that. “A blue Taurus?” he said. “That'd be the nurse, Cateyo. She stopped by to get the key to the gate, said she was taking what's-his-name, Humann, up there for a day outing. It's all right. Hell of a day for it. But thanks for letting us know, Sally. I don't know who the other woman could be. Kinda big, hunh?” That didn't sound like one of the other nurses to him. He asked her to describe the woman's clothing. A wool plaid coat didn't mean anything to him, however.
“At first I thought it was a man,” Sally said, “but I could tell by the walk, and then I realized that her hair was either short or tucked into the hat. It was a woman, all right. She seemed in charge. She showed the other one how to hold out her arms, then loaded her up, then sent her off. Not real bossy, or anything, just in charge. The smaller one, the blonde, didn't seem to mind, or anything.”
Jacky nodded, then remembered he was on the phone and grunted. “You still in the same place?” he asked. “I might run out that way, later.”
“Not on my account, I hope,” Sally said. “Will you tell Mul about this?”
“Why?”
“Because he asked you to,” Sally said.
“No, I mean why shouldn't I stop by?”
“Because I've got kids here and they're older now and I don't do that anymore,” she said.
After a long silence, Jacky said, “I'll call Mul.”
It was well after five before Jacky got through to the Ninth Precinct. Mulheisen was not there, but Jimmy Marshall was. Jimmy was apologetic. “I meant to call you,” he said, “but I just didn't get around to it yet.”
“What do you mean?” Jacky asked.
“Mulheisen is on his way to Salt Lake City,” Jimmy explained. “I put him on the plane a couple of hours ago. We got a call from Delta. They booked a ‘Helena Kaparich’ on a flight out of Butte tomorrow, for Salt Lake.” He explained about Mulheisen's theory of false names.
“So she's in Butte now,” Jacky said.
“I suppose,” Marshall said. “Delta didn't have her booked in there, but they suggested we check with Northwest. Northwest didn't have anything on that name.”
“Did you check Horizon?” Jacky said. “That's a little feeder airline, flies a lot of flights in the Northwest.”
Marshall hadn't. Jacky said he'd check. In the meantime, Mulheisen was planning to stay in Salt Lake City, hoping to intercept Helen there. This time he had a warrant for arrest: Frank Zaparanuk in the forensic lab had found traces of Carmine's blood on one of the sawed-off shotguns that Jacky had confiscated from the cabin. This same gun also surrendered some textile fibers that were identical to those used on the upholstery of Carmine's limousine. In addition there were some fibers from clothing. Mulheisen wanted all of the clothing at the cabin seized. With luck, a jacket or a pair of pants would have traces of blood. The shotgun with Carmine's blood on it also had the fingerprints of Helen and Joe on it. This wasn't as conclusive a piece of evidence as it seemed, but you could sure as hell get a warrant with it. Marshall was busy on the extradition papers now.
Jacky suggested it might be better to intercept Helen in Butte, if possible, since he could guarantee cooperation—the Mario Soper shooting was their jurisdiction, after all. He could work up some kind of preliminary charge relating to the guns they had found at the cabin. Or he might be able, at least temporarily, to detain Helen as a material witness in the death of a man discovered on property where she was a resident.
Marshall agreed with that, but it was up to Mulheisen, who would undoubtedly call him as soon as he reached Salt Lake. “Of course, if she shows up there between now and then, use your own judgment,” Marshall said. “But it might be best to coordinate things with Mul.”
Jacky assented to that and as soon as Marshall hung up he called Horizon. A “Helena Kaparich” had flown into Butte that morning. Kaparich was by no means an uncommon name in Butte, Jacky knew. Ordinarily he wouldn't have remarked it but for the first name and the information from Marshall. But now what? Was the smaller woman at the cabin Helen Sedlacek, and the larger one Cateyo? Sally's observation could have been simply a comparative thing, but it didn't seem like it. Cateyo could never be mistaken for a man, even momentarily, and he didn't recall her wearing a plaid coat. Sally had mentioned blond hair; presumably that would be Cateyo's golden hair. No, the larger woman at the cabin must be a friend of hers, someone helping her with Humann. So where was Helen Sedlacek? Maybe she was on her way up there, or she may have arrived there by now. He supposed he had better go check.
In the event, it was dark and snowing, and he decided to wait until he heard from Mulheisen. The decision proved critical. Mulheisen called within the hour, and when he
heard that Helen had arrived in Butte that morning and that Joe was up at the cabin, he decided to take the last flight for Butte out of Salt Lake City. He would arrive around ten o'clock. The prospects looked good for some kind of break in the case.
Several events conspired to blow this well-laid plan. The first was an arson fire at an abandoned house up near the old Anselmo mine. Jacky spent two hours there and thus was unable to make even a cursory check of local hotels and motels, much less the cabin. If he had, he would have discovered that Helen Sedlacek had checked into the War Bonnet Inn, down near the interstate, not far from the airport. Another event was that when he did get to the airport, he noticed Smokey Stover with three strangers, including a rather portly man to whom they all deferred. He didn't approach the party, but he soon learned from flight service that they had just arrived on a private jet, from Detroit.
The third event was that the runway closed down due to a howling blizzard shortly after nine o'clock. The late flight from Salt Lake City was already airborne. It was forced to go on to Helena, the state capital, some seventy miles north, beyond Elk Park Pass. The north-south interstate highway was not closed, but the bus that Delta had hired to carry passengers to Butte would not arrive before midnight, at the earliest.
What Jacky did not learn, because he was no longer at the airport, was that ten minutes before the runway closed, another private jet from Detroit landed.
In the meantime, things were not going well at the cabin on Garland Butte.
Heather couldn't believe her good luck. A perfect opportunity to accomplish all of her goals at once. It was risky being here. Smokey Stover had told her that Humphrey was very interested in some money that Joe Service had taken. This was the first she'd heard of any money, but it rang true: She'd been skeptical from the start about the need for a hit based on simple retribution. Of course, such hits were ordered, but it was money, big money, that caused them to be long pursued. Smokey hadn't told her how much it was and he'd advised her not to meddle, just hang tight and keep an eye on Joe. From that she deduced that it was quite a bit of money, perhaps $100,000 or more. It wouldn't be easy to hide that kind of money, she thought, and why would Service bother to seriously hide it, anyway? She would find the money—probably in a safe—take care of her contract on Joe Service, and have the delectable Cateyo all to herself.
A sensible person, of course, would have seen that all of these objectives were impossible. Heather was not a sensible person. She was driven nearly crazy in her desire for Cateyo. Weeks of being a roommate had tantalized her beyond endurance. How many times had she blundered into the bathroom during Cateyo's baths, devouring with her eyes those luscious breasts, the curve of those hips, that lovely belly, and the golden hair between the girl's tender thighs? It had nearly endangered the whole project. She could hardly keep her hands off the girl. Her mouth literally watered when she looked at her.
Gloomily, she had learned two crucial things: Cateyo was not susceptible to her affections and she was besotted with this crippled vermin, Joe Service. The stupid girl was unbelievably insane on the subject—she seemed genuinely to believe that Joe was some special avatar of god, sent to her especially, to help him achieve his holy purpose on earth! Heather could tell her a few things about Joe Service, and longed to do so, but that wouldn't further her own purposes.
To be sure, she realized that her task was difficult. The weather helped. They had gotten a late start and the Ford had busted through several shallow but hard-packed snowdrifts on the road up to the cabin. It wasn't difficult, but now that they were here and the fire was blazing, it had begun to snow harder. Heather had been outside a couple of times, returning to advise Cateyo that they might not be so lucky trying to drive out in the dark. She could see that Cateyo was not immune to the charms of being temporarily snowbound. The cabin was cozy, they had brought plenty of food, and there were plentiful supplies in the pantry. Getting out in the daylight would be less difficult than attempting it at night. Cateyo had all of Joe's medications, she could take care of him. Heather also saw that Cateyo was intrigued by the fact that there was only one bed. There was also a couch, a large and comfortable one situated in front of the fireplace. Obviously, the patient should have the bed. It was large, king-size. The couch wasn't really big enough for two.
What did she want herself? She wanted to sleep with Cateyo. She wanted Cateyo to want to sleep with her. But she knew better. So, there was nothing for it. If she couldn't have Cateyo willingly, she would have her nonetheless. It seemed fairly clear. This was the moment. If she could find the money, she'd take care of Service and dally with Cateyo. Tomorrow she would be out of here, with the money. And Cateyo could stay with Joe forever. It was sad, but she couldn't see any other way to achieve her desired ends. Take what you can get. In this case, it was potentially a lot.
Heather set about it directly. They got in plenty of wood. Then she suggested they should stay the night. As anticipated, Cateyo fell in with that idea without protest. The telephone was working, fortunately. Cateyo called the hospital and explained the situation, somewhat exaggerating the snowfall—although by dinnertime it was clear that a storm had definitely set in. The wind had risen and the snow was swirling about the cabin. You couldn't even see the shed anymore.
Joe Service was no problem. He was alert and interested, shuffling about the cabin with his cane, eagerly looking at everything as if he were simply happy to be home. Heather wasn't fooled. She knew he was looking to see what the cops had removed, whether his stash had been discovered. She contrived to watch his progress every second. He ignored her. He didn't like her, she knew, but she was confident that he didn't realize who and what she really was. Cateyo followed him around like a doting mommy, or a little girl with a curious puppy. But eventually he seemed satisfied, Heather was glad to see—the money must still be here—and he allowed Cateyo to tuck him up on the couch with hot chocolate while they listened to CDs of old singers, like Judy Collins and the Beatles. Heather volunteered to make dinner. They paid little attention to her. They were flirting outrageously and almost openly scornful of her presence. Unquestionably, they were looking forward to bedtime. Heather was annoyed, jealous, but she kept her counsel and even opened a couple of excellent bottles of wine, Oregon pinot noirs, to serve with the spaghetti she was making.
Then she made a stunning discovery. She went to the bathroom and while she was washing her hands, she matter-of-factly investigated the medicine cabinet. Her eyes locked on a bottle of sleeping pills prescribed by a physician in Huntington Woods, Michigan, for Helen Sedlacek and filled in a Detroit pharmacy. Evidently, the Sedlacek woman had used hardly any of them. The prescription was more than a year old, but they looked okay.
What a find! She had visions of the two young people doped and totally knocked out. She could leisurely search and just as leisurely make love to an unconscious Cateyo. Sometime in the night Joe Service would wander out into the blizzard and perish. By morning Heather would be gone.
The lovebirds cuddled on the couch, watching the flickering flames and listening to sappy music. They ignored Heather as she ground the tablets and sprinkled them among the grated parmesan cheese. Just to be sure, she stirred more ground tablets into their wine. Then she called them to dinner. She had laid the polished pine table with a checkered tablecloth she had found in a cupboard—perhaps Service had enjoyed this kind of meal with the woman whom Smokey had told Heather about, the one who had disappeared.
The lovebirds ate well. Heather was glad she had not relied upon the parmesan, for neither of them used much of it. They drank the wine, however. And a half hour later, while she was washing up, they were noticeably drowsy.
“Listen, why don't you kids take the bed?” Heather suggested coyly. “I'll be fine on the couch and I can keep the fire going, though we better turn up the electric heat, just to be on the safe side.”
Cateyo fell in with this suggestion with alacrity. She was pretty dozy, however, and Heather had to help them t
o bed. It was especially pleasant helping Cateyo undress and get into a flannel nightgown that Heather had found in the closet. By the time she said, “Night-night, you two,” they were in each other's arms and almost asleep. She strolled back into the living room and poured herself a glass of wine, then sat down before the fire to relax and wait until deep sleep descended.
She set to work before long, starting at the kitchen end of the large main room, systematically opening drawers and looking into every cranny, testing for hidden cavities. Periodically, she would look into the bedroom, to be sure that Cateyo and Joe were sound asleep. They were totally out of it. Looking down at the unconscious Cateyo, she could hardly resist the desire to make love to her. Finally, she swept the girl up into her arms and carried her into the living room. She placed her on the couch and removed her nightgown. She gazed down on the girl lustfully, then knelt beside her.
Love is, of course, blind. Not totally blind, however. Neither Cateyo nor Joe had been quite oblivious to Heather's behavior. On the other hand, Heather had not paid adequate attention to their behavior. She hadn't noticed, for instance, that Cateyo the nurse had restricted Joe's intake of wine. Cateyo hadn't wanted to offend Heather, but she didn't like the way Heather kept pushing the wine at Joe. A man with a brain injury cannot be served alcohol, she felt. Whenever possible, she surreptitiously emptied Joe's glass into her own. The few sips he managed were not dangerous, she felt. She didn't understand why Heather was trying to get Joe drunk, but she suspected that it had something to do with Heather's obvious lesbian tendencies. These had increasingly made Cateyo nervous in the last few days, and she had decided that if Heather didn't soon leave for Seattle, she would have to ask her to move.
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