The next call was to Hawkins at the local sheriff's oiffce, with Hester doing the calling. I felt I should let her use her own phone once in a while.
She told him that our man Peale had likely been in Lake Geneva until early this morning, and that he was en route to points unknown, in a car that was probably registered to Jessica Hunley. Made his day. Hawkins told her he'd put out an E-1/F-1 bulletin, immediately. That would send the data to all the Midwestern states, including Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota, and Illinois. With the notation that the suspect was armed, dangerous, and wanted for questioning in a murder in Iowa.
“That ought to produce something,” I said, when she told us.
“You'd think,” said Harry.
“So, we have,” she said, and looked at her watch, “about three hours to kill before we call Jessica. Mind if I check out a couple of these antique stores?”
By closing time at 5 P.M., Hester had acquired three brass candlesticks, and I had picked up a small cinnabar vase for Sue's collection. Harry, surprisingly, had shopped very intensely, but had no luck.
“Can't find good Royal Daulton anywhere, these days.”
Apparently to cope with his disappointment, Harry also engaged one of the store owners in a conversation about the “big gray building.” Bridgett Hunley's house, of course. Everybody seemed to know it as soon as we said it looked like a large government oiffce building. The lady told Harry quite a bit of local lore about the Hunleys, replete with the veiled implication that all their money hadn't been acquired on the up and up, and ended with her assessment of Jessica.
“And she's going to inherit the whole thing,” she said. “She seems nice, but there's something about her.”
“Really,” said Harry, “I think there's 'something about' everybody who has that much money, don't you?”
“Oh, yes. I've known her… well, known of her, since she was in high school. Always able to buy her way out of any sort of trouble.”
“Those rich kids always seem to get into their share of trouble, don't they?” said Harry, sounding bemused. He was really good at that.
“Yes, they do. Can I interest you in something else?”
“No, Royal Daulton is my thing, honey.”
“That's nice,” she said. “That Jessica, she does seem to have problems with her proteges, though. For some reason.”
“Oh, really?” said Harry, with more charm than I'd seen him display since his last murder trial. “Well, young people are a little different these days.”
“They just don't last,” said the clerk. “She has one now, with really horrible hair, who's been with her the longest of any of them. Must be all of three years. I don't give her much longer, and Jessica will be ready for a new one.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” said Harry.
“She really has bad luck with them. Some just leave, I guess, but one was drowned out there in the lake, and one was killed in a car crash just about four years ago.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. One ran off with a local insurance man. Ruined his family. I truly think,” she said, very seriously, “that it must be something with dancers.”
“Oh,” said Harry, cinffding in her, “I do agree. Yes I do.”
When we got in the car, Harry was smiling all over himself. “I still got, it, don't I? Don't I? Am I fuckin' charmin' or what?”
“Uhhuh.” I agreed. “Charm the birds from the trees.”
Hester was shaking her head. “I don't care what anybody says, Harry, you can be almost human if you really, really try.”
“You really think so? You ain't just being nice, Hester? Wasn't that great?” asked Harry, of either of us. “But, hey? Two deaders associated with Dirty Dan the Vampire Man? Nobody has to draw me a map of that one.”
As if to punctuate, Hester's phone rang. Hawkins. They'd checked out Hunley's home and studio. The silver 2000 Mercedes Benz SUV was nowhere to be found. Not conclusive, of course, but if Peale was in one of her two cars, and they had the BMW accounted for…
Hester thanked him, and then told him about Harry's conversation with the clerk. I couldn't hear what he said, but it took a few seconds. She said, “Right. Good. Thanks,” and broke the connection. She took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. “This damned case just keeps going, doesn't it?”
“Seems to.” “Well,” she said, “I hope Hawkins didn't have anything planned for the next month or so.”
“We gotta be careful,” I said when she was done with her call to Hawkins. “It gives good old Jessica a really sinister cast, here. Maybe more sinister than she would ever deserve.”
Hester gave a devilish smile. “Does, doesn't it?”
Our shopping spree over, we drove to Lake Geneva proper, parked, and went sight-seeing while looking for a place to have supper. On the way, we took a walk on the enclosed bricked dock and pier, called the “Rivera.” The Rivera had a ballroom on the second floor, and who knew what on the third. Turrets, as well. A thoroughly fascinating place. We could see Bridgett Hunley's enormous home from there, kind of a complementary balance to the Rivera. There were several inboard motorboats moving about, as well as a couple of late sailing boats. Nice scenery, and it gave a little insight into the young Jessica. And just how easy it would be for somebody to “drown” in that huge lake.
We stopped and looked over the pier rail. You could see fish swimming along the sandy bottom about ten feet down. Thinking of a body down there, the calming effect you normally associate with swimming fish was somewhat reduced.
The sky was clear, the sound of the water was soothing, and there was even some color still in the trees. It was gorgeous. I savored the thought that this was the first real perk I'd had in twenty years on the job.
We grabbed supper at a little place called Speedos Harbor Side Cafe, across the street from the Rivera. From our table, we had a fine view of the lake. While we watched, a rescue boat came gliding smoothly to the dock we'd just left. Brought the subject of drowning to my mind again. The coincidence of a drowning and a car crash taking her partners out was a little too much to buy. Maybe one had been an authentic accident, but both?
Hester was apparently thinking the same thing. “Car crash, especially fatal, is a lot harder to fake than a drowning,” she said.
“True.”
“The word 'true,' all by itself,” she said, “is absolutely no encouragement at all. Means you're humoring me.”
“True.”
Harry chuckled. “You're right, though, Hester. Odds are way against it.”
Car crashes really are a lot harder to fake. One of the reasons is that there's just such an enormous amount of data regarding wrecks that had been compiled over the last fifty years. That, coupled with the intense interest of insurance companies and courts regarding claimed damages, has produced entire fields of study that are related to car crashes. Every fatality is thoroughly studied, measured, photographed, analyzed, and subjected to reconstructive procedures that virtually ensure any foul play will stand out like a red flag. A good tiaffic investigator can tell you precisely what happened. Precisely. And if there are any inconsistencies, you'll hear about it.
Murder via car wreck is easy to accomplish, don't get me wrong. It's just virtually impossible to make it look accidental. Physics is physics.
“I wonder, though,” I said absently.
“What?” asked Harry, lowering his menu.
“Oh, I dunno. Just thinking. If you wanted to do somebody, it would be a lot easier to make a drowning look like an accident. Just for instance.”
“True.” That was from Hester.
I looked over at her. “You're right. No help at all.”
“Hey. I told you.” She looked out the window, toward the lake. “A little too much to drink, splash, gurgle. Nothing weird, just drowned.”
“Well, yeah. Bad swimmer… better if a nonswimmer. And, most of the time, people are murdered for mundane reasons like rage, for instance, or jealousy. Things like that. By people they know.
” I looked expectantly at Hester.
“Jealousy is good,” she said. “Would lead to a more cold-blooded approach than the heat of anger. Just for example, you know? More of the 'gee look at the neat fish… splash… oops' kind of thing.” She pursed her lips. “Jessica ain't gettin' no younger, Pilgrim,” she said, sounding quite remarkably like John Wayne.
“True.”
That earned me a withering glance.
“Really, when you find somebody who seems to be just surrounded by, oh, certain events,” she said, avoiding the word murder in deference to a passing waitress, “there's just every indication that they may have something to do with causing those events. Like, if the drowning victim was messing with our vampire.” She half giggled. “Count boy-toy.”
I didn't say “true.” Harry did.
She drummed her fingers on the table. “Got to stop this speculation, Houseman. It's making it too easy to feel like there's some real evidence, here.”
“Sure makes the time pass, though,” I said.
She pulled her cell phone out and dialed.
“Can you get us copies of the investigations we just talked about? Both the car wreck and the drowning? Great. Great. Oh, and when did that drowning occur? Really? Well, that is interesting. Thanks.”
She disconnected, looking very pleased. “The drowning was in the summer of ninety-seven,” she said. “Hawkins thinks late July or early August.”
The hamburgers were great.
It had been a satisfying day, altogether. And the tour of the interior of the Hunley place was coming up in less than an hour and a half. I was anticipating being impressed.
Hester got another phone call, and handed it to me. “I'm beginning to feel like your answering service, Houseman.”
It was my oiffce. They were down to two full-time deputies, because of that damned flu. Lamar had said that, if at all possible, I was to return to the county immediately. He had also said that with Hester and Harry in Lake Geneva, I should be able to do that. He was, of course, right.
I bid farewell to Hester, Harry, and Lake Geneva at 6:14 P.M., and headed back to Nation County. I hated to leave, but my two cohorts assured me that they would keep me posted on any developments. Damn. I think I was as disappointed to miss the visit to the Hunley estate as I was to miss the interview itself.
I drove right into rain, but it was an uneventful trip, until I was contacted by radio near Dodgeville. Our Mutual Aid frequency was the same as Wisconsin's WISPERN, which stood for Wisconsin Police Emergency Radio Network. They always have had better acronyms. Anyway, I was instructed to go directly to the sheriff's department in Dodgeville. There was a moment's confusion on the radio, because Dodgeville was the county seat of Iowa County, Wisconsin. They were calling me Iowa Car, which was a bit of a kick.
There was a deputy waiting for me. “We have a number for you to call,” she said. “I guess it's pretty urgent.” She ushered me into a private oiffce.
My first thought was that something had happened to either Sue or our daughter, Jane. I needn't have worried. The number she handed me was for Hester's cell phone.
“Gorse,” answered Hester.
“Houseman here. How was the big house?”
“Great, but later, right now you should know that they've located Jessica's silver 2000 Mercedes Benz SUV. It's been abandoned, in a place called Capron, Illinois.” “Where's that from Nation County?” I asked. I'd never heard of the place.
“Well, just a sec,” she said, and I could hear paper rustling. Her map. “Okay, it's southwest of Lake Geneva, and northeast of Rockford. About thirty road miles from here.”
“So, he's not headed toward Nation County?”
“Don't bet on it,” she said. “The car was abandoned at a used car lot, and the owner is checking right now on whether or not he's missing a car. There's also a good chance he's headed home to Moline. Jessica apparently told him we were here, asking questions.”
“Oh.”
“There's absolutely no doubt that he had it. Jessica told us that she'd 'left the keys in the car' and he took it.”
“That's cute,” I said. “Nice dodge.”
“Shit, Houseman, her local attorney was there. She's hell on wheels, and she has just about every base in the world covered. She denies knowing how Peale got to Lake Geneva. We didn't reveal Tatiana to her, just asked how he'd gotten her car, and led into it.” Hester sounded disgusted. “We got to her twice, though. I think she's finally getting really worried. And her aunt seemed to be a bit pissed off at her by the time we were done.”
“Cool.”
“Tell you what we'll do,” she said. “You continue on, and if we get a make on a missing car from that lot in Capron, we'll have them tell you by radio. Just so you know as soon as possible.”
“Right. Hey, Hester?”
“Yes?”
“If you do the brunch again tomorrow, could you bring me a doggy bag?”
I was about twenty miles east of the Mississippi and Nation County when Wisconsin State Radio contacted me again. They gave me a simple message. I was to be looking for a blue '96 Honda four-door. It had no plates, naturally, since it was stolen off a sales lot. The keys, according to the dispatcher, had been under the floor mat. No direction of travel was given, for the obvious reason that nobody knew one. I just had to assume he was headed our way.
I checked in with Dispatch in Nation County at 22:44 hours. The dispatcher, Norma, the new one, said I was to contact Borman via radio immediately. I did, and he asked me to meet him at the foot of the Mansion driveway.
The rain was steady as I got out of the car. Not hard, just one of those long, drawn-out rains that come in October, putting the last nail in summer's ciffin, and giving us our first taste of the cold that was to come in the next few months. It was about forty degrees, or so, but felt much colder. I hurried across the soaked gravel road to Borman's squad car, carrying my green rubber raincoat. It's impossible to put the things on in a car, and by the time I would have gotten it on, I knew I'd already be in Borman's squad. I was startled when Sally just about knocked me over when she opened the front passenger door.
“You get in front, you'll never fit behind the cage,” she said, and scurried past me to open the back door and squeeze in to the backseat. She left the back door open a crack, so she could get out without having somebody open it from the outside. There are no door handles on the inside of the back doors in a squad car. Makes it harder for prisoners to escape.
I dropped into the front passenger seat, knocking my left knee against the damned radio console, which was angled away for the driver, and encroached on the passenger's leg room. I shut the door.
“Shit weather,” I said. “What's up?”
“What are we doing here?” asked Borman. “We can't see crap, nobody has come in or out for the last four hours, and I've been up since six this morning.”
I was beginning to think the kid was taking a course in how to irritate a superior.
“Well, for starters, your friend 'Slasher' Peale left Lake Geneva shortly before I did. There's a good chance he's headed this way.”
Silence.
“Then, there's the information we got that says he's really, really pissed at some of the folks in the house, up there.” I shivered. “Got any coffee?”
He fished a thermos out of the space between the armrest and the steel safety plate of the plastic cage. “Here.”
“Thanks. I've been up since seven, myself.” I unscrewed the top, and Sally reached her hand through the sliding section of the cage, and handed me a Styrofoam cup out of the backseat. I poured the steaming coffee gingerly, sat the cup on the dash, and screwed the thermos cap back in place. “Who else we got available tonight?”
“Ten is the late car. He's on at midnight. That's it. Other than him, it's just me. And Sally.”
“Damn,” I said. “That means we stay here all night.”
“What?”
“Yep. All night.” I turned in the se
at. “How about you, kid?” I asked Sally. “When you gotta be back at work?”
“Day off tomorrow,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, taking a sip of coffee from the cup. “Old coffee,” I said. I sniffed. “What's that smell?”
“Smell?” asked Sally.
“Yeah, that weird smell.”
“I don't smell anything,” she said.
“You better tell him,” said Borman. He was smiling.
Sally took a deep breath. “It's garlic.”
“What?”
“You know, like you put on bread. Garlic.” She reached down to her utility belt, undid the little nylon pouch that we kept exam gloves in, and produced a small plastic bag with a small garlic medallion in it.
“You're kidding.”
“Houseman, you can never be too safe,” she said, replacing the bag. “Take it from me.”
I sighed. “Okay, mother. Just keep it sealed up, okay?”
“You bet.” She looked down, replacing the bag. “Want to see my ciuciffx?”
I laughed. “No. Honest to God… ”
“No different than a ballistic vest,” she said. “Insurance is insurance.”
That reminded me of the matters at hand. “Now, can I ask you guys a question?” I looked at them both.
“Sure,” said Borman.
“What are you doing down here?”
“Watching the place. Just like Lamar said.”
I sighed, mostly for effect. “No. When you're all the way down here, all you can see is the road. You aren't supposed to be watching the road. You're supposed to be watching the house.”
“We tried that,” he said. “Kevin came out and told us to get out of the driveway. He's got that right, it's private property.”
“The woods up there aren't private property, they belong to the state.”
“But there's no road into the woods.” He sounded exasperated.
“What kind of rain gear you got in here?” I asked.
“Hooded raincoat, like yours. Gortex overalls. Boots. But I'm not hiking up into those woods in the rain.”
I made an effort to sound thoroughly disgusted. I think it worked. “No, you're not. Our suspect is probably in a blue '96 Honda four-door, no plates. I have no idea whether or not he's armed, so assume he is. Got that?”
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