Borderlines (19 page)

Gorman, you know and I know that there are some ems with all this, some unanswered questions. It would be a lot if she stuck around here for a while. Cooperation from you will in your favor.” orman started to answer, but then paused a moment. “All right. Mrs.

Wingate up at my motel for a couple of days. But no more, nderstand?

She needs to get back to a familiar environmenta e.

pinney smiled. “Thank you, appreciate it.” eaving Greta behind, we followed them downstairs and watched rman piled Ellie into his car.

“We’ll send along her things after ime lab’s through with them.” orman flipped a hand at me. “Whatever.” He walked around driver’s side of the car, got in, and drove off toward II 4. As left, I saw Ellie’s white face looking back at us, drawn and strained-stressed, I thought, as much by her knowledge as by her grief.

Spinney looked at me. “Holding out on the sleeping pills, hey?” “Not on purpose. I was about to tell Smith when he took off.” “No sweat; it went okay. We got other problems, though.” “What?” “You know a guy named Rennie Wilson?” “Sure.” The introduction of Rennie’s name in this context startled me. I looked at Spinney’s serious face and felt the plug being pulled from some small but sensitive vial in my chest. “Why?”

“They just found his lighter at the scene, under the body.” “I don’t want to talk to these butt-heads.” Rennie sat on the tailgate of his pickup, his feet dangling, his arms crossed over his chest, his torso rocking slightly back and forth like a tightly wound-up toy.

“So they told me.” “Fucking assholes.” Spinney stood nearby. Slowly, without much movement, he got all the troopers and most everyone else away from the truck. “Shit. I was the one that got all these bozos up here in the first place. Some murderer.” From where I stood, I could see into the ravine. Bruce Wingate’s body was being placed into a black body bag, his hands enveloped in clear plastic sacks. The almost mystical feeling of this morning-of the lonely corpse wreathed in foggy tendrils-had been replaced with one of mechanical industry. Crime lab technicians, troopers, and plainclothesmen were slowly combing the outlying reaches of the scene, using tape measures, cameras, and assorted esoterica. The ground was littered with evidence cans, tool boxes, and odd pieces of equipment.

Wingate, in his bag, looked uncomfortably out of place, as if he’d fallen unnoticed out the back of some ambulance.

Rennie followed my gaze. “What the fuck kind of airhead do they think I am? I’m going to kill a guy, ditch his body in that hole, and then call everyone except the fucking National Guard? Get real. I’d have to be some kind of dick-head, you know?” Procedure is that the body stays as found while the search team through its routine. Only then does the medical examiner come o an examination, and finally roll the body over to check the other That’s when they found the lighter, lying on the ground. I noticed medical examiner was a man this time, presumably Hillstrom’s I rep. He was a heavyset bald man with black-rimmed glasses who ed to have difficulty moving around.

I looked at Rennie. I’d known him a long time, had seen him fly he handle many times, although never violently. Still, he was impulbull-headed, and right now, incredibly angry. God knows I didn’t him to be guilty of Wingate’s murder, but in all honesty I couldn’t him out. “It’s not unheard of for the guilty party to scream the est, just to divert attention.” “Well, what about the lighter? Shit. IfI was that smart, why would left the fucking lighter behind? Besides, I haven’t seen that damn g in months.” “The lighter might have fallen out of your pocket by accident.” “I told you I lost it months ago.” I didn’t reply.

He looked around at the now distant state cops. “Assholes.” “You told them you’d only talk to me. So talk.” “I didn’t do it.” “Okay. So how ‘bout I ask some dumb questions, just for the rd?” “Do I have a choice?”

I was starting to feel he was protesting too much for his own “You’re not under arrest, Rennie. You can leave right now, if want. In fact, maybe you ought to just stay quiet and get a law”You’re shittin’ me.”

“If I were in your position, that’s what I’d do.” He gave me a devious sidelong glance. “What is this, reverse hology?” “I’m just saying we can talk if you want to-you’re under no gation.” “I didn’t do it, Joe.”

“So you want to talk?” He shrugged, considerably calmer. “Got nothin’

to hide.” “Where were you last night?” He laughed bitterly. “Oh, I love that. I was carving up that ass,you know?” “I told you you wouldn’t like the questions.” “All right, all right. I got off work; I went home and cleaned up a little; I went into Lyndonville to have a few drinks; drove around a little; and went to bed. End of story.” “Where did you have the few drinks?” “Some bar.” The vagueness sent a small but palpable chill through me. An innocent man in a tight squeeze would know the value of accuracy. “Which bar?” “Shit, I don’t know-The Maple Door. It’s on Route 5, down from the Miss Lyndonville Diner.” “Anyone see you there?” He looked at me, his face flushed with anger. “No. I went alone into the place; nobody was there. I poured myself a drink, left the money on the counter, and then I left.” “I meant anyone who might know you. He muttered something. “No. I never been there before.” “Talk to the bartender?” “No, except to order.” “What did you drink?” “Shit, I don’t know-beer.” “What time?” “Who knows?” “What time you get home?” “Late. Nadine was asleep.” “You wake her up?” “No. I slept in the spare room. I do that when I come in late.” None of this was what I wanted to hear. Rennie had always been belligerent in front of authority, so his blowing steam didn’t bother me. But I sensed he wasn’t being straight, and that troubled me a lot. It made his bluster less childish and more like a coverup.

“How’d you lose the lighter?” He paused, obviously weighing his response. “I don’t remember.” I was beginning to hate this; the scales were tipping farther and farther against him. It was difficult keeping the skepticism out of my voIce.

“And you don’t have the slightest idea when you lost it?” He shrugged.

“No, maybe six months ago. I don’t know.” I let a few seconds pass. I scratched my forehead. Perhaps I was overreacting; I had hoped to find him absolutely innocent. Now I was having some serious doubts.

His voice, sounding tired, broke through my thoughts. “Am I really in deep shit here?” I looked at his face florid, worn, made older than his years through hard times and hard liquor. “As far as they’re concerned,” I headed toward the troopers and Spinney, “you’re their Number One spect.

And I got to tell you, your story doesn’t help you much.” I half-wanted him to blow a cork then, but he didn’t. He just said tly, “No, guess not.” “Did you see Bruce Wingate after you two had that fight the he was pushed out the window?” “No. I went home.” “Not even walking around later?” “No.” “You didn’t see him and his wife the next morning after the fire?” “Yeah, I guess I saw them then. That was it, though, and I didn’t to them. I didn’t even go near them.” “When do you get off work?” “Six-thirty. I worked late.” “Alone?” “Yeah. I had some paperwork to shove around.” “Night shift wasn’t there?” “Sure they were there. I was working in back.” “So you got home about seven?” “Yeah.”

“Nadine home?” “Yeah. She doesn’t get out much,” he said matter-of-factly. I knew was in a wheelchair, which obviously restricted her somewhat. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers. “Jesus, Rennie, you’re not ing yourself much here.” He flared a little at that.

“Not my fault I wasn’t giving some judge owjob all night. How did I know I’d need an alibi?” “All right, anything else to add?” “Nope.”

“Well, you want to talk more, I’ll be around.” I walked over to Spinney; Smith was standing next to him. “He he quit work at six-thirty, went home, went drinking at The Maple r, drove around a bit, and then hit the sack, all without seeing ne or being seen by anyone he knew.” “What about the lighter?” Smith asked. I was struck by the fact Smith must have acquiesced to Rennie’s demand to talk to me He didn’t seem any friendlier-his body language still told me I as welcome as a head cold-but I decided I’d take it as a good sign. “Says he lost it six months ago, but doesn’t know where.” “When but not where? That’s a little odd.” “I know.” Smith’s furrow deepened. “Well, it’s too early to do anything about him yet. Let’s wait until the lab results are in. I’ll have people check the bar and his workplace. We better get a search warrant for his house.” “What grounds?” I asked.

“Footprints,” Spinney piped up. “Unless he flew in for the kill.” “What about the shoes he has on?” Smith gave me a peeved look. “I already checked. They don’t match.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll get the warrant. If I’m lucky, I should be back in an hour or two.” We all three looked up as Rennie drove by, his rear tires spitting gravel. He ignored us, staring straight ahead.

“He had a fight with Wingate a few nights ago.” The other two turned to stare at me. I described everything that happened on the night Wingate was thrown out Fox’s window.

Spinney shook his head. “But Rennie didn’t come back at Wingate after he was punched? He just walked away?” “Yup.” “I don’t know Rennie, but that seems a little out of character.” I couldn’t answer that. I wasn’t sure I knew anything about Rennie’s character anymore. “I wonder why he was killed way out here?” Smith mused, looking around.

I shrugged. “Quiet place for a meeting if you don’t want witnesses.”

“Or for a murder,” Spinney added.

Smith checked his watch. “I’ll post a discreet watch on his house to see if he tries to remove anything before we can get in there with a warrant. I’ll also have the lab guys go over Wingate’s room to see what we can find there.” He walked off toward the large green van that housed the crime lab and its crew of four. “What’re your plans?” Spinney asked me.

I looked to the bottom of the ravine. “I think I’ll poke around here for a bit, maybe talk to the M.E. I’d like to look at the footprints again, just to get them straight in my mind-that is, assuming there’s anything left to see. How ‘bout you?” “I want to check out Wingate’s room. Why don’t I meet you at the Rocky River in about an hour and a half”’ I nodded and headed down the steep trail leading to the bottom of the ravine, using a rope someone had anchored to the top to help keep my footing. As I’d suspected would happen with all this traffic, the trail had become treacherously slippery.

Below me, the medical examiner was directing two troopers to ce the loaded body bag onto a stretcher. He glanced up and studied slow progress. “Are you Joe Gunther?” “That’s right.” “I’m Dr. Hoard, the local M.E. Dr. Hillstrom told me to keep an out for you.” I got to the bottom finally and walked over to him. “That was nice er.” “She said to tell you what you wanted to know, not that I have ch at this stage.”

Despite the cool air, I noticed his forehead was ded with sweat. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a dkerchief.

“So what do you have?” “He was killed by a good half-dozen blows of a knife, a big one he looks of it. Probably a kitchen knife.” He bent down and undid zipper to the bag. It was a little startling to see Wingate reappear, and dirty, his deadly, almost yellow cast emphasized by his black ud.

Hoard rolled him over slightly and pulled down his jacket and to reveal the base of the neck. “See how some of the wounds gap others look narrow?” I squatted down and looked. There was little blood-it had mostly ined away-and the cuts looked like they could have been made in Ie, bloodless chicken carcass. “Yeah.” “That’s because of what we call Langer’s lines. The skin is a fabric ntermingled dermal collagen and elastic fibers that tend to run thwise along a body and form a pattern called the lines of cleavage. knife cuts across Langer’s lines, the wound gaps, because the erlying fabric tension is pulling at a ninety-degree angle to the sion. If, on the other hand, the cut is parallel to Langer’s lines-and lines of cleavage-the wound is narrow.

“Does that tell you anything?” “If the stab wound is straight in and out, and if it runs parallel to ger’s lines, you can often tell the blade’s width and thickness. e,” he pointed to a single gash. “See?

It’s wide, but the back of the e isn’t thick like a hunting knife’s would be.” He let Wingate roll “Of course, that’s pure speculation.

He’s going straight to Burlon now, where Dr.

Hillstrom can do a more detailed analysis.” “When do you think he died?”

He smiled. “Last night sometime.” I looked at him.

“Sorry, I wish I were joking. Actually, it’s about all I can tell you.

He wasn’t fresh when he was found. Lividity had set, which generally happens eight to twelve hours after death. Of course, that’s not a law.

Rigor mortis is still ongoing-his hips and legs and part of his torso are still flaccid. But that’s all sensitive to cold, which delays the process; at room temperature, it’s usually complete at twelve hours, so we re still in that ballpark.” He squatted down again and placed his hand on Wingate’s forehead. “The other indicator is that his cornea has just begun to cloud over, something that again usually happens in twelve to twenty-four hours following death if the lids were closed, which they were here.” He moved his thumb and lifted back the right eyelid to show me.

“Incidentally, it may not be of great importance, but he’s missing the hard contact lens from his left eye. See how the cornea’s just slightly cloudy?” I glanced over his shoulder, but without great interest. That kind of detail was more fascinating to him than to me right now, especially since it didn’t tell us much. “Anything else?” Hoard nodded, stood up and took his glasses off again to wipe then,. I wondered if some sweat had fallen onto them or if that was just his particular nervous habit.