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Chapter Thirty-seven

S
o how you all doing?” Calvin said, nice and hearty, as he entered the county sheriff’s office Thursday morning. He carried
a cardboard container with four coffee cups from the Kwik Trip and a bag of donuts.

Doug Larson perked up at the sight. “Gosh, thanks, Mr. Hyman,” the young deputy said, accepting a paper cup of hot liquid.

“Calvin. Please. Call me Calvin, Doug.” He smiled benevolently. “After all, with a little luck, I might be your legislative
representative soon.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Doug grinned and selected a jelly-filled donut from the white paper bag. “I’m sure you’ll be elected,
Mr. Hyman. Everyone from Winosha will be voting for you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Calvin slapped the younger man on the back while covertly casting a glance around the room.

It was a typical small municipal office: cinder-block walls, battered green metal office furniture, old oak doors leading
to an outer reception room, and a high ceiling with exposed ductwork. The sheriff was lounging behind his desk, feet up, talking
on the phone. Clemmons had nodded when Calvin had entered the room, but he hadn’t stopped talking. Flanking the sheriff’s
desk was another desk that must have belonged to the deputy sheriff normally. Right now, though, it’d obviously been taken
over by the FBI agents. The younger agent—what was his name? Something spic—sat on the corner, also on a phone, this one a
cell. He looked none too pleased with whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying to him.

Calvin picked up a cup of coffee and carefully pulled back the little plastic tab on the cover. He took a scalding sip and
smiled. God, the coffee was awful at the local Kwik Trip. “Had any breaks in investigating our little bank robbery?”

“Oh, yeah. We had an important one just this morning. The gunmen have been caught.” Doug was opening a little plastic tub
of nondairy creamer and so didn’t catch Calvin’s expression. Which was a good thing.

Calvin had to clear his throat twice before he could talk. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Doug finally got the creamer tub open and poured it into his cup. “Over in Sawyer.”

“Really? That’s not too far away.”

“Tell me about it. They were just, like, walking along the road. And flinging money in the air, according to the deputy. Can
you imagine? This deputy drives by on patrol and sees money flying through the air and two guys yelling or something. Naturally,
he stops to see what’s up, and there you are. Two bank robbers nabbed just like that.”

“Good. Good.”

“Wish I could have that kind of luck sometime,” Doug muttered into his coffee cup.

Calvin felt the smile stretched across his face begin to freeze. He wanted to wrap his hands around the deputy’s neck and
shout at him until he found out what was going on.

Instead he widened his smile even more. “I bet you’ve questioned them.”

“Oh, no.” Doug waved his jelly donut at the sheriff, still talking on the phone. A blob of jelly fell to the linoleum. He
didn’t seem to notice. The FBI agent glanced over, apparently attracted by the movement. “Sheriff Clemmons is working that
out now. Seems they got bitten by some wild animal.”

Calvin had been thinking about his own problems, and this non sequitur caught him off-guard. “Who?”

“You know.” Doug stared. “The bank robbers? The ones in masks? Tuna Fish and Nald. I guess they’d been slogging through the
woods all this time, and let me tell you, those guys are not woodsmen.”

Calvin frowned. “So—?”

“So they got attacked by something. A bear or a wolverine. Do we have wolverines in Wisconsin? Maybe it was a skunk.” Doug
laughed with an unpleasant braying sound. “Anyway, they gotta be looked at by a doctor.”

“I see.”

A measure of relief swept through Calvin. Those two bozos hadn’t been questioned. At least not yet. But that still left the
other matter that had been bothering him: Turner Hastings.

“Wonder if they’ll need those shots you get in the stomach?” Doug was musing. “You know those big-ass ones for, like, rabies?”

Oh, he certainly hoped so. Calvin smiled. “The sheriff’s office is to be commended in resolving this crime swiftly. It’s good
to know that our tax dollars are being used so effectively. I’ll be sure to bring the matter up in my next speech.”

Doug looked a little doubtful. “Well, they were by the side of the road and all—”

“And your law-enforcement personnel were quick to apprehend them.”

“’Course, it was the Sawyer County sheriff—”

“Yes. Yes.” Calvin broadened his smile. God, what a fool! Couldn’t he just take the credit for the job like a normal man?
“It was a job well done all around, no matter who actually made the arrest.”

“Well—”

“But I suppose Turner Hastings is still on the loose?”

Doug brightened. “Yeah, but not for long.”

Calvin’s heart dropped painfully. “What?”

“Can’t exactly tell you, it’s a department secret.” Doug winked and shoved the rest of his jelly donut into his mouth. He
said rather indistinctly, “But take it from me, we’ll have her by this afternoon.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. Calvin smiled painfully. “Really? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the best sheriff’s
department in the state, after all—”

Doug’s chest puffed up.

“—but I find it hard to believe that you’ll be able to get her that soon.” Calvin arched his eyebrows skeptically. “
This
afternoon?”

“Yeah, this afternoon. Today.” Doug caught some of the doubt in Calvin’s look. He leaned forward earnestly and lowered his
voice. “No, I mean it. Special Agent MacKinnon will be picking her up.”

Not if Calvin could help it. “But how?”

“We’ve got a tip. We know where she’ll be.”

He could see the younger FBI agent watching their conversation as he listened to the phone. Doug wasn’t aware they were under
scrutiny, because his back was to the man.

Calvin felt sweat bead his upper lip. “Where she’s
going
to be? You don’t even know where she is now?” He forced a careless laugh. “I’m sorry, Doug, but that doesn’t sound particularly
convincing, now, does it?”

“No, really—”

“What have you got? An anonymous tipster?”

Doug seemed to feel he had to defend his department. “She’s totally legit.”

“She?” Calvin chuckled again. “Some old biddy getting her panties wet calling in tips to the police.”

“No, no.” Doug leaned forward earnestly. “It’s a woman in the Federal Prosecutor’s Office in Madison. Her name is Victoria
Weidner.”

“Really?” Calvin let a trace of respect show. His heart beat painfully fast in his chest. Shit. A federal prosecutor talking
to Turner Hastings. That he definitely couldn’t allow. “But how do you even know she’ll show?”

“She will.”

“How do you know?” Calvin just kept from shouting the words.

Doug’s brows knit in surprise at his vehemence.

He inhaled and forced himself to open a creamer tub and pour it into his coffee cup as if the conversation didn’t matter.
The FBI agent was shifting on the desk corner as if his phone conversation was winding down. Time was running out to get the
information out of Doug.

“I mean,” Calvin said casually, “if she’s just meeting this woman, she might spook at the last minute. Or decide not to meet
her, after all. There’s a lot that can happen between now and tonight.”

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit home.

“They’re not meeting tonight,” Doug said triumphantly. “Hastings is going to meet the woman in front of her office building
at twelve-thirty. That’s only—” The deputy glanced at his wristwatch. “Geez. That’s less than three hours from now. No way
will she miss it.”

“Ah.” Calvin fought to keep his dismay from his face. Good God, less than three hours. Did he even have time to get hold of
Hank? And if he did, was Hank within three hours of Madison? He frantically tried to calculate the time between Rhinelander
and Madison, all the while keeping a disinterested expression on his face.

Doug was still babbling, oblivious to the bombshell he’d just thrown at Calvin. “. . . he seems to be really with it. Guess
that comes with the territory, FBI special agent and all. And you know, I’ve been thinking.” The younger man actually blushed.
“I might try for the FBI myself.”

“Really?” Calvin muttered.

“I mean, you know, try for it.” The deputy stuck his hands in his pocket, looking remarkably like a twelve-year-old boy. “Not
that I expect to get in or anything, I’m not that—”

The younger FBI agent snapped his cell phone shut and stood. He strolled toward them.

“Good. Good.” God, he had to get out of here and phone Hank. Tell him where Turner would be and make sure she was eliminated
before she could talk to the federal prosecutor. “Well, this has been interesting, Doug, very interesting, indeed, but I need
to go.” Calvin’s chuckle sounded sickly to his own ears. “No rest for the wicked, you know.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, right.” Doug blinked. “I should be getting back, too . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced over his
shoulder, apparently trying to figure out what, exactly, he needed to get back to.

But Calvin hadn’t the time for this. And the FBI agent had almost reached them. “Don’t want to stand in the way of the law.”

He pretended not to notice the FBI agent and raised his hand in a farewell wave to the sheriff, still on the phone. Calvin
hurried out of the building. On the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office, the sun hit him in the face. He took out a
hankie from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead and upper lip.

Then he opened his cell phone and punched in Hank’s number.

Chapter Thirty-eight

T
urner carefully painted her right little fingernail black. She recapped the bottle of nail polish, holding her fingers stiffly
so she wouldn’t smear them, then flattened her hands and blew on the nails to dry the polish while she looked around the parking
garage.

Madison had grown since the last time she’d been here. There were more malls on the outskirts of the city and some new buildings
she hadn’t recognized in the downtown. She’d driven in on East Washington early this morning, following the boulevard into
the isthmus between Lake Mendota and Lake Monona. The capitol building was on the isthmus, smack between the two lakes. It
sat on its own city block, a square white classical building with a dome. She’d circled the area, getting tangled in one-way
streets for a bit before deciding to park.

She had needed to alter her appearance, anyway. Even though Victoria Weidner had agreed to meet her, she still wasn’t altogether
sure of the other woman. Victoria did work for the Federal Prosecutor’s Office, after all, and technically Turner had committed
a federal crime by opening Calvin’s safe deposit box. Love of the law might very well have won out over their tenuous high
school connection. There was no way to know if Victoria had contacted the local police or even John’s FBI office. Turner reminded
herself that this was probably a trap.

Hence, a disguise was in order to enable her to look around the meeting place before Victoria got there. Turner had already
made one stop at an army surplus store on her way into town. Now she locked the doors of the pickup and changed into the clothes
she’d bought at the store. Overhead, sparrows flew in and out of nooks in the ceiling of the parking garage, but that was
the only sign of life around her. In the middle of the day, the garage was dim and grimy and deserted. At one point she had
heard footsteps echoing and she’d frozen, her mind a blank. Then the sound receded and she was able to breathe again.

John’s warning about the man who had been at Calvin’s cabin was uppermost in her thoughts. John had said the man was sent
to kill her, and she believed him. She’d been shocked at first that Calvin would go to such lengths, but once she’d had time
to think about it, his hiring a killer made sense. Hadn’t Calvin betrayed his best friend to cover up his crime? It was only
a small step further to try and have her killed.

Turner finished changing, put the black nail polish in her purse, and unzipped the army green duffel bag she’d gotten at the
surplus store. She stuffed a change of clothes into the bag, put her purse in, as well, and got out of the pickup.

Outside the parking garage, the sun was nearly blinding, bleaching the colors of the city and radiating off the sidewalk.
It was hard to believe anyone could try to kill her in this bright light, on such an ordinary day. Nevertheless, she looked
around her as she walked and kept well away from the buildings, where someone might hide in a doorway. The few pedestrians
she passed looked like businesspeople on their lunch break. But couldn’t the killer seem ordinary, too? The problem was that
she hadn’t gotten a good look at his face in the cabin. He’d been only a dark shape before the awful blast of the rifle. If
he stood in front of her right now, she wasn’t sure she’d recognize him.

And wasn’t that an encouraging thought?

Turner made it to the capitol square and strolled slowly, scuffing her feet. The Office of the Federal Prosecutor was in a
nondescript brick building to the south. It was marked only by a discreet street number in small letters on the outside. No
name, no way to tell what was housed within. She glanced at her watch. It was just before twelve. She had plenty of time to
scout the area and think about what she would say to Victoria.

The City had planted big swathes of purple petunias and scarlet salvia on the capitol lawn. She stopped and squatted by the
flowers while she tried to marshal her thoughts. She needed to convince Victoria of the seriousness of her accusations. That
Calvin had not only embezzled from the Winosha bank but that he’d been doing it for years. That the last time he’d felt the
pressure of the law, he’d diverted it by sending the police after Rusty. That he’d probably hired a hit man to kill her now.

All this without any proof at all.

A woman walked by with a little black pug dog on a lead. The dog dawdled to sniff at her, and the woman pulled it away. Turner
felt a sudden longing for Squeaky. Were he and John getting along all right? Did the big dog miss her? She hadn’t even asked
about him last night, and that thought produced a guilty feeling, as if she’d been a bad mother. John had originally said
he’d take Squeaky back to Calvin. Why hadn’t he? Was it just that he hadn’t had time yet, or was he conceding to her wishes
and saving Squeaky for her?

She sighed and watched a big bearded man shuffle past. He had greasy-looking glasses, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
He also had on an overcoat, despite the burning heat. She held her breath and looked down at her toes, hiding her face. But
he only flicked the cigarette stub at her as he passed. It fell in the petunia bed and smoldered against the dry mulch until
she stomped it out with her shoe. The bearded man crossed the street and disappeared into a tall office building on the corner.

She hadn’t handled that well this morning, her parting from John. He’d been angry and maybe a little hurt. Maybe a lot hurt.
But it’d been a moment of panic on her part. She’d had to get away from him. Get away from the heat of his body, lying next
to hers, and away from the intense mental pressure he put on her. Just thinking about how she’d come last night, with him
watching her, her body and emotions totally on display, made her burn with . . . what? Adrenaline? Terror? Certainly an erotic
awareness that made her breath rasp and her palms sweat. Because while she’d been uncomfortable last night, scared of revealing
herself in front of him, she’d also been completely turned on. She’d never had an orgasm like that before. Definitely not
in the presence of another person.

God, she was messed up.

And now John was angry with her. Angry and out to get her. She didn’t underestimate his resolve to catch and arrest her, especially
after this morning. He had said he wasn’t pulling his punches anymore. She shivered a little, thinking about what he would
do if he caught her. She remembered the last glance she’d had of John. He’d been naked and furious with her, his pale blue
eyes cold and contemptuous.

She blinked back tears. Nothing was left of the sweet bond she and John’d had. She’d stomped on it this morning as surely
as she’d just crushed that cigarette. And now that she’d finally pushed him away, was finally free to concentrate all her
efforts on avenging Uncle Rusty, now she felt bereft.

Like she’d lost something before she had fully realized its worth.

And why should that make her cry? She’d just got done thinking about how uncomfortable he made her feel, as if she had no
control over her body or emotions. She didn’t like feeling that way, she never had. Being with John was uncomfortable. It
was tiring. And she found out things about herself that she didn’t like knowing. For instance, that she was an essentially
selfish person who didn’t seem able to form a normal, adult relationship with a man. Not to mention she strongly suspected
something was wrong with her sexually.

She swiped at the tears on her face. So, good. She’d killed the budding relationship with John. That was a good thing, right?
No more finding out icky truths about herself. Maybe what she really needed was therapy.

But she didn’t have the time to think about all this right now. Victoria’s office building was across the street from where
she sat. It had a small paved courtyard, maybe fifty feet square in front, with wide terraced steps leading down to the sidewalk.
Turner glanced again at her watch. 12:25.

And right on time, a slim woman with long dark hair emerged from the tinted glass doors at the front of the building.