Red Herring (28 page)

“So what? They don’t know about you.”

Ike pulled away violently. “That’s easy for you to say,” he screamed, red-faced. “You’re not the one whose butt’s in a sling.”

Almost as quickly, his mother changed back to the needy supplicant. “Honey, honey. You’re my reason for living. You don’t think I know what you’ve done for me? You turned my life around, righting the wrong that was done to Benny.”

She caught up one of his hands in her own. “You gave me hope that there was justice in the world. How else was I going to get back at those bitches—do unto them as they did unto me? Stuck in this damn house . . .”

Almost reluctantly, he squeezed her hand in turn. “I know, Ma.”

“So,” she tried again. “Why do you think those cops were interested in you?”

“One of them came by the gun shop earlier,” he admitted, feeling on slightly safer ground. “I don’t know why. He was looking for customer lists. But he was definitely working on the murders; he got all vague when I asked him.”

“That may not mean much,” she said thoughtfully, gazing off. “They’re looking at everything right now. They’re confused. And that call to the paper you made was a stroke of genius, putting even more pressure on them.”

He paused a moment, as if doubting himself, and then rallied, crossing to the living-room section of the room, opening the drawer to the small table by the couch, and extracting an old Colt .45 he kept there.

“Still, I gotta get out of here, just in case.” He held up his hand to interrupt his mother, whose mouth had opened in protest.

“Ma, damn it all. The two places where I work, they show up. That’s more than coincidence. If they come by here for some reason, I better be gone. You just tell ’em you haven’t seen me. I’ll take one of the beaters outside they can’t trace to me. They got no bone to pick
with you. And I know what you think about Louise. Maybe I’ll try to drop in now and then, when I know the coast is clear.”

He reached for a duffel bag he’d previously dumped on the floor and began stuffing it full, adding a short, semiautomatic assault rifle that he’d placed on the table previously, along with several boxes of ammunition.

“Don’t you worry, Ma. This’ll blow over soon enough. We can get back to life as usual, and you’ll know that the whole thing with Benny was set right.”

She smiled for his sake and nodded complacently. He was correct about the last part. Her firstborn, the only living creature she’d ever truly loved, had at least been avenged, even if he’d never return to her. But Ike was living in a dream world if he thought this would blow over. She knew cops. They didn’t quit.

And this bunch sounded like they were on to something.

She watched her son finishing his packing, heading for God knew where. She didn’t want to know. Nor would she truly miss him, except for his general usefulness. He was as much a bore as he was handy to have around.

Well, she thought, you take the bitter with the sweet. That’s what they say.

Joe and Willy pulled up next to Sam’s car in the parking lot. Lester was beside her in the passenger seat. They were outside a convenience store in West Brattleboro, where they’d decided to meet by phone, partway between Brattleboro and Wilmington, which Sam and Les had just left. It was dark, and unseasonably cold, but at least with no more snow in the forecast.

They’d parked cop-style, driver’s door to driver’s door, so that Joe and Sam were inches apart. In the sodium lamplight flooding the gas pumps beyond, Joe was struck by Sammie’s appearance.

“You okay?”

She shook her head. “Fine. I got a bug, is all. It’ll pass.”

“Don’t breathe on me,” Willy told her across Joe.

“Nice,” Joe commented, before returning to Sam. “What’ve you got?”

“Ike Miller,” Spinney said. “I met him at the Back Stop when I was checking out gunpowder suppliers. He gave me a crash course on reloading and sent me out to the front office for a list of customers. Nothing went off in my head. We just got back from there; he’s gone. My contact, Ed Silverstein, said he called in and quit, just like that, and to mail him his last paycheck.”

“He lives with his mother off of Augur Hole Road,” Sam chimed in. “Somewhere in the boonies. Also has a part-time job at BMH as a janitor, which gives him access to both blood and the basement morgue, and he had his car oil-undercoated by Sky Thurber. So far, he’s the only one to fit so much of the Brookhaven profile.”

“BMH,” Willy repeated tellingly.

“What?” Sam asked, reading into his tone of voice.

Joe told her, “We just left the owner of one of those three blood drops—he’s in a hospice room at BMH. The nurses told us they used to draw blood from him all the time, because of his leukemia.”

“That’s the other thing we found out,” Lester chimed in. “Once we made the BMH connection, I got hold of its morgue records. A week before Dory was killed, both a male and a female were in cold storage at the same time. The woman was a blond with blue eyes and the guy had been dead longer than her by a couple of days.”

“I’m guessing you ran Ike through the computer?” Joe asked.

“Six ways toward the middle,” Les admitted. “Standard bad boy stuff—disorderly, DUI, petit larceny, minor possession, simple assault, lots of person-of-interest references. No jail time and no felonies.”

“We also put the word out to all our people,” Sam added, “to run the name Ike Miller through any lists they haven’t submitted yet. We haven’t heard back, but that just happened. He’s clearly on the lam, though, for what that’s worth.”

“Because of the Back Stop?” Joe asked.

“And BMH,” Les said. “I called them about him specifically. He was there today and pulled a vanishing act without a word. The supervisor I talked to was pissed.”

“You go by the Augur Hole Road address?”

Both Sam and Les shook their heads. “Figured we better talk with you first,” Sam explained. “We have enough for a search warrant, don’t you think?”

Joe shook his head. “Not yet. I want one last totally concrete connection between Miller and that address, specifically.”

He stared out the front window for a moment, watching some customers go in and out of the convenience store.

“How many people-of-interest entries were listed in Ike’s involvements? You said lots.”

“About ten,” Lester said.

“Let’s split them out,” Joe told them. “We’ll go back to the office, divide them up, and make a family tree of Ike’s friends. I want to find out how things function at that address. What happens there, who comes and goes, what the layout is, the works.”

He looked over at Sam, who was wiping her forehead. “That’ll give us enough for a warrant, I bet, and it might give you time for a
nap or something, ’cause I have the feeling you’re not going to head for bed or the ER like you should.”

She smiled broadly, despite her pallor. “You got that right, boss.”

Lyn heard the knock on the front door downstairs over the sound of the television news. She quickly finished dressing for her upcoming late-evening shift, buttoning a pair of tight jeans, and ran downstairs shouting, “Coming.”

She pulled open the door to reveal a woman older than herself, well groomed and stylishly dressed, who disguised her own obvious surprise with a polite smile and an outstretched hand. Behind her, in the driveway, a car was idling with a driver at the wheel.

“Oh, my God,” Lyn blurted out, ignoring the hand for a moment. “You’re Gail.”

The smile widened. Gail said, “And you’re Lyn, from what I’ve heard. I’m sorry we haven’t met until now.”

Lyn clumsily took the handshake and stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

“That would be great. It’s cold tonight.”

Lyn paused. “Is your driver okay out there?”

Gail walked by her. “She’s fine. She can listen to her own radio station for a while.”

Lyn blinked at the now empty doorway, shut out the cold, and turned around to take Gail’s long, elegant coat and hang it on one of the hallway pegs.

“Have a seat,” she offered. “Would you like a drink? Or some coffee? I have a fresh pot.”

Gail settled into an armchair, looking around Joe’s living room. “Coffee would be great. So, you and Joe are living together?”

Ouch, Lyn thought, entering the kitchen. “No, no,” she said over the counter partition. “We visit each other’s place . . . Or not, depending. We have pretty crazy schedules.”

“That, I remember,” Gail said pleasantly. “This doesn’t look any different. That’s for sure.”

Lyn turned her back to pour two cups. Try not to read anything into anything, she counseled herself. “Well, like I said, neither one of us is home much. You take cream or sugar or anything?”

“No thanks. Joe’s the one who turns decent coffee into a hot milkshake. I’m guessing he’s not here.”

Lyn took the two cups into the living room. “No. I actually don’t know where he is. He has a big murder case—” she interrupted herself as Gail took one of the coffees.

“I guess you know that,” she ended.

Gail placed the cup on the wooden arm of the chair, where Lyn expected it would sit untouched.

“I certainly remember the rhythm,” Gail said. “Does running a bar make his schedule more bearable?”

Lyn sat opposite her and took a sip of her own beverage. She’s letting me know she’s researched me, she thought.

“I wouldn’t know,” she told her guest. “I have nothing to compare it to. I don’t mind it, though. We seem to see enough of each other.”

“I guess he hasn’t landed himself in the hospital yet,” Gail said, her voice neutral. “You’ll get to see a lot of him when that happens.”

Lyn nodded, and tried to change the subject. “I see you on TV almost every day now. How’s it going?”

“Well enough,” Gail answered dully. The next words out of her mouth came in a hurried, almost irritated fashion. “Is he even in the area, or is he upstate? I called his cell, but of course he didn’t pick up. It would be just my luck if he was in St. J.”

Lyn frowned slightly. This was weird. “As far as I know, he’s around. I think he was at the office earlier. He might still be, if you want to call.”

Gail cupped her cheek in her hand. Suddenly she looked tired, almost exhausted. “I just wanted this to be simple,” she said softly, as if to herself.

Lyn put down her cup and sat forward. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Gail closed her eyes briefly, trying to rally. “I was told some bad news tonight, at a press conference. It might put me and Joe at odds—politically, I mean.” She sighed deeply. “God, I hate some of this shit sometimes.”

“Is it this case?” Lyn asked.

Gail nodded. “It sure is. I should’ve known that something would come up. I thought it would be our past together—the cop and the liberal. I didn’t think of an ongoing case . . . It’s always what you aren’t expecting.”

Lyn nodded politely, half wondering if she shouldn’t just leave this woman alone with her thoughts.

She reached for the phone by her side, instead. “Want me to call his office? Just to see if he’s in?”

“That would be great. Thank you,” Gail said, showing a warm and disarming smile.

Lyn placed the call, identified herself, and asked if Joe was there. She then followed by saying that there was no reason to put him on the phone; she was just curious. And then she hung up.

“He’s there,” she said unnecessarily.

Gail stood up, the coffee forgotten. “I better go then. I have to be in St. J later tonight.”

Lyn’s eyes widened. “Jesus. That’s two hours from here.”

Again, the tired smile greeted her. “I know. I have a sunrise Rotary in the morning. I’d sooner travel tonight than at the crack of dawn.”

Lyn rose also and escorted her to the door, helping her on with her coat. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

Gail turned to face her. “Why I’m doing it makes the how easier. If I didn’t believe all the stuff most people think is political crap, I wouldn’t last a week.”

“I’ll be voting for you,” Lyn said simply.

Gail gave her a hug at the door. “Our Joe is a lucky man,” she said, and left.

Ike dropped his duffel bag on the floor of the motel room and looked around. The clerk had taken cash, hadn’t asked for a credit card or an ID, and hadn’t made eye contact. A well-trained man for a certified, hole-in-the-wall dump. It was a worthwhile exchange for a room that could have been improved only with a can of gas and a match.

The one thing it did have, however—the one thing he’d made sure of—was wireless access to the Internet.

Ike locked the door, drew the curtains against the night, turned the TV on with the sound off, and pulled a battered laptop out of the duffel. The chair near the door looked too fragile for occupancy, so he bunched up the two small flat pillows for a backrest, and sat on the bed.

He turned on the computer, opened up to Google, and typed in, “Joseph Gunther, VBI.”

Joe glanced up to see Gail standing in the doorway, looking awkward.

“Gail?” he asked, immediately feeling foolish.

Everyone in the office followed suit.

“Holy shit,” Willy muttered.

Sam moved first, crossing over quickly to give her a hug. “Gail, my God. What a treat. How are you?”

Gail smiled wanly, patting Sam on the arm. “I’m doing well. A little tired.”

Lester was next, stepping up for a handshake. “You’re doing great work out there.” He laughed, adding, “You keep it up, I might have to vote for you, if you don’t tell anybody.”

Gail patted her heart. “Swear to God, Les. Between you and me.”

But Joe knew this wasn’t a casual drop-by. He rose from his desk, crossed the small office, and gave her a warm embrace. “Hey,” he said simply.

Without waiting for her to explain her presence, he told his crew, “Be right back,” and escorted Gail back into the central hallway.

It was after hours in the Municipal Building, so he took them down to where the selectmen normally met—familiar territory for Gail, who used to number among their ranks, although many years ago by now.

She smiled as they entered the room and Joe hit the lights to reveal the semicircular row of desks facing the assembled chairs for the audience.