Wild Fire (21 page)

Kate seconded that. “We need to fight the good fight in a good way. That’s what makes us different from them.”

“Well,” replied Bain Madox, “when someone is aiming a nuclear missile at you, you’re perfectly justified in kicking them in the balls.”

I could see his point, but arguments like this could go on for days and nights, and I think he’d already had these arguments and resolved these questions many years ago, over beer and pizza.

I’d always thought that people of that generation who came of age in the ’60s were somehow different, and maybe scarred, and maybe still carrying one grudge or another. But I don’t get paid to think about things like this, or to offer free counseling.

Nevertheless, I said to Mr. Madox, “So, you
do
have comrades who would come looking for you if you disappeared.”

He looked at, or through, me for a while, then said, “Do I? I did. When I was young and wore the uniform . . . I think they’re all gone now . . . except for Carl . . . He served under me in Vietnam.” He added, “Carl and Kaiser Wilhelm are loyal.”

Well, if there was a sled named Rosebud lying around, I would have thrown it in the fireplace and faded to black. Instead, I stood and said, “Thank you for your time.”

Kate, too, stood and picked up her briefcase.

He seemed almost surprised that he was getting rid of us, and for a moment I thought he looked disappointed. He asked us, “Are you going to join my staff in the search?”

I didn’t think that Kate and I would accomplish anything by riding around these sixteen thousand acres with Madox’s security staff until nightfall.

“Mr. Corey?”

On the other hand, I wouldn’t have minded taking a look around the property. But Kate and I weren’t even supposed to be here, and we were already late for our meeting with Major Schaeffer at state police headquarters. I glanced at Kate, then answered, “We’ll leave it to your staff to conduct the search. But we’ll be back in the morning with search parties.”

He nodded and said, “Fine. I’ll have my staff begin the search immediately. I’ll also make sure tomorrow’s search party has terrain maps and the use of my vehicles and staff.”

Kate asked, “Didn’t you say your staff is going on holiday?”

“The
house
staff is off. The security staff will be here.”

“May I ask why you have so many security people here?”

Madox replied, “It’s really not that many if you consider they work in shifts to cover a seven-day week, twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.”

“But why do you
need
that kind of security?”

He answered, “A house like this attracts unwanted attention. Besides, the local police are stretched thin and the state police are some distance away. I rely on my own security.”

She didn’t pursue that, and Bain Madox said, “I’ll show you out.”

We walked toward the door, and on the way, I asked him, “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I may be.” He paused. “My plans are up in the air.”

And so were his two jets. I asked him, “Where do you live full-time?”

“New York City.”

“Any other homes?”

“A few.”

“How do you get out of here? Car? Plane?”

He replied, “Usually someone drives me to the regional airport in Saranac Lake. Why do you ask?”

“I just want to be sure we can reach you tomorrow. Do you have a cell phone?”

“I don’t give that number out, but if you’ll call the security guard number here, someone is on twenty-four hours a day, and they’ll locate me. If we discover anything, we’ll call you at The Point.” He gave me the security number. “But I’ll probably see you in the morning.”

“You will. Do you have a private plane?”

He hesitated, then replied, “I do. Why do you ask?”

“Can you be reached on the plane?”

“Usually. Why—?”

“Are you planning any flights in or out of the country?”

“I go when and where business takes me. I’m not sure why you need to know this.”

“I just need to know that I can contact you if there’s any misunderstandings or problems with your security people, who seem very protective and not particularly easy to deal with.”

“That’s what they get paid for, but I’ll make sure they understand that you and Ms. Mayfield can reach me, and that the search teams can traverse the property freely in the morning.”

“Great. That’s all we need.”

We passed through the library into the lobby, and I said, “So, you built this place.”

“Yes. In 1982.” He added, “As a kid, I always admired the grand lodges up here, and also what were called the Great Camps, built by millionaires at the turn of the last century. In fact, The Point, where you’re staying, was a Rockefeller Great Camp.”

“Yeah, I know. You have a tux I can borrow?”

He smiled. “I’d opt for room service.”

“Me, too. So, why didn’t you buy one of these old places which are probably for sale all over?”

He thought a moment, then replied, “Well, I looked at a few, but this private parcel was available in the park, and I bought it for three hundred thousand dollars. Less than twenty dollars an acre. Best investment I ever made.”

“Better than oil?”

We made eye contact, and he said, “I suppose you know who I am.”

“Well, you’re not exactly unknown.”

“I try to keep a low profile. But that’s not always possible. Thus, the security here.”

“Right. Good idea. Nobody’s going to get you here.”

“I don’t think anyone is actually after me.”

“You never know.” He ignored that, and I asked him, “Hey, what’s with the price of oil? Up or down?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“That’s pretty scary.”

He smiled and replied, “Bet on fifty dollars a barrel as we get closer to the war in Iraq.” He added, “You didn’t hear that from me.”

“Gotcha.”

He seemed to want to talk, which was fine with me, and he drew our attention to a wall where about two dozen bronze plaques were mounted, each bearing a name and a date.

He said, “These are some of the men I served with and their dates of death. The earlier dates are those who died in Vietnam, the later ones died in one war or another since then, and some died natural deaths.” He moved closer to the plaques and said, “I built this place partly as a memorial to them, partly as a reminder of our beginnings at the Custer Hill Officers Club, and partly as a place to gather on Veterans Day and Memorial Day for those of us still around.”

After a few seconds of silence, Kate said, “That’s very nice.”

Bain Madox continued to stare at the names, then turned to us. “Also, when I built this place, it was the height of the Cold War, and you might remember that the news media was trying to whip the country into a state of hysteria about Reagan leading us to nuclear Armageddon.”

I said, “Yeah, I remember that. They had me going for a while. I was buying canned chili and beer by the case.”

Madox smiled politely and continued, “Well, I never thought we were going to have a nuclear exchange—not with Mutually Assured Destruction—but the idiots in the media and Hollywood had us all dead and buried.” He added, “Basically, they’re a bunch of old ladies.”

“That’s an insult to old ladies.”

He went on, “Anyway, I suppose that was on my mind when I decided to build this place. I know it was on my wife’s mind.”

“You’re married?”

“Not anymore.”

“Is she a Democrat or something?”

“She’s a card-carrying consumer.”

“So,” I asked, “you have a fallout shelter here?”

“I do. A totally useless expense, but that’s what she wanted.”

“Well,” I said, “fallout is tricky stuff.”

“Fallout is overrated.”

I’d never heard radioactive fallout described in quite that way, and for a moment I thought I was speaking to Dr. Strangelove.

Madox glanced at a Black Forest cuckoo clock on the wall and said to us, “I’d show you around, but I’m sure you have other stops to make.”

I reminded him, “We’ll be back tomorrow at first light.”

He nodded and moved toward the door.

I said, “Great painting of the Little Bighorn.”

“Thank you. It’s very old, artist unknown, and I don’t think it’s an accurate representation of the final moments of that battle.”

“Who would know? They all died.”

“The Indians didn’t all die.”

I wanted to tell him my joke, but I could feel Kate’s eyes on me. “Well, they were foolhardy, but brave.”

“More foolhardy than brave, I’m afraid.” He added, “I was in the Seventh Cavalry. Custer’s regiment.”

“You don’t look that old, or—” I nodded toward the painting.

“In
Vietnam,
Mr. Corey. The regiment still exists.”

“Oh . . . right.”

He stood by the door, and there was a moment of almost awkward silence. This is where I usually spring something on the suspect, leaving him or her to a bad night’s sleep. But in truth, I had no more arrows in my quiver, to use an apt metaphor, and I was really unsure if Bain Madox had anything to do with Harry’s disappearance, so I said to him, “Thank you for your time and help.”

“I’ll send my men out immediately,” he replied. “Meanwhile, if the air search comes up with anything, have the state police call that security guard number, and I’ll get some people on the ground where the helicopters have lit up the area. If we’re lucky, we may find this man tonight.”

“I think some prayers might help, too.”

Madox commented, “As long as it’s above freezing, a person can survive in the woods for weeks if he’s not badly hurt.”

He opened the door, and we all went out onto the veranda. I noticed that the Enterprise rental car that had been there was gone.

I said to him, “I want to thank you for your service to our country.”

He nodded.

Kate said, “Yes, thank you.”

Madox replied, “And you’re both serving in a different way, in a different war. I thank you for that. This may be the toughest fight we’ve ever had. Stay with it. We will prevail.”

“We will,” Kate said.

“We will,” Mr. Madox agreed, and added, “I hope I live long enough to see a permanent condition Green.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

W
e got into our Taurus and followed the black Jeep downhill toward the gate.

We didn’t speak while we were inside the property in case there were directional listening devices, but we did turn on our cell phones and beepers, which indicated that Kate had two messages, and I had none.

The dashboard clock said it was 4:58 P.M., so Tom Walsh should still be in his office defending Western Civilization for another two minutes.

At the guardhouse, the Jeep pulled to the side, and the gate slid open. As we exited the property, I could see two guards through a window of the house, and one of them was videotaping us. I leaned toward Kate’s window and saluted with my middle finger.

McCuen Pond Road lay in shadow, and I turned on my headlights so I could spot the bears sooner. I asked Kate, “Well, what are your thoughts?”

She stayed silent awhile, then replied, “He’s charming in a spooky sort of way.”

One of the more interesting things in life is hearing a woman’s thoughts on a man you’ve both met. Men that I find ugly, she finds good-looking; men I find slimy, she finds sociable; and so forth. In this case, however, I sort of agreed with Kate.

She said, “I think he liked you.” She added, “Don’t take this wrong, but he sort of reminded me of you.”

“How’s that, darling?”

“Well, the self-confidence and the . . . for want of a better expression, the male macho bullshit.”

“Good expression. More important, does he know more about Harry than he’s telling us?”

“I don’t know . . . His whole demeanor seemed almost nonchalant.”

I replied, “The sign of a sociopath and narcissist.”

“Yes, but sometimes the sign of a person who has nothing to hide.”

“He has something to hide, even if it’s only oil-price rigging. That’s why the Justice Department is interested in him.”

“True, but—”

“And yet,” I said, “he invites us in without his lawyer present.”

“What’s your point?”

“He wants to know what we know, and he can learn that by the questions we ask him.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“And how about that story of the Custer Hill Club?”

She nodded. “What a story. It’s really amazing if you think about it . . . I mean, these young officers, staying in touch, some of them getting rich and powerful . . . and Bain Madox building that lodge.”

“Yeah. What’s more amazing is that he actually admitted to us that this group is or was some sort of secret society that somehow influenced events on the world stage during the Cold War. Including engaging in illegal activities.”

She thought a moment, then replied, “He wants to sound important and powerful . . . guys do that . . . but if any of that is true, then it puts a whole different light on the Custer Hill Club.” She pointed out, “He raised some suspicions he didn’t need to raise.”

“He may have thought we already knew about the history of the club.”

“Or,” Kate said, “it’s past history and he’s proud of it, like he’s proud of his Vietnam service. I don’t know . . . but then he said he was a little involved with the war on terrorism.”

“Right. That’s like being a little pregnant.” I said, “As I suspected, there’s more to this group than meets the eye. There’s a political element here, and in today’s world, Mr. Madox’s oil mixes well with politics.”

“It always did.”

I changed the subject back to our immediate concern. “So, did Madox have anything to do with Harry’s disappearance?”

She stayed quiet, then said, “The one thing that bothered me was his stalling . . . like he was waiting for Harry to . . . turn up.”

I nodded and said, “That would take the heat off him.” I added, “I have this bad feeling that Harry is going to turn up soon, and not on Bain Madox’s property.”

Kate nodded silently, then said, “I need to check my phone messages.” She listened to them and said to me, “Tom, twice. He says I need to call him ASAP.”

I wondered why Walsh had called her and not me, too.

She checked her beeper and said, “Tom, twice.”

“He’s a persistent little shit, isn’t he?”

“He’s not . . . What is your problem with authority?”

“My problem is with supervisors who bullshit me and expect loyalty in return. The essence of loyalty is reciprocity. If you’re loyal to me, I’ll be loyal to you. Bullshit me, and I’ll bullshit you. That’s the contract.”

“Thank you for sharing that. Now, I’ll call our supervisor while you give your undivided attention to the road. Drive slowly so we don’t run out of cell-phone coverage.”

I eased up on the gas and said, “Put it on speakerphone.”

She dialed, and Walsh’s voice came through her phone. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

Kate replied, without bullshit, “We interviewed Bain Madox at the Custer Hill Club.”

“
What?
I specifically told you—was this your idiot husband’s idea?”

I cut in. “Hi, Tom. Idiot husband here.”

Silence, followed by, “Corey, you have really screwed up this time.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

He was not a happy man and almost shouted, “You totally disobeyed my orders. You’re history, mister.”

Kate seemed a little ruffled, and said, “Tom, we’ve gotten permission from Madox to conduct a search on his land at first light. Meanwhile, he promised to begin a search with his security staff immediately.”

No reply, and I thought the call was dropped or Tom was having a seizure or something. I said to Kate, “Do you want some of these Cheez-Its?”

Kate asked, “Tom? Are you there?”

His voice came through the phone, and he said, “I’m afraid we don’t need to continue the search.”

Neither of us responded, and I felt my stomach tighten. I already knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t want to hear it.

Tom Walsh informed us, “The state police have found the body of a man that they’ve tentatively identified by the contents of his wallet and photo ID as Harry Muller.”

Again, neither of us said anything, then Tom Walsh said, “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

I pulled off to the side of the road, took a deep breath, and asked Walsh, “What are the details?”

“Well, about three-fifteen this afternoon, the state police regional headquarters in Ray Brook . . . where you are supposed to be . . . got an anonymous call from a man who said he was hiking in the woods and saw a body lying on a trail. He said he approached the body, determined that the man was dead, apparently from a gunshot wound, then ran back to his vehicle, drove to a park emergency phone, and called the police.” He added, “The man would not give his name.”

I thought about that, and I thought I knew the man’s name.
I was an expert rifleman in the Army.

Walsh went on, “This man gave a fairly accurate description of the location, and within half an hour, the state and local police, using search dogs, found the body. A further search discovered Harry’s camper about three miles south of where the body was found, so it appears that Harry was heading toward the Custer Hill Club, about three miles further north of the trail.”

I said, “That doesn’t comport with Harry’s phone call to his girlfriend.”

“Well, I played that message again, and Harry said, quote, ‘I’m on-duty, near the right-wing loony lodge.’” Walsh said, “You can’t take that to mean he was within sight of or
very
near the Custer Hill property.”

This man was obviously not a detective. “Tom,” I said, “it doesn’t make sense that he’d park his camper six miles away, then call his girlfriend at seven forty-eight A.M., then begin hoofing it through the woods. It would take him almost two hours just to get to the fence, and I assume he was supposed to be at or near Custer Hill at first light. But if we believe this scenario, then he wouldn’t have arrived until almost ten A.M. You following me on this, Tom?”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, then said, “Yes, but—”

“Good. And while you’re at it, get a triangulation on Harry’s cell-phone call to his girlfriend. That will tell you where he was when he called.”

“Thank you, I know that. The phone company is working on it. But other than the cell tower at the Custer Hill Club, there may not be any other towers close enough to get a triangulation.”

“How did you know about that cell tower on the Custer Hill property?”

There were a few seconds of silence, then he said, “I just got that from the phone company. We should know more in an hour or so, but I have to tell you, even if he was near the Custer Hill property when he called his girlfriend, it doesn’t mean he entered the property. He may have gotten spooked by something and was headed
back
toward his camper when he was shot. You know, there’s always two or more ways to look at evidence.”

“Really? I’ll have to remember that. And by the way, sometimes a little common sense goes a long way.”

“Federal prosecutors don’t care about common sense. They want the evidence to speak for itself. This evidence does not.”

“Well, then, we need more evidence. Tell me about the gunshot wound.”

“The gunshot wound entered his upper torso from the rear, and I’m told it probably severed his spinal column, and exited through his heart. No bullet recovered yet. Death was probably instantaneous . . . I spoke to Major Schaeffer, and he assures me there was no indication that Harry lingered . . . he apparently died where he fell.” He added, “There was cash in his wallet, and he had his watch, gun, credentials, video camera, digital camera, and so forth, so according to the state police, it appears to have been a hunting accident.”

I can still drop a deer at two hundred yards.
I replied, “That’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

Walsh didn’t comment.

I said, “Obviously we need to look at what’s on his cameras.”

“Already done. There’s nothing on the videotape or the digital disk.”

I said, “Get the tape and disks to our lab and see if anything was erased.”

“That’s being done.”

Kate asked him, “How soon can we get an autopsy report?”

“The body is being transported to the county morgue in Potsdam for a positive identification using photo and fingerprints on file from FBI Headquarters. I have instructed that the autopsy not be done there—this is too important to leave to a local medical examiner. I’m having the body flown here to Bellevue tonight or tomorrow.”

“Good move. Fax me a copy of the autopsy and toxicology report.”

“Toxicology could take four to six days.”

“Two or three, on an expedited basis. Also, get word to Bellevue to look for signs of foul play. Drugging, bruises, signs of rope or handcuff marks on the skin, and trauma other than the gunshot wound. Also, the time of death is
very
important.”

“You may find this difficult to believe, but the New York City medical examiner, the state police, and the FBI do this for a living.”

I ignored that and continued, “Also, have a state police investigator at the morgue ASAP to witness the removal of the clothing and personal effects. He or she needs to look for signs that the clothing or personal effects were tampered with in any way.”

“There’s someone from the State Bureau of Investigation on their way to the morgue. Plus we have two agents coming from Albany. We’re going to get involved with this investigation because it was a Federal agent on assignment who was killed.”

“Good. And also make sure the state police and the FBI do a complete crime-scene investigation and look for witnesses. You need to assume a homicide was committed.”

“I understand, but it could also be what it appears to be—an accident. This happens all the time up there. Meanwhile, if you were where you were supposed to be, you’d be where you need to be to give your expert advice on how to conduct this autopsy and investigation.”

“Tom, fuck you.”

“I know you’re upset, so I’ll ignore that—once.”

“Fuck you.”

He ignored it a second time and asked, “Where are you now?”

Kate replied, “We’ve just left the Custer Hill Club.”

Walsh said, “Well, not only did you waste your time there but you also tipped off Bain Madox that he is under surveillance.”

Kate came to my defense. “John handled it very well. If Madox didn’t know he was under surveillance, he still doesn’t know. If he already knew, then it’s a moot point.”

Walsh said, “The real point is, you weren’t supposed to be there under any circumstances. What good did you do by going there? John?”

I replied, “I was on a mission of mercy, Tom. I got what I wanted—permission to conduct a search. Okay, we don’t need a search anymore, though I’m ready to do it anyway just to mess with Bain Madox.”

“That’s not going to happen. Now that you’ve paid him a visit, we are obligated by law to inform him that the person in question has been found off his property.”

“Don’t be too quick with that information.”

“John, I’m not messing around with this timeline. This guy is not your average Joe Citizen. He’ll be brought up-to-date by a phone call by a state or local law enforcement officer within the hour.”

“Let me discuss that with Major Schaeffer first.”

“Why?”

“I just spent forty minutes with Madox, and I got some strange vibes from him—I think that sonofabitch had Harry at his place, grilled him, then murdered him.”

“That’s . . . that’s quite a statement. Think about what you’re saying.”

“
You
think about it.”

Walsh said, “Kate?”

She took a deep breath and said, “It’s possible. I mean, it
is
possible.”

“What would be Madox’s motive?” Walsh inquired.

I replied, “I don’t know, but I will find out.”

He stayed silent for a few seconds, then said, “All right. We’ll certainly proceed as though it were a homicide. Meanwhile, I need to call Harry’s girlfriend, Lori, and Washington is on the other line, so—”

“
Send
someone—a cop from the Task Force—to see Lori Bahnik in person and have a police chaplain along. Also, Harry has kids and an ex-wife. You need to send someone whom the family knows to do the notifications, like his old squad commander or his former partner. Speak to Vince Paresi. He’ll know how to take care of it.”