“This is going to be a little unusual. Because of the time factor, I haven’t been able to condense all our findings into a single report.
So, I’ve asked several of the people directly involved in the investigation of Rennie Wilson’s death to give verbal reports tonight, with the understanding that tomorrow, you will all be issued written versions after some of us have had some sleep. I’d like to start with Fish and Game Lieutenant John Bishop.” Bishop stood up slowly and began to speak in a gentle, measured tone, as if he were addressing a group of keenly attentive children. He described the process he’d used to discover Rennie’s body, and what the tracks had told him. He had indeed traced the killer’s footprints back to the road. Apparently, the vehicle had arrived after Rennie, but before the other two, and had been parked farther down the road, out of sight, disguised with leaves and branches, just as Rennie’s had been.
Bishop stuck to a recitation of the facts, but I was struck by a pattern-as if the killer, having followed Rennie to Lemon Road, had followed his every move thereafter, from hiding the car to creeping through the woods to awaiting the arrival of Rennie’s mysterious guests at the rock outcropping. It struck me that the killer had bided his time, waiting not just for the proper moment, which must have presented itself again and again in the isolated woods, but more out of curiosity.
One by one, Smith called on his witnesses, including the local M.E. Dr.
Hoard-who confirmed what Bishop had told me, adding that the weapon had probably been a large hunting knife, and who reported that an autopsy was being performed as we spoke. Various members of the Crime Lab, here on their way back to Waterbury, gave preliminary reports on their findings and on the samples they had collected for analysis. Of immediate interest was the fact that while the killer’s footprints did not match any of those found at Bruce Wingate’s murder scene, the smaller of the visiting twosome did conform to the small ones found at the ravine-the ones that had been colored yellow on the sketch of that scene.
It was an impressive display of police procedure, and no doubt of use to those who had not been at the scene, but it still boiled down to very little. Rennie had been murdered by a person unknown. That much, including relevant details, could have been said in five minutes or less.
Hamilton, too, had obviously reached the same conclusion. He checked his watch, thanked Smith for his effort, and launched into his own spiel. “In the interest of time, I’m going to summarize some %195
aspects of this investigation. The primary purpose tonight is to brainstorm on what we’ve got and where we’re headed-the written reports will supply any detailed background information we might skip over here.
Agreed?” There were general murmurs of relieved assent. “Okay. Item One: the fire the beginning of all this. Appleby and his crew have been hard at work, but still haven’t found much to add. The members of the Order are still playing dumb, Sarris refuses to actively cooperate, and the investigation, in and of itself, isn’t going anywhere, to the discredit of nobody, I might add. That will remain a particularly tough nut to crack until or unless we can use some sort of legal pry bar to open it up, but until such warrants or whatever appear, we’ll have to work around the edges. We do have additional information on Freedom to Choose, Inc. Gorman’s company-but nothing that particularly connects to this case.” Apple raised his hand. “Just a couple of quick ones for clarification. Bruce Wingate did buy a Smith & Wesson 9-mm semi-automatic with a nine bullet clip capacity about ten years ago.
This morning, Joe Gunther drove down to Natick and found out in addition that Wingate bought another gun a.38-just two months ago. Also, we interviewed John Stanley, a private investigator from Boston, and he confirmed the Wingates’ story about tracking their daughter to Gannet.
He’d been hired to do that about two months ago.” “Thank you.” Hamilton opened a file and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “Item Two: the Wingate homicide. Some more Crime Lab stuff has come in. The lighter found under the body was indeed Rennie Wilson’s.
It was a Zippo-type and while there were no prints on the outside, the inner casing-exposed only while refilling the lighter-had a perfect of Wilson’s left thumb.
“They can’t match every wound on the body to the kitchen knife found at Wilson’s home, so the possibility exists that another knife was also used. However, it has now been proven scientifically that the metal fragment recovered by Dr. Hillstrom was indeed the broken tip of the Wilson knife. There were no prints on that knife, by the way.
“Item Three: the clothing found at Rennie Wilson’s home. The stains were blood, and that blood is compatible with Bruce Wingate’s. Unless we do a DNA test, we can’t swear it’s the same stuff, but we’re assuming it is for the moment. In addition, there was some dirt found on the cuff of the pants, which also matches the dirt at the scene.” He distributed a sheaf of papers down each side of the table. “Pass these around they’re the details that led them to their various conclusIons.
“The footprints around the scene have still not been linked to any %196
particular people aside from Wilson, but we have discovered that these,”
he swung around to the map of the scene and pointed at the yellow footprints, “are definitely moccasin tracks, completely compatible with what all Order members seem to wear, and with those found at both the Wingate and the Wilson scenes. This does not mean, of course, that any member of the Order was at either place. The easiest thing in the world would be to try framing those people by wearing moccasins. It is too early to draw any hard conclusions right now, of course, but the lab is paying careful attention to see if the ‘yellow’ prints and the small ones we found off Lemon Road are one and the same. “In addition,” he waved a stapled sheaf of papers at us, a more in-depth analysis has been made of the sequential order in which the prints were made at the Wingate scene. All the lab findings will be combined after this meeting into a single volume for reference.” He put down the papers and leaned forward a little for emphasis. “The thing about the moccasins brings up something a little out of context.
Those people out there,” he pointed at the windows, “are dying to pin this whole mess on the Natural Order. Now in the long run, they may get what they want, but I want that to happen only if and when everybody involved in this process is absolutely positive that’s the case. Once the Order-or whoever has been indicted, then the press can have a field day. But until then, I want them kept in the dark. Nobody is to talk with them-is that understood?” “Tell Gunther that.” It had been a muttered aside, but from the voice, I was pretty sure it was Wirt, whom I hadn’t even noticed, buried against the far back wall.
Hamilton stiffened. It was the first time I’d seen him really pissed.
“Just a goddamn minute. This is just what I was talking about. You people can bitch and moan all you want about whatever you please, from your salaries to your hours to the way your wives treat you at night, but I will not tolerate any backstabbing. If you have a legitimate complaint about one of your fellow officers, you can bring it to the proper authorities. If you don’t, if you just happen not to like the guy, you stick it in your ear and you live with it. Joe Gunther is attached to the SA’s office. He is not a member of the State Police.