If it’s all right with his boss, he can goddamn well serenade the press if he wants. It’s none of our business. “But, for your information, that is not what happened,” Hamilton went on. He bent down and pulled a newspaper out of his briefcase on the floor. He held it up. It was a copy of the Caledonian Record. The headline ran, “Brattleboro Cop Joins Investigation.” My head began to ache.
%197 “Lieutenant Gunther sat in on a meeting being run by Gorman nd Greta Lynn last night. That action was entirely appropriate.
Unforunately, he was recognized by one reporter as a Brattleboro policeman nd the press tried to make hay out of his being here. If you read the rticle, you’ll find he didn’t give them a thing.
“Furthermore, I’d like to state for the record that while I had my oubts initially about having the SA’s man closely linked to this investiation, those doubts are long gone. Lieutenant Gunther has been an sset to us, adding to the case and proving himself a constructive and ntegral part of the process.” He dropped the paper and leaned forward again, his fingertips on he tabletop. “Watch out for this kind of thing, people.
The press see as the bad guys, and they’ll generally do anything to get us to open p, including making us fight among ourselves. We can’t afford that. 0 ignore ‘em and just do your jobs.” He straightened and resumed his usual passive mien. “All right, enough of that. Let’s look at all this as a linked chain of events-any nd all of you dive in if you have something to add. Early Tuesday orning, we have a fire in which five people die, one of whom had a ght with Bruce Wingate on Monday night. Four of those people are ound dead of smoke inhalation behind a door locked on the outside, nd the fifth-Ed Sylvester, aka Fox-is found lying on his back on the verturned wood stove downstairs. He was dead before he landed there nd we suspect, but cannot prove, foul play. “On Wednesday night, Bruce Wingate apparently received a letter structing him to meet with someone at Dulac’s ravine.
We’ve been able to compare the handwriting on the envelope to a sample of Julie ingate’s that Lieutenant Gunther procured, and it appears to be a atch, which only establishes that she addressed the envelope. At the avine, Bruce Wingate was murdered, with all the evidence pointing at ennie Wilson, with whom Wingate had had an altercation on Monday ight following an argument concerning Wingate’s daughter. We also ow know-thanks to Lieutenant Gunther that Rennie once had a exual relationship with that same daughter.
“Thursday night, last night, it looks like Rennie Wilson arranged meeting with two people off the end of Lemon Road, one of whom ad probably also been at the fatal get together with Wingate. That eeting took place, but somebody else followed Wilson, watched the eeting, waited for the other two to leave, and then murdered Wilson.” Hamilton stepped away from the table and began to pace back and rth in front of the blackboard. “One scenario has it that Wingate illed Sylvester-or Fox lit the fire and killed the others indirectly.
%198 Two nights later, someone, perhaps his daughter, contacted him and killed him at the ravine, framing Rennie Wilson to avert attention from herself or the Order. There are several problems with that, however.
A) It is unclear whether Wingate was in possession of the gun we think was fired at the top of the stairs. B) The assumption that Julie Wingate might have killed her father is complicated by the presence of several other people at the meeting at which her father died. C) The growing evidence seems to be reinforcing, rather than weakening the premise that Rennie Wilson did indeed kill Bruce Wingate.” He stopped pacing. “So, we switch around the cast of characters, see if we can get a better fit. Our own people reinterviewed Nadine Wilson today to ask her of her husband’s whereabouts on the night of the fire. She knows he was there later; in fact, he responded from home to fight the fire, but she’s vague about his actions or location earlier.
Vague enough, in fact, to suggest that he could have been in the Order house and shot Sylvester, perhaps with Julie Wingate as his accomplice.
This possibility is given credibility if we assume that Julie and Rennie were still lovers. If so, they both killed Sylvester-Fox-because Fox kept Julie on a short leash, perhaps against her will. Later, they killed her father out of revenge, as well as to get him off Julie’s back.” He leaned forward on the table and smiled. “None of that, of course, helps us to understand why or by whom-Rennie was killed. It seems, according to Lieutenant Bishop, that, if Julie was involved, she and some man went to meet with Rennie, had a chat, and then left peacefully. We’re saying Julie, obviously, because both sets of moccasin prints were apparently made by the same person; in point of fact, we have no proof Julie was anywhere near any of these scenes of violence.” “So maybe it was a small man, or a fat child, or maybe Ellie and/or Greta,” Spinney muttered, audibly enough so the whole room heard.
I gave Hamilton high marks. He actually chuckled. “Or an envoy of Sarris’s, for that matter. Lieutenant Gunther found out Wilson had been blackmailing him for a steady supply of Order women.” “Doesn’t that place Sarris pretty high on the list?” Apple asked.
“He had good reason to want both Wingate and Wilson dead.” “Why would he frame Wilson just to kill him later?” Apple shrugged.
“Just because it sounds off-base doesn’t mean it is. Is there at least enough on the blackmail angle to get some sort of warrant and force Sarris to talk?” Hamilton looked at Potter and raised his eyebrows.
Potter shrugged.
“It’s pretty thin. Chaney doesn’t even know it was blackmail just that Rennie ‘had something on Sarris,’ to quote Joe’s report. And we can’t go after Julie now any more than we could %199 before. As the lieutenant said, we still can’t place her at any of the crimes.”
“Lieutenant Hamilton,” I asked, “did you get a report back on the saliva on that envelope we found in the Wingates’ room? Maybe that’Il help us.” Hamilton nodded and started pawing through the pile of papers before him. He finally located a sheet and held it up. “Here it is.”
“Does it say what the blood type is?” He scanned the report. “B, but we don’t know Julie’s.” “We could get it, though.” Potter pulled at his chin a couple of times. “It seems to me a whole lot of people are refusing to talk in this case. If we held an inquest, we might get them to talk.” “Yeah,” Apple said. “We could get the whole goddamn bunch of ‘em in front of a judge and sweat ‘em individually.” Apple was smiling at the thought. Of all of us, he’d had the most frustrating time, knocking fruitlessly on doors, getting nowhere with people who might as well have lost their tongues. He looked like Potter had just made him a gift. “It is true, Lieutenant,” Smith chimed in, “that we might make better time using an inquest.” An inquest, as legally described in Vermont, is almost unique to that state. It is a secret criminal proceeding in which almost anybody and his uncle can be subpoenaed to appear before a judge to answer questions from the State’s Attorney. The person so summoned cannot bring his or her lawyer into the courtroom, although they can leave the room and consult with their lawyer outside if and when they like, but if they do not answer or cooperate with the process, the judge can order them jailed for contempt. In the short run, inquests give frustrated cops a moment of joy-as Apple had just demonstrated. In the long run, however, they can become legal nightmares, later triggering cumbersome discovery motions by the defense-if the case ever goes to trialand even raising questions of constitutionality. I spoke up from the back of the room, aware, once again, that I was differing with Smith. “I disagree. If we set up an inquest now, I think we’ll end up taking it on the chin.” “Why?” “First, it’ll take a week or so to set up, which is a long time with the vultures circling around outside.” I jerked my thumb at the window.