That’s a little strong. I may have gotten my timing confused; there’s been a lot going on.” “You checked into the White Horse on Tuesday afternoon, two days earlier, after receiving a phone call before dawn the same day at the house of Heather SpineIIi, in Hanover.” Gorman smiled. “I told you I’d been in Hanover.” “Do you deny checking into the White Horse on Tuesday afternoon?” I liked Spinney’s style. Some cops get a routine over the years, a favorite approach that works in most situations. But Spinney switched aroundtough with some people, endearing with others, solicitous if necessary. With Gorman, he was like a chess player, relentlessly knocking down his opponent’s defenses, pushing him into a corner.
“Sergeant, if you say you’ve got records proving I was at the motel on a certain day, they must be accurate. I travel a great deal.” Do you remember the phone call? You also got one about fifteen minutes after you checked in. Bruce Wingate told you about the lie detector test, the one he wouldn’t let Ellie take. That ring a bell?” %218 Ice move. We had no idea what they’d talked about, but we did know that a call went out to Gorman following every jam Wingate had found himself in. I noticed that Greta had become silent.
“I remember some phone calls, but I don’t recall exactly what was said.”
“Where were you Wednesday night? You told us earlier you were in Hanover.” There was a ghost of a pause, and then Gorman’s face relaxed into an indulgent smile. “I was in Hanover, Sergeant. It’s only an hour away.
I had interrupted business in Hanover, so I was doing a little shuttling.” Greta stepped forward, grasping at this reasonable explanation.
She addressed me instead of Spinney. “If you guys had any balls, you’d go after the Order, instead of coming after innocent people like us.
You just don’t like the idea we may be right, that the answer to all this has been staring you in the face all along. Why do you think so many people are listening to us? Why do you think the news people are here?” “We’re not finished, Greta,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes and walked over to lean against one of the work tables.
Spinney continued. “We searched your room early this morning, Gorman, and we had the dirt on your shoes analyzed. It matches the dirt where Wingate was killed. In fact, there’s some blood mixed in with it.”
Gorman looked shocked. “You searched my room?” “With a warrant.” Gorman was fighting for composure. Greta stood rooted in place, her face pale.
I made a move toward her, but she stiffened and put her hands up, her eyes glued to Gorman. She reminded me of a cornered animal, boxed in by some fierce and merciless stalker.
Gorman was trying to recover. “You found dirt on a pair of hiking shoes. Are you telling me that Bruce was lying in some sort of specialized mud, only found in that ditch and nowhere else? Come on, Detective. You’re fishing.” “Bruce Wingate wore contacts-you know that?” Gorman looked puzzled. “I may have. I don’t remember.” “When we found him, he was missing one of his lenses.” Gorman’s voice was slow and cautious. “So?” “We found the missing lens stuck to the bottom of your shoe, held there by the mud.” There was a sudden sound and Greta jumped on Gorman, landing a punch on him that knocked him clean off his feet.
%219 “You son of a bitch. You used me.” She was about to kick him when Spinney pulled her off balance. She shook herself free, ran for the door, nlok~d it and vanished.
“Greta.” The door slammed and I could hear her running down the hallway.
I started to follow, but I could see it was useless-the crowd had absorbed her like the sea. I hesitated and then closed the door. I’d talk to her later.
Gorman was sitting in the middle of the floor, rubbing his head. She’d caught him near the temple and had probably done more damage to her hand than to him.
Spinney chose to ignore the entire incident and continued in the same quiet, chilly tone. “In a lot of murder cases, Mr. Gorman, we don’t actually find a guy with a gun in his hand, standing over the body. We have to put the case together, sometimes with circumstantial evidence, sometimes with physical evidence. With you, we’ve got both. Judges, prosecutors, and especially juries really like that; it’s something they can get their teeth into.” Gorman looked totally bewildered. Not only had he been assaulted by his erstwhile ally, with no visible concern from either Spinney or me, but the former was still addressing him as if he was a confessed axemurderer. -I didn’t kill Bruce,” he said, struggling to his feet again.
“You were there.” “But I didn’t kill him.” “Are you denying you were there?” “You know I was there. You just said it, but I didn’t kill him.” “I’m glad to hear it.” “Don’t you believe me?” Gorman’s tone began to border on the hysterical.
Spinney shook his head in wonder. “I saw who did it.” Spinney and I looked at each other. I felt as if the small stone had finally made it from the top of the dune to the palm of my hand. It was a sense of victory that quickly proved premature.
“Who was it?” “I don’t know, it was dark. He stood back, letting Julie Wingate do the talking, until… You know, until he killed him.” So Julie was there, I thought, relieved at last to have that piece locked into place.
“You couldn’t see him at all?” Spinney’s voice was slightly incredulous.
“I just knew somebody was there. Bruce was holding a flashlight, %220
and I could sometimes see the guy’s legs his pants legs were too short.
He was standing maybe ten feet behind her, maybe a little more. I knew Bruce could see him; he referred to him, not by name, but just that he was there because she didn’t trust her own father. He was saying a lot of nonsense. Anyway, it happened all of a sudden. I don’t know who did what first whether the guy rushed in or Bruce did something he had a gun on him~ut all of a sudden they were at it, or the guy was at it. Bruce never had a chance. The guy kicked him in the nuts and then started stabbing him with this huge knife.” Gorman suddenly sat on a stool near one of the work tables. He was staring at the floor, his hands intertwined in his lap. “It was horrible. Julie screamed and the guy hit her without breaking stride.
He was like a butcher, like the Devil himself. Bruce just dissolved into the ground. I’m not sure he even knew what hit him.” “And you never saw the guy’s face?” “All I could see were outlines-he was tall and thin. Bruce had dropped his flashlight. That’s partly what made it worse; it was all so vague, almost like it wasn’t happening at all, like a dream. And then it stopped. The guy picked up the flashlight I got real scared then but he didn’t look around. He stuck something under the body, as if to pin it down, like it might blow away or whatever, and then he did something really odd. He pointed the flashlight at his feet and looked at them carefully, twisting them in the light, and then he rubbed one of them against Bruce’s neck, smearing it with blood. It was disgusting, like Bruce was a dead animal or something. Then he took the gun from Bruce’s pocket and left with Julie.” The mention of the lighter and the boot being smeared snapped another piece into place in my mind.
It also eased that fierce and tiny pain I’d been carrying since the morning Bruce’s body was discovered: Whatever else he might have done, whatever changes his character might have undergone, Rennie had not ended his life as a killer. That meant a great deal to me.
Spinney hadn’t paused in his questions. “What was Julie Wingate doing through all this?” “Crying and babbling-it didn’t make any sense to me.