Crow made a rude noise and pushed it away. “Typical. Long on hysteria, short on details.”
“Well,” Weinstock said, “there’s still a manhunt going on. Can’t expect them to give away too much info. Crooks read papers, too.”
“No self-respecting crook would read the Observer.”
“Good point.”
“I notice, though, that there’s nothing about the Cape May Killer.”
Weinstock shook his head. “I think there’s about fifteen people in the whole town who know about that, most of them cops, and none of them better talk to the press. Gus would have their balls.”
“The hell with Gus—that guy Ferro’d have their balls. He’s a lot scarier than Gus.”
“Yeah, he can be intense. Do him some good to smile once in a while.” He looked at his watch. “Better get my ass in gear. I got to do the autopsy on your sparring partner.”
Crow felt the skin on the back of his neck contract like wet leather left out in the sun. “You’re going to do an autopsy on Ruger?”
“Yep. Want me to save you a souvenir? His heart’s probably small enough and hard enough to make a good watch fob.” Weinstock’s grin turned into a frown. “Crow…you just went about four shades of green. Sorry,” Weinstock said, patting Crow’s knee. “Guess it’s too soon to make those kind of jokes.”
“Just a bit.”
Weinstock cleared his throat and looked at his watch. “Anything I can get you? Something you want brought in?”
“Yeah, how about wheeling Val into see me…or cutting me loose so I can visit her.”
Weinstock sucked his teeth. “If you behave, I’ll have an orderly wheel you down to her room later so you can sit with her. She’s sleeping now, but as the day wears on she’s going to need you there.”
“I know,” Crow said. “Thanks. You know I proposed, right?”
“You told me about twenty times.” Weinstock said, thinking that Val would be very lucky if all the physical and emotional trauma she’d undergone in the last forty-eight hours didn’t cause her to miscarry. He was pretty sure Crow didn’t yet know that Val was pregnant.
Crow asked about Connie and Mark, Val’s brother and sister-in-law. Weinstock looked dubious. “She’s pretty rocky, though physically she’s okay. The shrinks are with her now, and will be seeing her off and on all day. I’d rather keep her, and Mark, a couple more days. We had some difficulties with Mark’s avulsed teeth, but we were able to clean the sockets and reseat both teeth. They’re ligated to the adjoining teeth, and he’ll have to be careful for a couple of months. He’s on antibiotics and will need root canal to restore the blood supply, but we can get that done, either here or he can see his oral surgeon, though he’ll want to check in with an endodontist fairly soon as well. That’s all fairly routine. Our residents reseat teeth after every hockey game at the college and twice on Friday nights after the bars let out. Psychologically, though, he might be as shaky as Connie, and the next few days are going to be very tough for them, which is why I’d rather have them here. He has very real grief to deal with, but he also has Connie to attend to. She was very nearly raped, as you know, and neither of them is coping with that very well. They’re both acting as if she was raped, and Mark’s withdrawn from her a bit. Doesn’t say much to her, doesn’t even ask about her. Connie is even worse, and without Mark’s support….”
“Yeah,” Crow said softly, “Mark’s not Henry.” Which said it all.
“Few people are. I’m not a big believer in hell, as you know, but I think Ruger should burn for killing Henry.” His cell phone rang and he plucked it out of the pocket of his white lab coat, flipped it open, and said, “Weinstock. Yeah, Bob, what is it?” He listened for over a minute without saying anything, but as Crow watched the doctor’s face aged ten years and turned gray. Finally he said, “Okay. Thanks.” He sighed heavily and laid the cell phone in his lap.
“What was that all about?”
Weinstock cocked his head at Crow. “You know Nels Cowan and Jimmy Castle?”
“Sure. Why?”
Weinstock rubbed his eyes. “That was Bob Colbert on the phone. You know him. Teaches at the college, fills in for me as ME sometimes.”
“I don’t like where this is going, Saul. Did something happen to them? Nels and Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” Weinstock said wearily. “Something happened.”
(6)
Once the sun was above the corn and the bodies of Officers Cowan and Castle were zippered into black plastic body bags and taken away by ambulance, it became easier to search the crime scene and surrounding fields for the blood trails that Ferro and LaMastra knew had to be there. It was LaMastra who ultimately found the line of footprints leading deep into the corn, though there was little actual blood along the wandering path.
Earlier, after they had first viewed the scene, Ferro had put the call out through Gus that they needed a lot more men on the ground, and the request—fueled by early news stories of the manhunt and the killings—flashed through jurisdictions on both sides of the Delaware. By the time LaMastra had picked out the front yard of the Guthrie place was a parking lot, and more cars lined the service road and both sides of the verge on A-32 for a hundred yards north and south. Gus took names and badge numbers from every cop, and LaMastra divided up the teams while Ferro and a ranger from the State Forest Commission pored over regional maps. Cell phone reception was spotty so officers with high-powered walkie-talkies were assigned to each group. Gus Bernhardt made some calls and brought in a dozen men he knew to be top hunters or hunting guides, and he deputized them on the spot, mostly to enforce a confidentiality decree. Three teams of hunting dogs were brought in—the same ones that had failed to track Ruger through the rain two nights ago—and at 9:15 the search began in earnest.
Before the teams headed out, Ferro made it very clear that this was a search and apprehend job designed to locate Boyd and/or his stash of money and cocaine, but there was not one officer there who wasn’t reading the situation as a search and destroy. Ferro and LaMastra both knew it. Spotter planes were in the air before the first teams had covered half a mile and they crisscrossed the fields all morning. There was nothing they could do about the forest—the great Pinelands State Forest was too dense for any aerial surveillance, so when they’d swept the Guthrie fields a dozen times they refueled at Doylestown Airport and flew back to start a spiral search that used the Guthrie farmhouse as ground zero.
Ferro stayed at the farmhouse to coordinate, but LaMastra wanted to be out in the fields. He carried a Mossberg Bullpup shotgun with a twenty-inch barrel and an eight-shell clip, and there was nothing in his expression that suggested “cuff-and-arrest.” The same hard lines were cut into the faces of every man with him. It had become a blood hunt, and everyone there wanted a taste.
(7)
They let Crow in to sit with Val later that afternoon, but he had to have his police guard with him—a sullen Sergeant Jim Polk had the afternoon shift. The officer stationed in Val’s room was a fierce-looking female cop from Philly named Coralita Toombes, and she showed great tact by pulling her chair outside to allow Crow some privacy. Polk also left, looking pleased to be out of Crow’s company. Their dislike of each other went back years. For the next few hours Crow sat by Val’s bedside, holding her hand, watching her sleep and praying to God that she was not dreaming. They had been having some particularly nasty dreams lately—both before Ruger’s arrival in town, and after.