When I finished, he said, ‘And your relationship with Grimes was what exactly?’
‘I knew him through his granddaughter.’
‘I see. And your relationship to her is what, exactly?’
A white TV van lumbered onto the property, bouncing and jerking as it went through a large and deep hole.
Ever since I’d seen Wade step out of his car I’d been thinking about his relationship with Showalter. Wondering if we couldn’t strike a deal.
‘Detective Wade, I’m going to say something here that could get me in trouble if you didn’t go along with it.’
‘You could always call me “Matt.” And how would this get you in trouble?’
‘Because if you say no to it, it might look as if I’d tried to coerce you into something.’
He raised his head slightly. Rain clouds sped across the three-quarter moon. The smell of impending rain was a relief from the stench of River Cabins.
‘I don’t have any idea of what you’re talking about, but I guess all we can do is find out, right?’ He was watching me again as he spoke. He seemed as curious as I’d hoped he would be.
‘We don’t have a lot of time here, Detective Wade. So I’m going to lay it out.’
‘You’re stalling.’
‘You’re right. Karen Foster told me about you and Showalter. How you’d hoped to be chief instead of him.’
‘I guess that’s not any secret.’
‘I can hand him over to you if you’ll help me.’
‘The recorder?’
‘You know about the recorder?’
‘The chief doesn’t have the most discreet secretary in the city. She says he’s been muttering about a recorder the last few days. He’s had more than a few meetings with his little group and she hears the word “recorder” through his door constantly.’ Then, ‘By the way, he’s on his way here now. He was the one who called me at home. He’s coming from the casino.’
‘Do you have any idea what’s on this recorder, Detective Wade?’
‘No idea at all. But I’m sure as hell curious.’
‘Dave Fletcher made a recording before he died. He talked about the things he and Showalter’s group have done. I hope he admitted that he fired the shots at Congresswoman Bradshaw and I hope he named all of the men in that group.’
‘Well, now I know why you’re involved in this — Congresswoman Bradshaw. And I know why Showalter’s been going crazy. So do you know where the recorder is?’
‘No, I don’t. But I think I finally know where it might be.’
‘So why not get it?’
‘I need your help.’
He was interested. Definitely. He kept glancing at the highway.
‘What would I need to do?’
‘Figure out a way to get me to St Paul’s. He’ll have me followed for sure.’
‘And you’d turn the recorder over to me?’
‘After I’ve listened to it.’
‘You’re sure it’s there?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘I’ve waited a long time to get Showalter.’
‘So has Karen Foster.’
‘I don’t know her very well but she’s smart as hell and a real professional. I hope she makes it.’
‘I’m assuming Showalter had something to do with what happened to her.’
We both saw the new black Lincoln sweep onto the grounds.
He spoke quickly. ‘That’s Showalter. He’ll want somebody to tail you. I’ll tell him I’ll do it.’
Another unmarked car pulled up next to the Lincoln. A heavy man in a red turtleneck and a black leather coat.
‘What the hell’s going on here, Conrad?’
Showalter carried heavy scents of liquor and killer cologne. He was back in the Marines again. In charge. Chewing out a suspicious subordinate.
‘Skully called me and asked me to come out here.’
‘What’s he told you so far, Wade?’
‘That Grimes had a heart attack.’
‘You’re an MD now, are you, Conrad?’
‘There are certain signs. I could be wrong.’
‘No shit you could be wrong.’
I could see him holding court at a bar, meaner the drunker he got and more and more certain of his opinions.
‘Now you and I are going back to that cabin and you’re going to tell me what happened or I’m going to throw your ass in jail.’
Forty-One
By the time Showalter seemed about to wrap up his questions for me — more insults and threats than questions really — reporters had made Cabin Six a real crime scene. Two TV crews were allowed to videotape it from the path. Camera lights gave the time-deformed wood of it the aspect of a horror movie. Something hideous might emerge from it at any moment. Something from the grave, of course.
The smells didn’t miss them. A woman from one crew kept saying she was going to ‘upchuck’ and the man of the other said the whole place smelled like an ‘Afghan whorehouse.’
Showalter twice made me walk through everything I’d done when I arrived here. Skully was with us most of the time. I’d say something and Skully would comment as to its veracity. One time Showalter said to Skully, ‘Did Conrad have time enough to smother him when he was inside?’
‘Hell, yes. He was sure pissed off enough when he got here. Grimes was probably three-quarter dead anyway. Wouldn’ta taken much for Conrad to finish him. And when I took a peek inside I saw him goin’ through the dead guy’s pockets.’
Showalter’s body lurched. Between the booze and his urgency to find the recorder, restraint was difficult to come by. ‘Did he find anything?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Look, you stupid bastard. I want a yes or no answer.’
‘Well, I couldn’t see everything exactly but I’d have to say no.’
Hurt, not anger, was in Skully’s voice. He’d been cooperating with Showalter. He had to wonder why the man had turned on him.
Showalter’s breath came in a blast now. Despite the chill, he was sweating. He must have realized how undone he’d sounded.
‘I’m sorry, Skully. It’s been a long night.’
‘That’s all right.’
But Skully still sounded hurt.
To me, he said, ‘Your friend Edelstein still in town?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘The ME said she could have an autopsy for us in twenty hours if we’re lucky.’
The medical examiner, a middle-aged woman who carried a black medical bag and a pink umbrella, had spent her time in Cabin Six. Even though she must have been accustomed to working with corpses in various stages of decomposition, apparently the combination of the body and the vile condition of the cabin forced her to duck outside every few minutes and take in deep and grateful lungs full of relatively fresh air. When she’d finished, she’d taken Showalter aside to talk to him. She spoke so softly I didn’t catch a single word.
But an autopsy in twenty hours was not going to be easy, and if she felt she needed a toxicology report (which in this case would be prudent, as one of our former presidents liked to say) we were talking weeks.
‘I should throw your ass in jail until we get that autopsy, but I don’t want to waste my time hassling with Edelstein about bail.’
And if you threw me in jail, you wouldn’t have any way to follow me.
‘I’m free to go?’
‘You shouldn’t be, but you are. I’m calling your hotel at seven in the morning and you’d damned well better be there.’
‘I’ll be sleeping.’
He waved me away with his right hand and with his left jerked a cell phone from his jacket pocket.
Skully not only sounded hurt, he looked hurt. Showalter moved away enough with his phone for me to be able to say, ‘Don’t worry, Skully. He treats everybody like shit.’