Maggie bit her tongue. She wasn’t about to tell Serena that she was wrong. That she didn’t know her husband as well as she thought. But she was wrong. Maggie could see it in Stride’s eyes. He was at a crossroads, thinking through choices he probably hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even his wife.
“I almost walked away myself,” Maggie said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You remember that Florida cop who was here this winter? Cab Bolton?”
“The one you slept with?” Serena asked.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t narrow it down.”
“True.”
“He asked me to go to Florida with him. Leave Duluth. Be an investigator down there. I only thought about it for all of five seconds, but ever since, I’ve wondered if I should have done it. Made a change. Started over.”
“You still could.”
“I suppose you’d like that idea,” Maggie said. “Me going away for good.”
“Actually, no, I wouldn’t.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. Despite everything, I like having you around. Even when you annoy the hell out of me.”
“Seriously?”
Serena reached out to tap Maggie’s glass with her own. “Seriously.”
“Well, it’s a moot point. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“Good.”
“We’re perilously close to having a moment here,” Maggie said.
“I guess so.”
“Want to make out?” she joked.
“Pass,” Serena replied.
Maggie chuckled. Then her face grew serious again. “Things are moving forward on the investigation. There’s something you and Stride need to know. Dan and I found out about Andrea.”
“We figured you would.”
“She made the accusation against Devin Card, right? Stride was trying to keep her name out of the press when he talked to Ned Baer?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, I should have seen that one coming. That should have been my first thought. You figured it out, didn’t you? When we talked, you already knew she was involved.”
“I guessed.”
“Well, the trouble is, Dan now thinks Stride has a motive on top of everything else. That means we better start feeding him some other suspects fast.”
“I think it’s her,” Serena said. “Andrea. She did it.”
“She was a messed up bitch, that’s for sure, but do you really think Mousy McBlonde would have the balls to shoot a guy?”
“Jonny and I know some things about her past that you don’t. That’s all I’ll say.”
Maggie arched an eyebrow but didn’t pursue it. “Did Andrea know Ned was at the Deeps?” she asked.
“Yes. Stride told her.”
“What about a gun?”
“Denise says she had one.”
“Well, it makes her a suspect, but we have no proof that she went to the Deeps that night. Whereas Stride has already admitted it.”
“I know. Plus, Jonny is convinced she didn’t do it.”
“Is that his famous gut talking?” Maggie asked.
“Pretty much.”
“If not her, then who? Devin Card? Or Peter Stanhope? They had the most to lose if the story came out.”
“Peter swears they weren’t involved, for whatever that’s worth,” Serena replied. “He says they didn’t know that Ned was getting ready to name the woman in his article.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure. Ned found Andrea, and I can’t believe he wouldn’t have gone to Devin for a comment, even if he didn’t tell him who the woman was. But Peter must figure there’s no way we can prove it one way or another. Maybe they scooped up all of Ned’s notes after they had him killed.”
Maggie shook her head. “Except there’s zero evidence of that.”
“I know. On the other hand, we do have evidence that Andrea was telling the truth about the rape. We found a witness who saw blood and semen in the sheets in an upstairs bedroom after one of the summer parties. It was in her parents’ house in West Duluth.”
“Did she see Devin and Andrea together?”
“No. So there’s no proof that Devin was the one who did it. It’s he said, she said. Then again, that probably would have been enough for the voters. If this woman had come forward seven years ago to verify the rape accusation, it would have been devastating for Devin’s campaign. But Andrea says she never told anyone about it. Not Ned or anyone else.”
Maggie frowned. “That means we’re still left with Andrea, Devin, and Peter as the only people with motives to kill Ned. Other than Stride.”
“So far.”
“Having other credible suspects means reasonable doubt. That’s a good thing.”
“Yes, but unless we clear him, Jonny will always have a cloud over his head,” Serena said. “He can’t come back to the force while he’s a suspect in a homicide.”
“I know. That’s what worries me. I don’t see how we solve this.”
“We have to be missing something,” Serena went on, pursing her lips in frustration. “How did Ned find Andrea? How did he figure out it was her?”
“He’s a reporter. That’s what reporters do.”
“Yes, but there were a lot of reporters in town trying to find the woman behind that letter. Ned’s the only one who succeeded.”
“Well, the motel owner where Ned was staying gave him a Denfeld yearbook,” Maggie said. “Dan and I saw it. Ned put circles around the faces of dozens of girls. All the same general type. Blond, cute, the usual Scandinavian look. He researched each one name by name, crossing them out until he got to Andrea.”
“And Andrea’s reaction told him she was the one?” Serena said.
“Probably.”
Serena shook her head. “Except how did he even know what she looked like? Someone must have seen Andrea with Devin at that party. Ned told Stride at the Deeps that he had a witness. Whoever it was must have given Ned a description, and that’s why Ned started tracking down blond girls in the yearbook. That’s what led him to Andrea.”
“But he didn’t tell Stride who the witness was?”
“No. He said he had an anonymous source. That’s all.”
Maggie pictured the circles and X’s scribbled in Adam Halka’s yearbook. She turned to face Serena in the firelight. “If you’re a journalist following a tip from a witness, and you think you’ve found the right woman, what do you do next?”
Serena frowned as she put herself in Ned’s shoes. “You go back to the witness and ask if this is the girl that he or she saw with Devin.”
“Exactly.”
“Somebody’s hiding something, Maggie. Somebody talked to Ned Baer about that party, and they haven’t come forward.”
Maggie tapped her empty beer glass against her lips and thought about it. The lake breeze was cool on her neck. The fire jumped amid the red stones. “I’d really like to know who. And why they’re so intent on staying anonymous.”
Peter Stanhope made sure his Mercedes wasn’t being followed as he left his Congdon Park mansion. These days, he never knew when he was safe from the prying eyes of the media. Online reporters and bloggers no longer played by the old rules. As he drove, he made a series of random turns, watching the headlights behind him. He didn’t head out of the city until he was convinced he was alone.
He followed I-35 south to the Grand Avenue exit. Still eyeing his mirror, he drove another mile and then turned left across the railroad tracks into a quiet neighborhood near the water. Not far away, the road ended at the bay in the Indian Point campground. He took a dirt trail into the dense birch trees and parked where his car wouldn’t be seen. From his glove compartment, he removed a compact Taurus pistol and secured it inside his jacket pocket.
This was a meeting where he took no chances.
Peter got out of the sedan and locked it. He made sure that no one else was nearby. The night was dark inside the trees, but pale moonlight shined on the water not even a hundred yards away. He could see silhouettes of campers dotting the woods, and he smelled the lingering smoke of fires. It was after midnight now, and he didn’t think anyone would disturb them. He tramped across the soft ground, conscious that he was leaving footprints.
He found the RV where the man said it would be, in one of the campsites closest to the bay. A beige Buick was parked beside it. Peter climbed the steps of the RV and rapped his knuckles on the door.
Seconds later, the door opened. The smoke of a cigar drifted into a cloud outside.
“Pete,” Adam Halka said. “Glad you could make it, man. Come on in.”
The interior of the camper was humid and dank. None of the windows were open. Peter stood in the narrow corridor as Halka closed the door.
“Have a seat. You want a drink?”
“I won’t be staying long,” Peter replied.
The motel owner flopped down on a vinyl sofa and popped a can of Budweiser. He put his feet up. “Long time, huh, Pete?”
“What do you want, Adam? Why am I here?”
“I thought we should talk. It’s been years since you and I talked.”
“We never talked. We weren’t friends. You said on the phone that this was important.”
Halka shrugged. “Yeah, I get it, you don’t like to slum it with the poor people. You’re not part of the RV crowd. I usually stay at the motel, but during the summer, it’s nice to get away and hang out by the water. Of course, your idea of a getaway is probably a private island somewhere, right? Must be nice.”
Peter said nothing. He waited, because he knew Halka had to be leading up to something.
“Do you ever miss the old days?” the man asked. “High school? Summer parties? Those were wild times, huh? Lots of booze. Drugs. Sex.”
“I don’t recall partying with you, Adam. We played some baseball together in school. That’s it.”
“Oh, you may not have seen me at the parties, but I was there. I saw you. Devin, too.”
“What’s your point?” Peter asked.
Halka swigged his beer. “The point is, the police came to my motel today. They were asking about Ned Baer. You know, he stayed at my place that summer when he was in town.”
“So what?”
“Ned heard I was part of the scene back then, so he asked me what I remembered from the party days. He wanted to know if I saw Devin with any girls. Whether I remembered any names.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him no. Said that was way too long ago and my brain was fried. But the fact is, I saw Devin with lots of girls. I can’t remember a party where he wasn’t with a girl. More than one, usually. But that wasn’t any of Neddy’s business, was it? We hometown boys have to stick up for one another.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I figured you should know that I’m able to keep my mouth shut. And also that I have a pretty good memory for details.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning the police are real interested in Ned Baer again, now that they know somebody killed him. They were asking me if Ned got any visitors while he was staying at my place. I said I didn’t remember anybody. I didn’t mention that I saw an old school buddy of mine hanging out near the motel right before Ned disappeared. I saw you, Pete. You were parked on the street in your Mercedes. Not exactly your neighborhood.”
“Who’s going to believe you, Adam?” Peter said after a pause. “You didn’t tell anyone, and now you come up with this story? Without any proof?”
Halka laughed. “Who says I don’t have proof?”
Peter froze where he was. “Excuse me?”
The motel owner dug a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. When he unfolded it, Peter saw a printout of a grainy nighttime photograph taken on a Duluth street near the motel.
It was himself. Sitting in his car.
“See, some things are weird enough that I like to document them,” Halka went on, “just in case they ever come in handy someday. The Great Peter Stanhope hanging out near my fleabag motel? I definitely wanted a record of that. Good thing I had my phone with me. Of course, I never really thought it had anything to do with Ned back then. I didn’t know anything had happened to him. But now?”
“What do you want, Adam?”
“You mean, to keep all of this to myself? To not talk to the police or the media about what I saw? Well, seems like we can come up with a fair price. I was thinking ten thousand dollars is a nice round number. Good for you and Devin. Good for me. Everybody wins.”
Peter shook his head. “I have a counteroffer for you, Adam.”
“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”
“Zero. That’s what I have in mind. I pay you zero, and we forget this conversation ever happened, and I don’t ask the police to charge you with extortion.”
Halka slammed his beer can down on the table, and foam spurted from the top. He shouted loud enough to make the walls shake. “You think I won’t send that photo to the cops? Just watch me. I’ll do it! I’ll take you down, Pete! I’ve waited a long time to get back at you, you arrogant prick!”
The motel owner sprang off the sofa, but just as quickly, Peter had his pistol in his hand. Halka stopped cold when he saw the gun. His upper lip snarled with hatred, but he backed away.
“That’s right, sit yourself back down, Adam,” Peter instructed him, keeping the gun aimed across the camper. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk out of here and forget I ever met you. You can do whatever you want with that photograph. Send it along to the police, I don’t care. But if you think I won’t put you in prison for blackmailing me, you’re wrong. Don’t play chicken with a lawyer, Adam. We don’t blink.”
Halka said nothing more. Peter waited to make sure the threat was gone, and then he turned around and left, slamming the door behind him as he did. He pocketed his gun as he descended the metal steps. He put on his best unconcerned smile as he marched across the wet ground back to his Mercedes, but he couldn’t escape the reality of his situation.
Everything was unraveling, just as he’d predicted. The rats were coming out of the walls.
The police were going to find out the truth.