“No,” I said.
“It’s nice. It’s real nice down there. Don’t know what a healthy young feller like you is doing bumming around the country when you could settle down on the best farmland in the whole state. Man wasn’t born to live in cities, way I see it.”
I nodded. His words unlocked in me the knowledge that I was not going to return to New York.
“I reckon you’re a salesman,” he said.
“Right now I’m between jobs,” I said, and earned a bright look of curiosity.
“Shame. But you vote Democrat, we’ll get this country back on its feet and young men like you will have jobs again.” He squinted into the road and the rising sun, and the bouncing truck sent wave after wave of pig over us. “You remember that, now.”
When he turned the truck into the valley road, he asked just where I wanted to go, exactly. “You might think about coming all the way with me, and we could set you up with a good cup of coffee. What say?”
“Thanks, but no. I’d like you to drop me off at Andy’s.”
“You’re the boss,” he said, perfectly equable.
Then we were slowing down before Andy’s gaspumps. The seven o’clock sunlight fell on the dust and gravel. As I pulled down the door handle, he turned his brush-topped head slyly toward me and said, “I know you were fibbing me, young man.”
I just looked at him in surprise, wondering what he could have read in my face.
“About your auto. You don’t have any auto, do you? You’ve been thumbing your way right along.”
I met his smile. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, and stepped down from the cab and the thick odor of pigs into warm light. He rattled away, going deeper into the valley, and I turned to walk across the gravel and climb the steps.
The door was locked. I peered in through the glass and saw no lights. Andy had no CLOSED sign on the door, but I looked at the bottom panel of glass behind the screen and saw a dusty card which said Mon-Fri 7:30-6:30, Sat 7:30-9:00. I pounded on the screen door, rattling it. After forty seconds of steady pounding, I saw Andy waddling toward me through the crowded tables, peering at me to figure out who I was.
When he got close enough to identify me, he stopped. “We’re closed.” I motioned him forward. He shook his head. “Please,” I shouted. “I just want to use your phone.”
He hesitated, and then came slowly up toward the door. He looked worried and confused. “You got a phone down at Duane’s place,” he said, his voice muffled by the glass.
“I have to make a call before I get there,” I pleaded.
“Who you going to call, Miles?”
“The police. Polar Bears Hovre.”
“What’re you gonna say to the Chief?”
“Listen in and you’ll know.”
He came the necessary two steps and put his hand on the lock. His face jerked, and then he slid the bolt and opened the door. “Screen door’s still locked, Miles. I suppose if you’re gonna call the police it’s okay… but how do I know that’s what you’re gonna do?”
“You can stand right behind me. You can dial it for me.”
He revolved the pinwheel catch. “Quiet. Margaret’s back in the kitchen. She won’t like this.” I followed him inside. He turned his face toward me; he looked worried. He was used to making the wrong decisions. “Phone’s on the counter,” he whispered.
As he went toward it his wife called from the back of the store. “Who was it?”
“Drummer,” Andy called back.
“For goodness’ sake, send him off. It’s too early.”
“Just a minute.” He pointed to the telephone; then whispered, “No. I’ll dial it.”
When he had the number he gave me the receiver and crossed his arms over his chest.
The telephone rang twice, and then I heard Lokken’s voice. “Police?”
I asked to speak to Polar Bears. If you want your killer, I was going to say, just do what I tell you. He’ll be on his farm, driving his tractor or banging on some machinery.
“Teagarden?” came the deputy’s high-pitched astonished whine. “Is that you? Where the hell did you get yourself to anyways? You’re supposed to be here, this morning. What the hell?”
“What do you mean, I’m supposed to be there?”
“Well, see — the Chief sent me out on this damnfool errand yesterday afternoon. I didn’t get what I was supposed to get because it wasn’t there in the first place, it never even was there, he just wanted me outa the way I guess. Anyhow by the time I got back it was near to midnight and he was hoppin’ mad. Duane called him up and said you run off somewheres. So the Chief says, hold your horses, I’ll know where he is. I think he went and got Duane to help him bring you in. So where are you now? And where’s the Chief?”
“I’m at Andy’s store,” I said. I glanced over at him. His worried face was turned toward the rear of the shop; he was afraid his wife would appear and find me. “Lokken, listen to me. I know who should be arrested, and I think I know where the Chief would have gone. Pick me up at Andy’s.”
“You bet your ass I’m pickin’ you up,” said Lokken.
“You’ll get your killer,” I said, and handed the receiver back to Andy.
“Should I hang it up?” he asked, perplexed.
“Hang it up.”
He clicked it down and then stared at me, becoming more conscious every moment of my beard-stubble and wrinkled clothes. “Thanks,” I said, and turned away and threaded past the tables and went out, leaving him with his hand on the telephone. I went down the steps and out into the early light to wait for Lokken.
In eight minutes, which must have been a record, the deputy’s squadcar came speeding down the valley road. I waved, and Lokken braked to a halt, raising a great white plume of dust. He jumped out of the car as I walked across the road toward him. “All right, what is this?” he demanded. “This just plain don’t make sense. Where’s Chief Hovre?”
“I think he imagined that I’d go back up to that clearing where you found the Michalski girl. Maybe Duane went with him.”
“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” said Lokken. His hand was on the butt of his gun. “Maybe we’ll go there, maybe we won’t. Why in hell did you call the station?”
“I told you.” His hand curled around the gunbutt. “I know who killed those girls. Let’s get in the car and talk about it on the way.”
Very suspiciously, he stepped away from the side of the car and permitted me to walk around its nose. We got in at the same time. I leaned back against the hot plastic of the seat. “All right,” Lokken said. “You better start talking. If it’s real good I might listen.”
“Duane Updahl did it,” I said. His hand, holding the ignition key, froze on the way to the slot and he swiveled his head to gape at me.
“I wasn’t even in town when Gwen Olson died,” I said.
“That’s why I’m listening to you,” said Lokken. I returned his glance. “We just heard this morning from the Ohio state police. The Chief had them checking into your story about staying in a motel ever since you told him about it. They finally found a guy named Rolfshus says he recognized your picture. He runs a little place off the freeway. Well, this here Rolfshus says you might be someone checked in there that night.”
“You mean Polar Bears was looking for that motel since the night I told him about it?”
“He’s tooken statements too,” said Lokken. “Lots of folks up here don’t like you.” He started the car. “I don’t know what the Chief would say, but it sure as hell looks to me like you’re okay on that Olson killing. So why the hell do you say it’s Duane?”