The other three notes were more clearly about suicide: about depression, about growing trouble, about the unfairness of the world, about the sense of being hunted, about trying to find a solution that would work. One said, to Jane, “If I don't get back to you, I really loved you.”
Wyzinsky and Widdler talked for more than an hour, then Wyzinsky emerged from the den and said, “Mrs. Widdler has some information that she wants to volunteer. She says that she has to do it now, or it might not be useful. If any of this ever comes to a trial, I want it noted that she cooperated on this. That she was helping the investigation. I would like to make the point that she is not opening herself to a general interrogation, but is making a limited statement.”
“That's fine with me. We'll record it, if that's okay,” Lucas said.
“That's okay, though we don't really need it,” Wyzinsky said. “This isn't definitive evidentiary testimony, it's simply a point that she wishes to make, a suggestion.”
“Better to record,” Lucas said. “Just take a minute.”
They got a recorder from one of the crime-scene guys, and a fresh cassette, and set up in the den. Lucas turned it on, checked that it worked, started over, said his name, the date, time, and place of the recording, the names of the witnesses, and turned the show over to Widdler.
Jane Widdler said, “I understand that I'm suspected of being an accomplice to my husband in illegal activities. I deny all of that. However, to help the investigation, I believe that the police must watch Amity Anderson, who has had a romantic attachment to my husband since we were in college, and which I thought was finished. However, I was told by Agent Davenport today that Amity Anderson figures in this investigation.
I know Amity and I believe now that she is involved, and now that Leslie is… gone… she will try to run away. That is her response to crisis, and always has been.
She wouldn't even fight with me over Leslie's affections. Once she is gone, she will be very hard to find, because she is quite familiar with Europe, both eastern and western. If she has money, from these supposed illegal activities, it could take years to find her. That's all I have to say.”
Lucas said, “You think she was involved?”
Wyzinsky made a face, tilted his head, thought it over, then nodded at Widdler.
“I don't know,” Widdler said. “I can't believe my husband was involved in anything illegal. Why should he be? Everything is going wonderfully in the business. We are the top antique and objets d”Art destination in the Twin Cities. But I can't explain how he was found this morning, where he was found, and I can't explain the rifle.
Agent Davenport said that he must have had an accomplice, and accused me of being the accomplice.
I am not and never have been an accomplice. I'm a storekeeper. But Amity Anderson… I don't know if she did anything wrong, but I think she must be watched, or she will run away.”
“That's pretty much it,” Wyzinsky said.
Lucas peered at Jane Widdler for a moment, then reached out and turned off the recorder.
“All right. Do not leave the Twin Cities, Mrs. Widdler.”
“Are you going to watch Amity?”
“We're working on all aspects of the case. I don't want to compromise the case by talking about it with a suspect,” Lucas said.
“He'll watch her,” Wyzinsky grunted. “Not much gets past Agent Davenport.”
Widdler left with Wyzinsky, and the crime-scene people continued to pull the house apart. Lucas got bored, went over to the Widdler shop, talked to the crime-scene guy in charge, who said, “More shit than you can believe, but none of it says 'Bucher' on the bottom. Haven't found any relevant names in the files…” “Keep looking,” Lucas said.
The ME, done with the autopsy late in the day, said that it could be suicide, or it could be murder. “Given the circumstances, we just can't tell,” he said. “The gun was pointed slightly upward and straight into the temple, two inches above the cheekbone, and judging from the burns and powder content inside the wound, the end of the barrel was probably touching the skin. There was almost no dispersion of powder outside the wound, very little tattooing on the skin, so the barrel was close. I could see a murder being done that way… but it'd be rare, especially since the victim doesn't appear to have been restrained in any way.”
As the sun was going down, Lucas stood in his office, calling the members of his crew; and he called Rose Marie, and borrowed an investigator named Jerrold from the Highway Patrol.
“We're taking Widdler's word for it,” he told them all. “We're gonna stake out Anderson.”
They got together in Lucas's family room: Del, Jenkins, Flowers, Jerrold, Smith, and Lucas, Letty sitting in, the four state agents gently bullshitting her, Letty giving it back. Shrake was already on Anderson, picking her up in St. Paul, tagging her back home.
Smith was uneasy with state cops he didn't know well, although he and Del went way back. Lucas passed around bottles of Leinie's, except for Letty, who wanted a Leinie's but took a Coke. Smith and Lucas, who'd be talking to Amity Anderson, also took Cokes.
“I think it would be perfectly all right for me to drink one beer in the house,” Letty said.
“If I gave it to you, I'd have to arrest myself,” Lucas said.
“And probably beat the shit out of himself, too,” Del said, winking at Letty.
Lucas briefed them on Amity Anderson. Jenkins, who'd worked the casual surveillance, suggested good spots to sit, “as long as we don't get rousted by St. Paul.”
“I talked to the watch commander, he'll pass it along to patrol, so you're okay on that,” Smith said.
With six people, they could track her in four-hour shifts, four on and eight off.
That would wear them down after a while, but Lucas planned to put pressure on Amity, to see if he could make her run, see what she took with her.
Lucas and Flowers would take the first shift, from eight to midnight. Shrake and Jenkins would take midnight to four, Del and Jerrold from four to eight, and then Lucas and Flowers would be back.
Tonight, after the meeting, Flowers would be set up, on the street and watching, and then Lucas and Smith would call on Anderson and rattle her cage.
Lucas and Smith drove to Anderson's house separately, and Lucas left his truck at the end of an alley that looked at the back of the house. Then he got into Smith's Ford, and they drove around the corner and pulled into Anderson's driveway. Smith said, “I oughta take a shift.”
“No need to,” Lucas said. “The rest of us have all worked together… no problem.”
“Yeah, but you know,” Smith said. He didn't want to, but it was only polite to offer.
“I know-but no problem.”
They went up the walk, saw the curtains move and a shape behind them, and then Lucas knocked on the door and a second later, Anderson opened it, looking at Lucas over a chain. She was holding a stick of wet celery smeared with orange cheese. “Lucas Davenport, I spoke to you once before,” Lucas said. “This is Detective John Smith from the St. Paul police. We need to speak to you.”
“What about?” Didn't move the chain.
Lucas got formal, putting some asshole in his voice: “A friend of yours, Leslie Widdler, was found dead in a car a few blocks from here this morning. Shot to death. We have questioned his wife, Jane, and she has hired an attorney. But our investigation, along with statements made by Jane Widdler, suggests that you could help us in the investigation. Please open the door.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, but we could get one in a couple of minutes,” Lucas said, talking tougher, his voice dropping into a growl. “You can either talk to us here, or we'll get a warrant, come in and get you and take you downtown. It's your call.”
“Do I get an attorney?” Anderson asked.