Gorham had become a town besieged as state troopers, sheriff ’s men and even the town constable marched about in contrasting uniforms, notebooks in hand, radios squawking. Patrol cars, ambulances, snow plows, a coroner’s station wagon all sported blue, red, and yellow flashing lights with a competitive energy wasted on the local population, none of whom was in the way. In contrast to the chaos that had led up to it, this flurry of post-shooting investigations had all the earmarks of textbook efficiency. McNaughton, I and everyone else had been interviewed again and again by the representatives of those offices who now had to pick up our broken pieces. The veiled skeptical glances and toneless questions had done little to bolster what was left of our pride.
The day had concluded with several hours of isometric exercise on a jump seat in the back of the lurching ambulance carrying Kunkle home to Brattleboro. By the time I slumped onto the front seat of Gail’s car, I had been awake and tense for roughly thirty-four hours.
And yet, now that I was back in the lap of normalcy, heading toward bed with nothing but warm and soothing comfort attending, my mind began to stir from its torpor. I ran it all through, from the discovery of “Kimberly’s” twisted nude body to the snow-dusted corpse of her murderer, and all I could see were unanswered possibilities. The only light left, the only potential oasis in this desert, floated in Cioffi’s last words.
“Does the name Teicher ring any bells?”
“John Teicher?”
“Maybe. Who is he?”
“Head of Leatherton, Inc. I met him a few times when he was coaxing a building permit out of the board for that industrial park-not that it was any great feat. We were pushovers. Why?”
I didn’t answer at first. I was basking in the oasis. This piece of chitchat had handed me the source of Cioffi’s wealth, the probable reason for Pam Stark’s death, and, I thought, the father of her fetus. The sensation that washed over me was not unlike pure bliss. For the first time, I was convinced all the puzzle pieces were on the table-and I had just caught a glimpse of the box top.
“Why, Joe? What’s Teicher got to do with this?”
“I don’t know. His name just came up. Drive me by the office.”
She stared at me in amazement. “Joe, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I need to talk to Tony.”
“You can barely talk to anyone. Can’t it wait?”
“No. Please.”
She shook her head and turned the car around.
· · ·
“You’re not going to be able to get a warrant just because Cioffi mentioned his name. You know that.” Tony was sitting on the edge of a cot he’d set up in his office. He was wearing his pants and an undershirt.
I nodded.
“You also know that if you waltz through his door and piss him off, he’s liable to stir things up a little-like reporting you to Tom Wilson or the board.”
I nodded again.
He stood up and put his shirt on. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. Can I do it?”
“You’re asking permission?”
“I want backup-lots of it.”
“You really think this is it?”
“Yes.”
Brandt gave me a half smile. “We’re in such hot water now, I don’t see where a little extra can do any harm. I’ve already been given thirty days vacation without pay, so you might do me some good for once.”
“They suspended you?”
“Yes and no. They won’t identify it, but I’m out of here next week for a month. That’ll give ’em time to decide whether to make it permanent or not. If you come up with something, I might be invited back.” He gave me an odd smile, and added, “Of course, that’s a two-edged sword for you. They plan to have you stand in for me while I’m out. That might grow on you.”
“Bullshit.”
He continued smiling. “Thanks. Well, I’m off to the hospital, for what little good it’ll do. Let’s reconvene here at 8:00 A.M. I’ll set everything up.” He put on his jacket and patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about the screwup, Joe. Try to get some sleep.”
33
“Want any?” Billy Manierre offered me a cup of coffee.
“No thanks.” I checked my watch. It was 8:15. “How are we set?”
“I’ve got three patrol cars, two men each, one van with a driver, and all the special gear I could find. What are we doing anyway? Taking a fort?”
“I just want to talk to a man-forcefully.” Aside from Brandt, no one knew what I had planned.
“I guess.” We set out in single file toward the Leatherton, Inc. headquarters, driving along the back roads as much as possible. I’d collected seven hours of the deepest sleep I could recall. Now I sat in the passenger seat of Tyler’s unmarked car, squinting against the glare off the early sun-bleached snow, wondering for the first time if I was right. I wondered if my desperation to save at least one piece from the chess board was clouding my judgment, or worse still, whether I was leaving open yet another hole for Stark to gain the advantage.
Leatherton had been open since eight o’clock, but I’d wanted every one to get settled before making my play. I’d also wanted to make sure that Teicher would be there. His secretary had assured me he would when I’d anonymously phoned twenty minutes before.
We drove up, lights flashing, and clustered around the two entrances-the van, Tyler’s car, and one patrol car out front, the rest covering the back. I led my four men, armed with Winchester pumps, through the lobby, past the startled receptionist and up the stairs to the top floor. There I showed my badge to the woman at the first desk I saw and demanded to see Teicher. She looked at the badge, at the guns, at her phone and then silently pointed down the hallway. We marched off like a bunch of commandos in search of a battlefield, and I threw open the double doors at the end of the hall.
We fanned out into a large, square, dark-paneled office that looked as if it had been helicoptered in from some New York corporate penthouse. It made Cioffi’s digs look humble by comparison. Whatever other philosophies fueled Leatherton’s machine, one of them was obviously to pamper the executives. In this case, the executive was a middle-sized man, both in girth and height, with a swept-back shock of dazzling white hair and a wide-open mouth. He was standing next to a ping-pong-table-sized desk, holding a folder in his hand.
I pointed to Tyler. “Watch the door.” Tyler made a nice snappy move with his shotgun and put his shoulder against the doorjamb, looking fully prepared to die for the cause.
I crossed over to the man, whose mouth was beginning to close, while at the same time ordering one of the patrolmen to close the curtains. “Are you John Teicher?”
“Yes. What’s going on?”
I grabbed his elbow and propelled him to the corner of the room away from the window. I noticed the patrolman looking through the curtains. “See anything?”
“No, sir. All clear.”
Teicher was now standing with his back against the wall. “What’s this all about?”
I ignored him and pulled my radio from its pouch. “Red Two, this is Red One. Do you read?”
I had to admire the response. Billy Manierre was enjoying himself. “Roger, Red One. That’s affirmative. The perimeter’s secure. No sign of hostiles. I’ve opened a field patch to headquarters.” Total baloney, of course-we were all on the same frequency.
“Roger. Red One out.” I pocketed the radio. “Mr. Teicher. We have strong reason to believe your life is in danger. Are you aware of the man the newspapers have identified as the Masked Avenger-Colonel Henry Stark?”
He blinked several times and wet his lips. “I’ve read something about it, yes.”