Joe nodded, happy to field such questions, for all of their sakes. “Absolutely? No. From what we know about his recent activities, and following the logic that most violence stems from sex or greed, we can suspect Barry Newhouse, Marianne Kotch’s old boyfriend, and Rick Frantz, the guy she was seeing behind Bobby’s back. Jonathon’s done some digging on both subjects.”
Michael picked up the cue. “While you and Willy were in Newark, I found out they both have alibis for when the Cutts barn went up, but I also ran tests on a variety of sodium chlorate incendiaries and found the timing variances to be pretty wide. Still, for what it’s worth, I also don’t think either of them did it. Newhouse fits Marianne’s description of him-all hot air and laziness. When I squeezed him hard in an interview, the one thing I got for sure was that at heart he didn’t really give a damn about who Marianne was sleeping with. Frantz was a little trickier, since now it looks like his coma will be permanent. I had to talk with family and friends and work in from the edges, and I had the extra disadvantage of knowing that he might be capable of arson, being a habitual offender. But there again, I came away empty-handed. There is nothing at all-in his background, his habits, or in anything I could get from the people I interviewed-that would indicate he had anything to do with that fire.”
Ross Braver wasn’t giving up quite yet. “That all works if there was a grudge against Bobby personally,” he said. “What about if he was just a symbol? A way to break his father’s spirit and force him to sell?”
“You thinking Billy St. Cyr?” Joe asked.
“Why not?” he answered. “According to the case file, St. Cyr and Calvin Cutts were cat-and-dog for twenty years. Now, all of a sudden, St. Cyr turns into Mr. Nice Guy just before he makes an offer to buy.”
“Then why burn the herd?” Sam asked.
Braver was warming to his topic. “That’s the beauty. He doesn’t want it. He’s been telling people he wants to get out of the business altogether. But if you look at a property map, you can see how the Cutts farm makes a big dent into St. Cyr’s western boundary. Combined, they form a nice, huge, well-proportioned whole. Pretty as a picture and twice as salable.”
“But he could have sold those cows,” Sam protested.
Braver shook his head. “Only if he had them to sell, and that wasn’t going to happen if Cutts wasn’t interested in any deal at all-until his son and whole herd had been killed.”
“Jesus,” one of the deputies commented. “That’s cold.”
“Maybe,” Braver agreed. “But that’s how it’s panning out, isn’t it?”
They all looked at Joe, who had in fact made the Cutts family his assignment.
“I’d heard an offer had been made,” he admitted. “I don’t know where it stands right now.”
“I do,” Tim Shafer announced. “Or at least I know a bit more than that. You’d asked us to look into St. Cyr before you went south.”
Joe had completely forgotten. “Too many people involved in all this,” he commented. “Good thing I’m not an air traffic controller. What did you find out?”
“We were told that he cut corners whenever he could and took advantage of every government handout. All true. I got an unofficial look at some of his financials. It was like untangling spaghetti, and I didn’t go too far into it, but from what I could figure out, he’s rolling in dough. He has no incentive to get out of farming, and buying the Cutts place makes all the sense in the world. He’s got kids with big plans who want land, too, so that’s an additional booster.”
“You think he’s good for the fire?” Joe asked.
Shafer equivocated. “I’m saying it’s possible. Means, motive, and opportunity are all there. He doesn’t have a criminal history, but we know what that’s worth.”
Sam was scratching her head. “I admit I’m the newcomer here, but I thought that fire was set by Famolare, who was hired by Gregory because of their mutual Newark background. If St. Cyr is behind the Cutts burning, how’s he connect to either one of them? It seems so totally out of left field.”
“That’s because this whole deal is out of left field,” Willy said, having kept his peace for an unusually long time. “The only hard-core information we got out of Newark was from a juicer who thought we were about to kill him, and even that was about only one of the three fires-which one is anyone’s guess. All the rest of it-Vinnie Stazio maybe having a student named Gino, Gregory’s brother paying off Lagasso, and then Lagasso ordering up a fire that looked like a Stazio burn long after Stazio was dead-is just a bunch of conjecture.” He pointed to Sam’s piled paperwork. “Jonathon’s report says that the motel clerk was given Gino’s mug shot. Couldn’t ID him. Said he had that stupid hat pulled down too far over his face. Same thing for the two farmers who supposedly saw him-too far off to see his face. I mean, Jesus, we’ve been playing fast and loose from the start.”
“Initially,” Joe agreed. “But I don’t think so lately. Regardless of those failed IDs, Gino’s connection to Vermont is solid, and juicer or not, Santo sounded pretty sure of himself to me-and talking to us definitely got him dead.”
“Speaking of getting dead,” Willy said, “shouldn’t we be talking about Gregory?”
Joe held up a finger. “In a minute. I don’t want to lose track. Here are some of the issues I think we need to keep in focus: Was Bobby killed accidentally or on purpose, and if the latter, was it personal or symbolic, as Ross suggests? Is the Cutts fire related to the others in some way other than having been set by the same arsonist? What’s the real motivator behind Billy St. Cyr’s recent change of attitude? And finally, what was the desired end result of the Cutts fire? If we find someone whose fortunes suddenly improved, we may also have our primary actor.”
He now looked at Willy. “Okay. John Samuel Gregory. Who knocked him off and why?”
Braver, not well known to Joe, seemed to like his theories straightforward-and didn’t take no for an answer. “My vote’s on Wolff. It’s a money deal. Gregory did him dirt by going maverick and screwing everything up.”
Jonathon tilted back in his chair and rested one foot against the edge of the conference table. “What I’m wondering is, who did he piss off the most?” he asked, before quickly gesturing to his colleague. “Not that Wolff doesn’t qualify, Ross. I didn’t mean that. But there’re others standing in line. Gregory comes from Newark, basically exiled for misbehavior. His brother doesn’t like him, the Mob thought he was a welcher when Lagasso squeezed the family firm for what he was owed, and who knows who else may hate his guts around here for all the mischief he’s committed? Which reminds me,” he added almost as an afterthought, “we shouldn’t forget that unless we find out otherwise-which is pretty unlikely-it was also Gregory who hired Gino to torch the Cutts barn. Why did he do that?”
Total silence greeted this question.
“Seems like,” he resumed, “we ought to take a closer look at the members of the Cutts clan.”
Chapter 23
Gino waited patiently in the shadows, indistinguishable from the tree trunk he was leaning against. During the past couple of hours, several pedestrians had strolled by not ten feet away without even imagining his presence.
He was good at this. He could wait forever.
The target had actually arrived ten minutes ago, driving into the condo garage and closing the door behind her electronically before leaving the locked car. A cautious woman, he’d noticed earlier. The kind of caution born of a bad experience. Bordering on paranoia.
But whatever that experience, it had been a long time ago. He could tell that the edge had left her fear. Already, in the few days he’d been doing this, he’d seen a curtain left open a crack, a window left unlatched for an hour to allow some air in. Finally, yesterday, after her half-hour jog with whistle and pepper spray canister, she’d committed the ultimate mistake, punching in her security code on the front door alarm without blocking the keypad from view. He’d been there, of course, binoculars in hand, ready and waiting. Twenty-three forty. The magic number to the kingdom.