"What do you want me to do," asked Art, "while you're gone?"
Davies answered him as he stepped into the hallway. "Cop shit. Do lots and lots of cop shit."
We dodged what remained of the press by the simple expedient of going out a side door, and walking behind their cars to mine. It was far too cold for them to simply stand outside for hours. They were all sitting in their vehicles, which were pretty thoroughly steamed over, and never had a hint we were anywhere around.
On the way over to Borglan's, Davies explained that he would only be here today, had to go back to Des Moines, then a trial date in six days in Mahaska County. After that, a big forcible rape case in Bettendorf.
"No rush, though. It isn't like you guys are ready to charge that kid yet. It ought to take the lab another two or three days, at least, if there's any evidence there…"
"True," I said.
He went on, to reiterate the points he and Art had discussed when I was getting the snowmobile information. They'd covered the ground pretty well, because he ticked off the main points, rapid-fire, almost like he was reading them.
"And I understand that you don't believe the only logical suspect did it?"
"Havin' a hard time with it," I said.
"Houseman, I don't know what to do with you some of the time." He chuckled. "But you do know a lot about these people around here." He chuckled again. "From your uniform days."
"That would have been yesterday…" I looked over at him. "You got that from Art."
"Oh, yeah. He thinks relating to people is some sort of disease that comes from wearing uniforms. You having any problems working with your ex-chief deputy?"
"Yeah. But I can cope."
"What are you thinking about doing to settle the question about this suspect kid?"
"We got the cops in Oelwein talking to the family of the two dead guys. I figure I'll go talk to Fred's mom and sister tomorrow. Then Fred, if his asshole attorney will let me," I said, turning into Borglan's driveway.
"Check with me before you talk to this Fred?"
"I'll make sure Art talks to the aunt," he said.
It was getting a little dark, by this time, with the sun having disappeared behind Borglan's hill. Kind of pretty, with the sunlight across the little valley, and the shade in the yard. There were lights on in the living room, but I couldn't see anybody around. Three pickups in the yard, one of them brand-new, and one of them a twenty-year-old rolling wreck. Quite a contrast.
We knocked on the door, and after about fifteen seconds, during which I was sure we were being observed, Cletus answered the door.
"Mark Davies from the Iowa Attorney General's office. I'm here to look at the crime scene. I'm the prosecuting attorney in the murder case. I'll look around outside for a bit while you contact your attorney. Then I'll want to take a quick look around inside."
"I don't think so," said Cletus.
"We have this scale in the AG's office. Starts at Interference with Official Acts, goes to obstructing, ends up at coconspirator. A coconspirator, in this case, can get out in maybe fifty years. Talk with your attorney, while we check a couple of things out here." Very fast, but very pleasant. Said completely deadpan, and then ending with that infectious smile of his. Just like in court.
"I'll call him right now," said Cletus.
"Well, I hope to hell you will," said Davies. "It's cold out here."
While we waited, I showed Davies around. He was especially interested in the shed where I'd found the two bodies.
"No point in wading through the snow," he said. "Just reassure me that you could see a track leading to the shed from the house."
"Sure. No problem."
"You get photos of it?"
"It was pretty faint. I sure hope so."
"Me too." He looked over the garage. "Impressive. Not the 'poor' farmer, is he?"
"Hardly. Smart, and a hell of a worker. That, and a little luck, you can make it."
"Yeah." He cupped his hands, and blew into them, to warm his face. "Let's go bug Cletus. I'm getting cold."
This time, Cletus invited us in. "He says to cooperate with you."
"You got a good attorney," said Davies. "They are so rare these days. So," he said to me, "where did the dirty deed happen?"
I showed him. We spent all of five minutes examining the living room, the basement steps, and looking out the basement door. I was brief to the point of terse, not wanting to give anything away. Davies was even more controlled, just making little humming sounds once in a while. He took no notes.
There were at least two other people in the house. One was a sixty-year-old farmer I knew, but whose name I couldn't remember. I did know he was the owner of the ugly pickup in the yard, now that I saw him. The other man was about forty or so, and one of the people we'd seen here earlier today.
Cletus stayed right with us during the whole inspection. When we'd finished, Davies turned to him, abruptly.
"So, what do you think happened?"
"Huh?"
"You. What do you think about this?"
"I'm just wondering," said Cletus, "why the Iowa AG is involved in this."
"It's what you pay us to do," said Davies. "You have no ideas, huh?"
"Why would you want to know what I think?"
Frankly, I was sort of asking myself the same question.
"Thought you could help us with what you thought they might be after." Davies paused. "And if you had any thoughts on who could have been here when they arrived."
"Beats me," said Cletus.
"You own any snowmobiles?" asked Davies.
"Nope. Not anymore, gave one to Harvey Grossman. Junked the rest."
"You just gave it to him? Just like that?"
"No use for the things anymore. He needs them to do chores."
We headed toward the door. "If you find anything unusual that we missed," I said, following routine, "let us know, would you?"
"You people sure do try," said Cletus. Once again, there was a sarcastic ring to his voice that bothered me. Like he was trying for innuendo, and missing his target. He was sure missing if I was his target, anyway.
We opened the door.
"My attorney said to cooperate, but not to say anything." Cletus shrugged. "I guess you'll have to earn your keep without me doin' your work for you." He paused a second, but couldn't resist. "But, like I said before, there was nobody home."
"You have any thoughts, check with your attorney, and then give us a call," said Davies.
"What about the black helicopter?"
I looked at the speaker, the forty-year-old I didn't recognize. "What?"
"We saw it," he said, with an air of accusation and defiance. "Who was flying it?"
"I don't know his name," I said, "but I was in it. I waved. Did you see me?"
Silence.
"Thanks again," said Davies, and we trudged across the yard to my car.
As soon as we got in the car, Davies started to laugh. "'We saw it,'" he mimicked. He looked at me. "Houseman, you smart ass. You actually waved?"
"Yeah. They were outside, right under us, looking up. Just a reaction, I guess."
"How high were you?"
"Oh, thousand feet, more or less."
"An Army-green Huey?"
I nodded.
"Black Helicopter. Great observers," he said. "Must have shaken the whole house. Hey, while we're out here, show me where they went over the fence." He sighed.
"Yeah. We better go to Grossman's and check the damned VINs on those snowmobiles."
On the way, I showed him the entry tracks. It was pretty dark by then, and I had my headlights on. I shined a flashlight out the window, showing him the path. All he did was make that little humming sound. With my window rolled down, I found myself thinking about how alert I was, again. Nothing like bitterly cold air to wake you up.