“It’s all in my statement.”
“We double-check everything. Tell me what you told him.”
She looked like she was about to refuse, then thought better of it. “There was a short-circuit in the system is what my electrician said, so the cameras didn’t pick up anything. That’s it.”
“How about the key for the truck? Where was that?”
“Right here in the office, where it always is. When I came in that day, the truck was gone, but the key was still here. There’s other ways to start a vehicle. Look, the point is, we need the truck back. My lawyer says you got no right to keep it.”
“Did you know Sonny Lerman?”
“The guy that got shot?”
“Right.”
She shook her head.
“How about his name? Did you ever hear it anywhere other than on the news?”
“No.”
“How about Lenny Lerman?”
“Who?”
“Lenny Lerman. Father of Sonny Lerman. Also murdered. One year ago.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Never?”
“Look, if you don’t mind, I got things to do.”
“Where was the truck parked when it was taken?”
She pointed. “Right there on the street, in front of the gate.”
“You don’t keep it in here at night?”
“Not always.”
Gurney turned to Hardwick. “Any questions for Ms. Vesco?”
Jack pointed at the pit bull. “Where was that fucking dog the night the truck was taken?”
Something shifted in her eyes. “In the doghouse.”
“Where’s that?”
She pointed to the end of the trailer where the chain was attached. “Around that side.”
“And he didn’t go batshit crazy when some stranger was stealing your truck?”
“I don’t know what he did. I’m not here at night.”
“Too bad. You might have been able to save your truck.”
She didn’t reply.
Gurney smiled. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Vesco.”
He led the way back to the car as the door of the trailer closed firmly behind them.
Hardwick sucked at his teeth. “She’s a lying sack of shit.”
“No surprise. How about we pay a visit to Lanka’s Specialty Foods?”
THE BUSINESS DISTRICT of Garville had a morose look about it, due in part to the soot-darkened brick facades of the buildings. Lanka’s Specialty Foods was located on a side street off the main avenue. Gurney pulled into the “Customers Only” parking lot next to the single-story building.
“If Lanka’s here,” said Gurney, “I’ll use a following-up-on-the-Slade-trial approach and see where it takes us. You should come in a few minutes after me and keep an eye on what’s happening between me and Lanka, assuming he’s here.”
“You mean I should save your sorry ass if the situation goes south?”
Gurney got out of the car and walked around to the front of the building. The first thing he noted was the sign on the door indicating the limited hours the store was open—from noon to four, weekdays only. When he pushed the door open, a bell rang in the rear of the store.
The ornamental tin ceiling, incandescent lighting fixtures, and wooden shelving belonged to a past era. There didn’t seem to be any customers in the place, no clerk at the checkout counter, no visible employees anywhere.
The shelves were filled with canned specialty items, mostly imported. No prices were shown. There was a fine coating of dust over everything. The walls above the shelves were covered with large sepia prints depicting the store’s history.
The only contemporary intrusions were security cameras mounted high on the walls at the ends of the aisles. At the rear of the store there was an old-fashioned butcher case of white enameled steel and heavy glass panels. It was empty. On the wall above it was a print showing two burly men in butcher aprons, one with gray hair, one with black hair. The resemblance between them and their age difference suggested a father and son.
A door opened in the wall beneath the photograph, and a lean, dark-haired man in a black silk shirt stepped out into the space behind the butcher case.
“You want something?”
“Just admiring that picture up there.”
The man said nothing.
“Would that be Bruno Lanka and his father?”
“Who are you?”
“David Gurney.”
“You want something?”
“I’d like to speak to Bruno.”
“He’s not here.” The man’s voice was as expressionless as his eyes.
“Do you know when he will be?”
“Maybe later, maybe tomorrow. Why?”
“I’d like to speak to him.”
“About what?”
“A private matter.”
“What should I tell him?”
“Tell him the Lenny Lerman murder case is being reinvestigated.”
The man said nothing.
“Tell him it’s being reinvestigated in connection with the Sonny Lerman case.”
The man remained perfectly motionless, as if on the verge of a sudden tactical decision. His attention shifted to the far end of the aisle.
Gurney glanced back and saw Hardwick standing there, his fingers just inside the open front of his windbreaker, a dangerous glint in those ice-blue eyes.
NEITHER GURNEY NOR Hardwick said anything until they left the parking lot and turned onto the road that led out of Garville in the direction of Walnut Crossing.
“That place is obviously a fucking front for something,” said Hardwick.
Gurney nodded. “Meaning Lanka’s political connections are strong enough that he doesn’t have to worry about how obvious it is. And the guy behind the butcher case was not your average grocery store employee. The second I saw him I recognized him.”
“You know that little creep?”
“He’s the guy in the sketch Tess Larson gave me. Or his twin brother.”
44
AFTER DROPPING HARDWICK OFF AT THE HOME DEPOT parking lot, Gurney drove home.
He stopped at the barn before going up to the house. Wielding a sharp-tined rake as a potential weapon, he checked the interior. Satisfied that there was nothing amiss and the lights were off, he continued up to the house.
Madeleine was by the coop, carrying an armful of loose straw from an open bale into the attached shed. As he headed over to her, he noticed their shotgun leaning against the side of the coop a few feet from the straw bale.
Emerging from the shed, she followed his gaze to the gun.
“I wanted it within reach,” she said.
“You sure you know how to use it?”
“You went through all that with me years ago. And I got a refresher course this morning. Amazing what you can find on YouTube. So, yes, I know how to use it. And I will, if I have to.”
She gathered another armful of straw and strode back into the shed.
He followed her as far as the doorway. “What’s the objective here?”
“Coziness.”
“For the alpacas?”
“Who else?
“Can I help?”
She looked surprised. “If you want, you can carry the straw in, and I’ll smooth it out.”
“Okay. I just have to go into the house for a minute, and I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, her surprise fading.
After using the bathroom, he decided to take a quick look at his email.
The one that grabbed his attention was from Cam Stryker. It seemed to be a word-for-word reiteration of the message he’d gotten from her earlier. He read it again, convinced that it was driven by fear and anger, powerlessness masquerading as power. But being in a legally dubious position didn’t mean she couldn’t create serious trouble for him.
He’d need to marshal every available fact for his meeting with her. He sat down at his desk and began putting his discoveries in order, starting with the recollections of Nora Rumsten.