“Maybe, but from my brief career as a prosecutor, I found rap sheets can be misleading. If you don’t get busted out of state, it looks like you never left home. Still, there aren’t as many hard-core radicals here-typical of Vermont, they tend to be more pragmatic.”
That sounded about right and made me think back to when that attitude had led to a private meeting in a motel room recently. “You think Betts might be willing to talk to me after I do a little homework with all this?”
“He did the first time, for reasons I don’t pretend to know. My bet is he’s expecting a call, and I’d be happy to be the go-between again.”
Gail checked her watch one last time, stood up, washed her cup and plate in the sink, and set them in the drying rack. “I better take off. Hope that helps.”
I escorted her to the door and gave her a kiss. “Thanks for coming down.”
She looked at me and touched my cheek, her eyes soft. “That was pretty weird, almost like I knew you’d been hurt. One doozy of a relationship, huh?”
I kissed her again. “Yup. One in a million.”
Chapter 15
I showed up late at the office, milking my bum arm for all it was worth. In fact, I’d taken a small nap after Gail left to catch up on the sleep she’d so pleasantly interrupted. Once I arrived and had awkwardly shucked my coat, though, I wished I’d heeded the commissioner’s advice the day before and taken a few days off. The ringing phones and pink message slips emphasized how popular Lester’s and my little escapade had become. As our director Bill Allard had mournfully commented, it was just the kind of high-profile event VBI had been hoping to avoid, especially during its honeymoon phase. In fact, leafing through the slips, I noticed that many of the callers hadn’t been reporters and politicians, but fellow cops, no doubt seeking some indication of what this might tell of the future. Despite the mistaken perception of what makes law enforcement appealing to those who join it-chases, shoot-outs, and undercover pyrotechnics-it is just those kinds of uncontrolled events that make officers nervous. Cops, more than most, hate surprises.
Which didn’t mean I saw myself as the one to calm their nerves. I dropped the entire pile on Judy’s desk and told her to forward them to Allard. Better he than I, I rationalized, in these times of delicate image molding. I’d let him give me hell later.
Still, Richie’s spectacular death did change how I wanted to approach the several problems facing us, which is why I’d called for a squad meeting from home.
And they were all there: Sammie at her desk, studying the contents of a computer screen; Willy, reading a back issue of Guns amp; Ammo; and Lester, tilted back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, wearing his customary bemused expression.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked me.
“I liked it better when they had me doped up. How ’bout you? The adrenaline settle down yet?”
His demeanor changed to something closer to melancholy. “The adrenaline’s okay. Having killed somebody still needs work. Last night wasn’t great for sleeping.”
Willy looked up briefly from his reading. “It’s like losing your cherry, Les. No big deal.”
Spinney glanced from me to him and back and then silently raised his eyebrows, the half-smile returning, if tinged with incredulity.
I leaned toward him so the other two couldn’t hear and murmured, “You’re being stress-debriefed for this, right? Or do I have to quote the rule book?”
“No, no,” he reassured me. “I’ve seen the shrink once already, last night, and we’ve got a repeat in a couple of days. I’m okay-promise.”
I nodded, sat on the corner of my desk, and addressed them all, “Okay, now that we’re really under the microscope, I thought it might be a good idea to see where we’re standing and decide on a possibly revised course of action. Snuffy Dawson is sweating bullets over the Richie thing, since that’s the investigation he asked us to conduct, so in fairness to him and in light of the fact we may be looking at multiple homicides now, putting that one first seems to make sense. Where’s Shayla Rossi right now?”
“Downstairs,” Sammie said, “but not for long. ’Course we can talk to her in Woodstock after they arraign her and ship her north.”
“Any of you had a crack at her yet?”
“A once-over-lightly,” Sammie admitted. “You might have better luck, but she didn’t sound like a great source to me. Could be why he chose her to hide out with-clueless barely covers it.”
“If you think it’ll do any good. Otherwise, I won’t waste my time.”
“No, no. Have at it.”
I was almost disappointed to hear her say that. Not because her caution wasn’t reasonable, but because there was an added element of self-doubt I was forever hopeful she’d lose. On the other hand, Shayla was the only one we had available from the whole Marty-Richie-Jorja Duval mess.
“Maybe I will, if only to ask her why Richie was so desperate.”
“Gee, there’s a tough one,” Willy said sourly. “He was shitting bricks about whoever iced Jorja.”
“He was shitting bricks when he had Joe in the garage,” Sammie commented. “Why didn’t he kill him then?”
Willy shook his head dismissively. “’Cause he wasn’t sure. When Richie saw Joe the second time, at Shayla’s, that convinced him Joe was a bad guy, especially since he had Lester riding shotgun. It pushed him over the edge.”
“And reintroduces an interesting point,” Lester added. “Richie didn’t know who was after him, not even by name, or he would’ve confronted Joe with it in the garage.”
After a long, reflective pause, I suggested, “Which still doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been Marty.”
Not surprisingly, Willy then countered his earlier, dismissive comment with an interesting suggestion. “What we should be asking is, why this level of violence against a B-and-E lowbrow? The other thing Richie would’ve spilled in the garage-if he’d had the slightest idea-was why he was being targeted and why he thought Marty’d already been killed.”
“Damn,” Sammie muttered. “Maybe they both stole something they didn’t know they had.”
“Maybe,” Lester said doubtfully. “But when whoever they stole it from pounded on the guy who fenced the watch-”
“Walter Skottick,” I interjected quietly.
“-he wasn’t asked what else he might have, just where the guy was who sold it to him.”
Willy seemed to come to Sammie’s aid by saying, “Then it was something they saw, or somebody.”
Sammie’s enthusiasm was still obvious in her voice. “Or maybe the killer was after Richie all along. He’s the one who spent all the time with those women, milking them for personal info. Could be one of them said something important he didn’t realize.”
“And her husband, boyfriend, or whatever decided to be careful and plug the leak,” Lester filled in, tilting his head to one side. “That would play to the theory that Marty’s dead, too. You’d think we would’ve picked up on that kind of family dynamic during all the interviews, though.”
“We haven’t talked to everyone yet,” Willy reminded him.
That jarred loose an idea. “Speaking of people talking,” I said, “Jorja Duval’s the only one we know for sure who met Richie’s bogeyman face-to-face, whether it was Marty or not.”
Willy jumped straight to where I was headed. “Meaning you’re hoping he left something behind the crime lab missed.”
“It was a frustrating scene,” Lester commented. “A ton to process, most of it useless… But they did process it. Still, sounds like a long shot, and you’d expect signs of Marty to be there, anyhow.”
“I’m going to call David Hawke at the crime lab,” I persisted, “see what he says. In the meantime, we need to put all our energies toward building clear and complete backgrounds for Richie, Marty, and everyone else: spouses, caretakers, anyone with even a remote connection to the houses listed in Richie’s hidden documents. I know we’re partway there already, but the heat’s on now, and it’s only going to get worse until we solve this. Along those lines, Allard has assigned us three extra people from the Bennington office. Sam, you can coordinate with them as to how many, if any, come over here, or if you want them to just stay put and work the phone lines and computers from there.”