“What?”
Susan’s voice, clear, replied, “Amy Burke Walker texted me to go to the Middleburg newspaper. So I did. A long article about the murder.”
“Now?”
“Let me finish. It’s a weekly paper. Of course, the TV stations from D.C. carried it, but this is interesting because the writer took some time to nose around. It is now four days since Jason was killed. And the writer thinks this is related to his work.”
“Jason Holzknect’s work? He owned a Toyota dealership allied with Lexus. High and low. What could cars have to do with Jason’s murder?”
“Okay, this is conjecture, but the writer relates that questions about contraband came up more than once about Holzknect Motors. Drugs smuggled in the hubcaps. A salesman was charged back in 2009.”
“Jason?” Harry was disbelieving.
“He was rich.” Susan’s voice carried a hint of reproach. “He could have been in on it.”
“A lot of people are rich. Doesn’t mean they’re dealing drugs. He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Clare wouldn’t have let him be that stupid. I find that hard to believe.”
“Would you find other criminal activity hard to believe?” Susan pressed.
“I guess I would. I know, I know, that’s how crooks fool us, but I never got a weird feeling from him. He did what he said he would, worked alongside all of us, was good to his hounds. Could he have been some kind of crook? I suppose, but if he was, I sure missed it.”
“Somebody didn’t.”
“I wonder who the reporter interviewed?”
“I guess I do, too,” Susan agreed. “You know we’ll be questioned again. We’re not high on the totem pole, but we are on the totem pole.”
“What else could we be asked?” Harry was puzzled. “We were there for hours. Granted, it was pretty awful. It’s such a personal way to die.”
“What do you mean?” Susan asked.
“Your killer has to be so close to you. Touch you. A gun is impersonal. Sure you can hate that person’s guts, but you stand back and pull the trigger. Or even hitting someone with a car. You’re not close. This is so close. Like ancient wars, even medieval wars. You were close to your adversary.”
“I never thought of that.” Susan considered this.
“So it seems to me this is personal. Deeply personal.”
“Ew, Harry. Like a betrayed wife or friend kind of personal?”
“Don’t know. But I think it could be. The Institute is large. If someone knew the grounds, say, someone who had hunted with Jason, they could slip in and slip out. To the road through the trees. Clare could do that.”
Susan thought, then said, “She’s strong. Reach up, pull back his head, and cut through the throat. I don’t think Clare did it. It really seemed like a good marriage, a true partnership.”
“I don’t either, but this is something close.”
“Oh, Harry, I hope you’re wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because the killer would be someone at the Institute. Someone who just blends in.”
“Susan, the killer had to be there. Had to know the schedule, the territory, and had to know him. Jason probably liked the person.”
“Good God. How do we know this won’t happen again?”
“Susan, we aren’t close. I swear this was something very personal and close. We’re fine. We probably know the killer and have worked with him.”
“No way,” Susan exclaimed.
“We rub shoulders every day with people who have killed. On TV killers get caught, but in real life not so much.” Harry spoke quietly. “If property is destroyed or money stolen, the search is on. But if it’s another human being, there’s attention, then it fades away. I think this drives law enforcement crazy, the disengagement of the public. People often have information that could be helpful to catching whoever did it. We probably do and don’t know it.”
“That’s hard to believe. I know very little about Jason Holzknect.”
“You don’t have to know much. We worked with him. He hunted even before he bought the dealership, when he’d come back in the States. He mentioned it to me. Well, most everyone there has hunted for years. Nothing special about that. The killer, I’d bet on this, is a beagler or a basset person. I expect Jason had it coming, at least in their mind. You don’t kill without a compelling reason, to you at least.”
“Do you think we’re in danger?” A ripple of fear ran through Susan.
“No, of course not.” Harry paused. “Only if we get in the way. Or get too close ourselves.”
16
September 26, 1787
Wednesday
“You couldn’t get more?” William turned up his nose.
“I didn’t have time to get into the big house, the other houses, or the weaving room. I know Bumbee has money in there but I needed to get out. Barker O was getting close. He beat me. He’s a smart man. He knew something wasn’t right.” Ralston looked around the woodshed a mile from the main house at Big Rawly.
Big Rawly comprised twelve hundred acres, nothing like Cloverfields, but the land proved rich, with abundant water, plus Maureen Selisse Holloway made her millions otherwise. She built on what she inherited plus what passed to her when her husband was murdered. Gossip had it that she was the richest woman in Virginia, perhaps in all the colonies.
This shed, tight enough for it was raining, rested on the edge of a hardwood forest. The men would cut timber, split it, and stack it to cure. Once cured, the wood would be moved up to the shed by the house, loaded on wagons, and pulled by two well-cared-for draft horses.
Ralston had followed the creek, hiding if he heard anyone on the bluff above. He had run off from Cloverfields in the night, making it to Big Rawly in the dark. Knowing where to find William, he reached the shed, saw the old tarp left for him on the ground, and fell asleep.
Staying out of sight proved easy for he was far away from cornfields, hayfields, buildings. A hard-running creek provided water. He’d taken bread from his mother’s larder but he would have liked something to go with it. William showed up once the sun set. The first thing he wanted to know was did Ralston get any money.
William sat on the tarp leaning up against the stacked wood, which smelled clean, good. “I know where some of the money is, in the stables. Silver in the house. No point taking anything heavy. Selling those bridles taught me that. We need what we can carry but you, well, you should have brought more. Why should I risk myself for thirty dollars?”
“You aren’t risking yourself, William. We’re both good hands with horses. If this girl takes you to the money, like you say she will, we’ll have enough to get clear of here, way clear of here, and hire ourselves out. Then we can make good money.”
“Lots of money in Philadelphia. Lots of people wanting to show off their driving horses, racing even.”
“Long way away.” Ralston shifted his weight, for the ground was hard even with the tarp. “I listened at Cloverfields. Listened to Barker O talk, some of the others. They say there’s no slavery in Vermont.”
“Well, why go that far? I said the money is in Philadelphia.”
“Is, but we have to pass as free men.”
“We say we are. There was a reward out for me. No one caught me. We can do it.”
Ralston asked. “Why’d you come back?”
“Sulli. I’m taking her with me.”
“You didn’t tell me that. She’ll slow us down.” A flash of anger crossed Ralston’s face.
“No she won’t, and she knows where the money is, where some of the jewelry is. We need her.” He took a long moment. “She belongs to me. You touch her, Ralston, and I’ll kill you.”