“You actually believe that?”
“You think I asked her to refuse you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face just did.”
“I need this search,” he said, his frustration vented. “Kira needs for me to do this search.”
“You’re welcome onto the property. You know that.”
“It needs to be a legal, authorized search.”
“I contacted them. That’s about all I can do.”
“You could do more,” he blurted out.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
He took a few steps closer, half the room still separating them.
“You know how this is going to look, don’t you?”
“How’s it going to look?”
“Are you protecting her?”
“Do you really have to ask that?”
“Is that your answer?”
“If you’re asking would I go to great lengths to protect an innocent girl who’s seen more than her fair share of things, then I would answer yes. After what she’s been through, she certainly doesn’t deserve to be dragged through something like this when her only crime is embarrassment. But if you’re asking if I’ve actually done anything like that, the answer is no. But don’t count me out, Sheriff. I will not allow anyone, not even you, to mess her up at a time she is finally getting her act together. Leave her out of this, please.”
“I know this is difficult.”
“You seem to be blaming me for the Engletons’ decision when all I do is live there. You wanted to reach them and I reached them. Damn quickly, I might add. And this is the thanks I get!”
“Thank you,” he said.
“That’s better. Is there anything else? Because I was actually busy volunteering my time to help you with these images.”
“I’m not the enemy,” he said, speaking in a whisper.
“I’ve never seen you as such.”
“If I can get ahead of the curve… Don’t you get it?”
“Maybe not.”
“Trust me.”
“If you’re suggesting I separate you from the badge when you’re standing there wearing the badge, that’s asking too much. I can’t do that.”
He reached for the badge pinned to his shirt. As he did so, a knock came on the door and he left the badge in place and turned to answer the door.
“A call from Seattle for you.” Nancy looked beyond him to Fiona and then between the two of them. “I can tell them you’ll return,” she said.
“No,” Walt said. “I’ll take it.” To Fiona he said, “It’s good work. Stay with it.”
Her flushed, angry face remained fixed on him, his back now turned toward her. “Yes, Sheriff,” she said through clenched teeth.
Nancy held the door for him but knew better than to venture another look inside.
“Everything okay?” she asked, as they crossed the hall into Walt’s office. “That looked a little… heated.”
“Is it Boldt?” he asked, not answering.
“A woman named Matthews. She asked if we had Skype or video conferencing, and I told her I could set it up for you.”
“Can you?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Impressed is more like it. Kevin does that stuff for me at home. Lisa, sometimes.”
“She does too much for you,” Nancy said.
They’d reached his office. Nancy came around his desk and took control of his keyboard, avoiding having to look at him, knowing she’d overstepped. The tapping of the keys sounded louder than normal.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said.
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“Am I?” She marched past him to his office door and shut it. “Okay then.”
He wished he could take it back.
“Under the heading of none-of-my-business: you’ve become way too dependent on Lisa. I guarantee you she only charges you for about a third of her billable hours, because if she didn’t, you’d be homeless by now, the amount of time she spends there. The girls have it bad enough being yanked back and forth. When they land on your side of the net, you should be there, not some paid-by-the-hour quasi-governess, aunt, babysitter. And she will never tell you that. She will never tell you how her own family needs her and how much you take advantage of her. You got the short end of the stick, Walt. No one’s denying that. You needed Lisa to fill in while you got it together, and she did, and you did. But you spend too much time here. Much more than you used to, and I don’t think you even see that. The job can fill some of the heartache, and no one begrudges you that, but you and me, we’ve been at this a long time together. All I’m saying is: it’s time to move on.” She drew in a deep breath and then exhaled. When he failed to respond, she said, “Click the green telephone in the open window. She should answer.” She stood there for a second too long, huffed audibly, and let herself out.
Walt hadn’t moved. He made an effort to breathe, shook his head, and moved toward his desk.
33
Daphne Matthews was a looker, given that computer video was anything but flattering. A dark beauty that carried an intensity in her eyes and an implied invitation in her somewhat husky voice, she piqued Walt’s intellectual curiosity; he wanted to step through the screen and spend a couple of hours with her. He thought of her as Cleopatra-mysterious, seductive, fiercely intelligent-and she had yet to say anything more than “hello” and “good to meet you.”
“The sergeant suggested I get in touch.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Anything new to add to the case?”
Walt walked her through some but not all of it, sensing she somehow knew he was withholding from her. Maybe she expected that from any cop.
He watched her arm move as she took notes about Bea’s discovery of the blood evidence. Watched her reread and study those notes. Her eyes flicked up at him and back down. He could hear her faint breathing over the computer’s thin speaker.
“Nothing worse than unsolicited advice,” she said.
“Consider it solicited,” he said.
“The sergeant’s seriously interested in your case and believes there’s both a possibility and probability that it may overlap with the Caroline Vetta investigation, which is why he asked for this meeting.”
“I’m okay with it. Really. Sergeant Boldt and I… He was a welcome presence here. We worked well together, I think. He speaks highly of you.”
“And you.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“He asked that I walk you through my sense of the victim and some of the things I’ve taken away from reviewing the case.”
“By all means. I’m all ears.”
“Okay. First, you’re looking for a male between-”
“Because?” Walt said, cutting her off.
“Male? Because it was a single blow to the head that killed him.”
Walt was suddenly aware of his own pounding heart and the sound of the forced air coming from the wall vent. Something so simple. Something he’d not considered. “A single blow,” he repeated.
“Yes. The blow was high on the back of the victim’s head. A single, fatal blow, requiring, I would think, a substantial amount of strength. The medical examiner could help you there. You’ve cracked a few skulls in your time, I would imagine, Sheriff, haven’t you?” “I have.”
“Then you know.”
“I do,” Walt said. “Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“It’s what I do,” she said, trying to let him off the hook. “It’s not inconceivable, I suppose, that a woman could deliver such a blow, but I play percentages. Statistics. And statistically we would put this into the male column. Another thing: a woman would likely deliver a blow to the side of the head, not the top down. Most women have not swung a bat or an ax as often as men, and they learn to swing a bat right to left. If they picked one up in self-defense, they would swing the bat right to left. Gale
was struck high on the skull, straight down, like the person doing it was chopping wood. Listen, this is all speculation, I can easily be wrong and often am, believe me.”
“No. It’s good stuff. I’m with you.”
“He’d be between… let’s say early twenties and late thirties-again, in part due to the considerable strength it would take to dispatch a man of Gale’s size with a single blow. He’s strong, and he’s fit. Gale is carrying a few wounds on his hands and forearms-possibly defensive. But I’m guessing those came after the blow. I’m thinking his killer sneaked up on him. Surprised him from behind. That carries its own implications: a hunter, a stalker. And the blow to the head was meant to kill, not wound. It was lights out, game over, from the start of that swing.
“As to Gale,” she continued, “from what we can gather… from your contact with the Narcotics Anonymous member, his purpose for being in your area is, at the very least, unusual. Contrary to the image of vengeful paroled felon, in light of what we now know, I would suggest he was a remorseful, recovering addict. Typically such people working through the twelve steps are upbeat, even optimistic, remorseful, forgiving and in need of forgiveness. Can they turn violent? Of course. I’m not saying I can predict that one way or the other, but statistically I would not put Gale very high up the list of Caroline Vetta’s likely killers, and I’ve told the sergeant as much. If he was there on a ninth-step call, then I think we need to see him more in the light of a reconciler. He would have come to apologize, to make amends, to atone. And the thing is, he’s already internalized this. Already accepted his failures, which is central to his state of mind. He’s turned control of his life over to another, and has likely distanced himself from that other man, the Gale of the past. No matter if a person like Caroline Vetta ranted and vented, blamed him, screamed, threw a tantrum, he would likely have two reactions: stand there and take it, accept it; or turn and leave. I just don’t see him beating her to death, especially not in the capacity this crime was carried out.
“How does that inform your investigation?” she asked rhetorically.
“It goes to state of mind of the deceased. Let’s say he met with Caroline Vetta. Let’s say when he left her, she was very much alive. Let’s say he then learns of her death, her brutal death, and understands the system well enough to know he’s going to be first in line. This puts him in a difficult, even desperate situation. He’s assuming someone like the sergeant is coming after him. He still has the step calls to make. That may sound absurd, but recovering addicts get focused, Sheriff. They get into the program, and for some, it’s all they know. All they live for. He’s there in Sun Valley to get a job done. Maybe he trespasses on that agent’s property. Maybe he’s contemplating making contact, but also fearing the word is out ahead of him. His state of mind is fragile. He’s in the process of rebuilding, redefining himself. Someone shooting at him. Who knows how he might react to that? My informed guess is: he’d walk away. He might return another day, far into the future, to make that step call, but he’s not going to press it. Contact would have started and stopped right there. If the agent had then contacted him, would he have agreed to meet? I think so, yes. And remember: he’s full of forgiveness and in need of forgiveness. Despite being shot at, I doubt he’d be suspicious of the meeting.”
“He’d walk right into it.”
“It’s possible. The point being, he’s in an almost naïve state. That first year in recovery… it’s kind of a pink cloud. He could have walked right into anything, his guard down. And by the look of it, that must be close to what happened. Someone snuck up on him and dispatched him. He was a very big man. We both know it had to be a decisive blow and executed without warning. Gale had his back to the killer and did not expect the blow. I think both are important considerations for you.”
Walt found himself jotting down notes. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” “Have you found the crime scene?”
“We have not.” I was denied the warrant, he thought.
“Consider this an act of stealth,” she said. “I can’t imagine the area was well lit. I would think there would have been obstacles to hide behind in order to creep up quite close, both unseen and unheard. The sergeant said you’d found his rental in the woods. But it’s difficult, if not impossible, to sneak up like that in the woods.”
“Maybe the killer was the one hiding, and Gale happened across him.”
“A lot of things to consider.”
“He wouldn’t have necessarily known his killer, would he? Coming up from behind like that.”
“I’d consider that two different ways: the first, it was a random attack; possible, I suppose, but a blow like that… a single, killing blow… implies intent. Second, if it was in a remote location where he didn’t hear or see the killer, and I may be being a city girl here, but that suggests to me he was led there, invited there. It suggests, to me at least, premeditation.”
“Someone he knew.”
“I’m not always right. I’d be making a lot more money if I were.”
He grinned at the screen, his own image displayed in a tiny window in the upper left corner. “It’s helpful.”
“I hope so. I don’t mean to confuse your investigation.”
“To the contrary.”
“The sergeant and I… we’re here if you need us. Available any time.”
“If Boldt put you up to this, he must suspect it connects to Vetta.”
“I can’t speak for the sergeant.”
“Did he tell you about the nursery? About our witness?”
“He did.”
“And your opinion? Can I trust her? Can I trust what she saw?”
“She has everything to lose by lying to you.”
“That’s how I saw it.”
“The dumping of the body. I’m not real clear on that. On the one hand we have a physically powerful assailant, possibly premeditated; on the other, a roadside dumping. We see such dumping along secluded highways, certainly. Easily accessible by vehicle. Someplace people don’t frequent. I suppose this location of yours fits with that. But the way the sergeant described it, there are a lot more places over there to dump a body than alongside the valley’s only traffic artery. From what your witness said, the driver of that truck didn’t appear to dump something so much as collect something.”
“That’s one way to read it.”
“The sergeant mentioned a carjacking. A viable scenario, certainly. Athletes carry baseball bats in vehicles. It would have presented itself. It fits with premeditation and the dumping of the body.”
“But then we’re faced with a single set of tire tracks. Just the one set. And if what she saw is what she saw, then that truck didn’t dump him, and I don’t even know what that means,” he said, exasperated. “I suppose she got it wrong, the one set of tracks being the key.”
“Possibly. Witnesses are, if anything-”
“Unreliable,” he said. “We’re going around in circles. Besides, I have a suspect. The blood evidence from Wynn’s shoes is going to come back compatible with Gale. When it does, it’s going to be about means, not motive.”
“I wouldn’t be looking too closely at Vince Wynn for this,” she cautioned.
He didn’t want to hear any more. He wanted to disconnect the call.
She volunteered, “Of all the people, Gale’s agent would have known better than anyone the degree of threat Martel Gale represented. The kind of trouble he could make. He saw him through the assault trial. The conviction. He saw him on the playing field. All the trouble in the locker room.” She’d done her homework. “Gale had forty pounds and several inches on Vince Wynn. Wynn showed his weapon of choice in his backyard: you don’t hunt a lion with a BB gun. You don’t take on Gale with a baseball bat. More like a double-barreled shotgun. I went over this with the sergeant. It took some convincing. I realize the evidence-circumstantial and maybe otherwise-points you in a certain direction, and far be it from me to contest evidence. But if I had to describe his killer, pre
meditated or not, I would classify him as… reluctant. I realize that implies contradiction, but the other way to explain that single blow is as a crime of passion-a final, life-ending, flash of anger and rage, so intense that it required but a single strike. It happened in a single strike, a blow perhaps never intended to kill.”
“That is contradictory,” he said.
“Maybe I’m just trying to cover myself.” She laughed, somehow finding it amusing.
Walt felt uncomfortable. He was thinking maybe a woman could deliver a blow like that-an incredibly angry woman-angry at men like Martel Gale who had a record of violence against women. Never mind that it had been a single blow-the human being was capable of extraordinary acts of violence.
He wondered if Kira Tulivich had played high school softball, or if her family home was heated by wood, as so many homes in the valley still were. And if so, who in her family wielded the ax.
34
After putting in a call to Royal McClure, and summoning his nephew, Kevin, to his offices, Walt returned to the Incident Command Center at Fiona’s request.
“It’s done,” she said.
Walt sat down next to her and trained his eyes on the room’s central, flat panel display.
“It’s better up there on the wall,” she explained, “because of the viewing distance. I didn’t have time to make everything perfect. The stop action helps-it being all jerky.”
She clicked the play button and Walt watched the three seconds of choppy video.
“Amazing,” he said.
“You think so?”
“Is that even Ketchum?”
“A Seattle street. But I cut and pasted the signs in and they make it familiar enough to trick the eye, I think.”
“Thank you.”
“It was fun. A different kind of challenge.”
“Do you mind showing me how to run it?”
“I can do it for you.”
“Better if I do it,” he said. “There’s a psychology involved.”
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