“You told me he did.”
“So?”
“What you said when you entered the room, that wasn’t just to hold off Mr. Muehlenhaus, right? You really can prove Jack is innocent?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, and for a moment she looked as she had when we were kids, when our lives were only slightly complicated.
“What proof? What do you know?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me?”
The smile disappeared. Lindsey was on her feet now and leaning heavily on the table. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table and I thought there was a good chance she would throw it across the room.
“I’m not going to tell you for the same reason that Jack never told you, or anyone else for that matter, the reason why he was content to let people whisper the word ‘murderer’ next to his name.”
“Why?”
“I’m an honorable man.”
Lindsey stared at me like she didn’t believe it.
“You said so yourself, back at the Groveland Tap,” I reminded her.
She still didn’t believe it.
“Speaking of honor,” I said. “Or the lack thereof. Tell me about Troy Donovan.”
Lindsey regained her seat.
“I told you. I barely know—”
“Stop it, Zee. Stop lying. Just this once, tell me the truth. I’ve been shot at, my car has been forced off the highway, I’ve been assaulted in skyways, accosted in parking lots, received menacing phone calls late at night, and that doesn’t count the dead bodies I’ve tripped over. I figured I earned the truth. Tell me about Troy Donovan.
“He’s just an acquaintance.”
“Tell me!”
“We were lovers. Is that what you want to hear, McKenzie? We were lovers, okay?”
“Ex-lovers?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why he sent the e-mail?”
“He did send it, then.”
“You know he did.”
“I knew, but I didn’t know. Not one hundred percent. That’s why I sent you down here. To find out for sure.”
“What then? Were you going to call Muehlenhaus? Have Donovan whacked?”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
Lindsey finished her drink and poured another. She didn’t add ice or tonic water. A grimace distorted her face as she took a long sip of the straight vodka and suddenly her perfect beauty seemed terribly brittle and easily shattered.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “Everything that’s happened has been my fault. I know what I am, McKenzie. I’m an adulteress. I betrayed my husband’s trust and his love just for the fun of it. Only I won’t steal his dreams. That’s one gutter I won’t crawl into. That’s why I broke it off with Troy. When it became clear that Jack was going to win the election, I told Troy I wasn’t going to see him anymore. Only he wouldn’t let me go. Even now he still calls. He sends e-mails . . .”
I flashed on Nina Truhler’s ex-husband.
“Some men need to own,” I said.
“Troy thinks if Jack doesn’t run for the Senate, we can still be together.”
“He’s afraid that if Jack wins a senate seat, he’ll take you with him to far, far away Washington. I understand that. Only why send the e-mail to you and not to Jack?”
“It was a warning. I’m expected to talk Jack out of it, otherwise . . .”
“Otherwise Donovan will carry out his threat. Nice people you hang out with, Zee.”
“We can’t let it happen, McKenzie.”
“We?”
“We can’t let him hurt Jack like that. We . . . I love Jack. I love my husband. I know how that sounds after what I’ve done, but I do love him, McKenzie. We can’t—we just can’t . . . Oh, God.”
Lindsey sighed as if all the air had left her lungs.
“What am I going to do?” she asked.
I poured a small amount of vodka into my glass, added both ice and tonic water. I sat across from Lindsey at the table.
“Why did you have the affair?”
“For the same reason I slept with you.”
“To get back at your sister?”
“No. I mean . . . Have you ever done anything extraordinarily stupid, knowing it was stupid even while you were doing it?”
Images of Danny Mallinger flickered in my head.
“Do you mean recently?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to become wiser as we grow older. Don’t you believe it.”
“Don’t say that, Zee. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“You never struck me as a man who makes many—what shall we call it—errors in judgment?”
“I can tell you stories that would bring bitter tears to your eyes.”
Lindsey smiled briefly before drinking enough straight vodka that she coughed.
“Troy came along when I was feeling pretty sorry for myself,” she said. “We had been married for seven years, Jack and I, and somehow our lives had come between us. Jack was busy doing Jack things—running his business, the charities, getting involved in politics, all the rest. Me—you know I had worked in advertising. That’s how I met Jack. I was an associate creative director working on the Barrett Motels account, winning awards, making money, having fun. I quit after the wedding because—because of the resentment of my colleagues. It was as if by marrying a wealthy man I had somehow forfeited the right to work side by side with people who worried about mortgages and car payments and braces for the kids. Instead, I shopped. I lunched with women who shopped. Sometimes I did busywork for a couple of charities and nonprofit groups that would rather I just sent a check.”
“You became desperately bored,” I said.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
I thought of Teachwell and the enormous amount of money that capturing him had brought me—the reason I had quit the cops.
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“Except that you found something constructive to do with your time. I didn’t. Instead, I found Troy.” Lindsey shook her head sadly. “Sometimes we see things in people that just aren’t there. Women do it more then men. Or maybe we’re just more likely to admit it and be disappointed by it when we see that we’re wrong.”
“How did Donovan know about Elizabeth Rogers?”
“I told him. Jack has this recurring nightmare. It doesn’t happen often. Couple of times a year at most. He has never told me what happens in the dream, but eventually I discovered what caused it—the murder of Elizabeth Rogers. I told Troy about it. I don’t know why.”
“Troy did some sleuthing, but not enough,” I said. “He settled for the rumors.”
“The rumors were all that Troy wanted. That’s what he believed. It’s what I believed. You must think me a fool.”
“No. Foolish, maybe. There’s a difference.”
“What am I going to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to protect Jack. That’s all I want.”
“Okay.”
“What does okay mean?”
“Now that we know Jack is innocent, the Chief and I are going to try to learn who actually did kill Elizabeth Rogers. Possibly we can remove the threat from Jack once and for all. As for Donovan—I’ll take care of Donovan.”
I told myself I was doing it for the governor, not for her. I still liked the governor.
“How?” Lindsey asked.
“Does it matter?”
“You’re not going to . . . kill him?”
“Did you ask that when Muehlenhaus said he’d take care of me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Said, ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ ”
“Sound advice.”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.
“That’s probably my driver,” Lindsey said.
I yanked open the door and found Danny
Mallinger on the other side. She was still wearing her police uniform.
“McKenzie, I have something you should know,” she said. She saw Lindsey standing behind me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
“Excuse me,” Lindsey said. “I was just leaving.”
I helped Lindsey on with her coat while Mallinger stood in the doorway watching.
“Are we still friends, McKenzie?” Lindsey asked.
I was still having a difficult time getting past Norman and Muehlenhaus.
“I liked your sister and then I stopped liking her,” I said. “I liked you, too.”
“But not anymore.”
I didn’t say no, yet the word hung there between us just the same.
“Let’s just say that you used up your allotment of favors and let it go at that,” I told her.
I led her to the door.
“It would seem that I’m the one who owes favors,” she said.
“One day I may call to collect.”
Lindsey kissed my cheek.
“Good-bye and thank you,” she said, and slipped past Mallinger into the corridor. Mallinger let the door close behind her.
“Was that the first lady?” she asked.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Mallinger moved deeper into the room.
“I like your sweater,” she said.
“I wish I could say the same about your outfit. I thought we were having dinner.”
“I thought you might like to take a little trip with me first.”
“Where to?”
“You remember Andy, my rookie officer? I just met with him. Damned if he didn’t get a hit after all. PDQ identified the color of the paint chips on your car as ‘true blue.’ They came from a 1999 Ford F-350 Superduty XLT pickup truck, and yes, it’s available with a plow package. I just got off the phone with DMV. It seems there is, in fact, only one true blue 1999 Ford F-350 Superduty XLT pickup truck with a plow package in the county.”
“Who owns it?”
“Eugene Hugoson.”
14
The stars glistened in the night sky. They seemed to be considerably larger, brighter, and more numerous than they were in the Cities, where light pollution usually renders them as vivid as a flashlight with an exhausted battery. The moon, too. None of the songs I knew could do it justice. Mallinger was also gazing up at them. We were standing together next to the police cruiser she had parked in the space between the house and two outbuildings on Hugoson’s farm.
“I wish I knew astronomy,” Mallinger said. “If I knew astronomy I could be your guide. Instead, we’re both lost in the night sky. Lost in the stars.”
“Danny, you’re a poet,” I said.
“Nah. A guy used that line on me once and I’ve always wanted to give it a try myself.”
“Was it successful?”
“You tell me?”
“We should have backup.”
“I told you. All my guys are at the high school covering the basketball game. Against Albert Lea. There’s going to be five thousand people there. Besides, we’re not going to arrest anyone. This is just—what did you call it before—a ‘knock and talk’?”
Mallinger walked purposefully to the door. A light flashed on before she reached it. The heavy inside door opened. Hugoson stood behind the glass of the flimsier storm door. He made no effort to open it.
“Do you have a warrant?” he wanted to know.
“A warrant?” Mallinger said. “Gene, why do we need a warrant? We just came to chat with you is all.”
“Chat about what?” Hugoson was talking to Mallinger while staring at me.
“Truth is, we wanted to take a gander at your Ford,” Mallinger said.
“Why?”
“Just a quick look.”
“Why?”
“Well now, Gene. We have reason to believe that it might have been involved in a traffic accident.”
“Yeah? Who did I hit?”
Mallinger gestured toward where I was standing, my hands thrust deep into my coat pockets.
“No way,” Hugoson said.
“We’ll take a quick look. If we’re wrong, if there’s no damage, we’ll apologize for disturbing your peace and be on our way.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see that—a cop apologizing to me.”
“Could be it’s your lucky day.”
Hugoson responded with an obscenity you don’t hear on network television and slammed the door.
“Let’s get a search warrant,” I suggested. “Tomorrow we’ll take this guy apart.”
“Just wait,” Mallinger said.
A moment later, Hugoson flew through the door wearing a bulky winter coat and thick boots. Mallinger arched her eyebrows at me. Her message was clear: I told you so.
“I knew you were coming,” Hugoson said. “Sooner or later I figured. Chief, there’s damage to my truck. You can see that for yourself, but you gotta know—Listen, Chief”—he jabbed a thumb in my direction—“I never touched this guy. I never went near this guy.”
We followed Hugoson into his pole barn. He flicked a switch and a series of fluorescent lights blinked to life.
“I admit there’s damage.” He gestured at the pickup and stopped talking.
The truck shimmered beneath the lights. The plow blade was still attached. We eased to the right side of it with Hugoson trailing behind. Mallinger squatted next to the plow blade and front bumper. With a flashlight for help, she examined the blade, front grill, bumper, and side panel. After a few moments she flicked the light along the length of the vehicle. There were plenty of dings, dents, and rumpled metal.
“Look,” she said.
I leaned over her shoulder. There were also plenty of dots and dashes of silver paint on the blade and truck body.
“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars PDQ identifies it as Audi light silver metallic,” I said.
“I know this looks bad,” Hugoson claimed. “But we gotta be able to work this out. I’ll pay to have your car fixed,” he told me.
Mallinger pulled a plastic bag and a pair of tweezers that she had borrowed from Officer Andy out of her coat pocket. She dug chips of silver paint out of the plow blade and side panel and dropped them in the bag.
“This isn’t right,” Hugoson wailed. “I didn’t go after this guy, Chief. You gotta believe me.”
“You were correct before, Gene. This does look bad.”
Hugoson glared at me like I was the source of all his problems in life. “What are you trying to do to me?” he wanted to know.
“Guess,” I told him.
“You’re trying to fuck me over cuz of what happened to Beth.”
“If you want to tell that story in court, you go right ahead,” I said.
“Goddammit, I can’t go back to prison. I just can’t.”
Mallinger finished collecting samples and straightened up.
“I’m going back to the Law Enforcement Center,” she said. “Do everyone a favor and turn yourself in early tomorrow morning. Otherwise, I’m coming back here with sheriff deputies and that kid from the Herald.”
“You can’t do this to me.”
“The county attorney will begin with a charge of leaving the scene of an accident,” I said. “I think he can make a pretty good case for felony assault, maybe even attempted murder.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“It was your truck.”
“I know, I know . . . Oh, shit. All right, all right, I know how things work. You gotta give me a deal.”
“A deal? Why?”
“I’ll tell you everything if you promise not to fuck up my parole. You can’t send me back to prison.”
“What are you talking about?” Mallinger said.
“Do we have a deal? I ain’t talkin’ unless we have a deal.”
“I can’t make a deal,” Mallinger said.
“I can,” I told him.
Mallinger scowled at me.
“I can only speak for the ca
r,” I told Hugoson. “Tell us something good and I won’t file a complaint. I’ll forget about the car.”
“That’s not enough.”
“How much more do you need?” Mallinger asked.
Hugoson started walking in small, tight circles at the front of the garage, his hands squeezing each side of his head.
“I knew this would happen, I just fucking knew this would happen,” he chanted.
Finally, he stopped. He moved to Mallinger’s and raised his hand like he wanted to set it on her shoulder, but didn’t dare. Instead, he stared deeply into her eyes.
“You’re a good cop,” he said. “You got my respect. You do your job, but you cut people slack when there’s slack to cut. You don’t go around tryin’ to break people’s balls. If you promise to vouch for me with the county attorney, I’ll tell ya.”
“Tell me what?”
“Everything.”
“For everything I’ll cut you all the slack there is,” Mallinger said.
“It was Coach.”
“Coach Testen?”
“He came to me—”
“Coach Testen?” Mallinger repeated.
“He borrowed my truck. He said he wanted to move some stuff out of Josie’s place. Later, when he brought it back, it was like this. I asked him about it. You gotta know I asked him about it. Look what he did to my truck. I asked him and Coach says, he says, ‘Looks like we don’t need to worry about McKenzie anymore.’ ”
Mallinger grabbed my wrist and squeezed hard to keep me from speaking.
“When did this happen?” she said.
“Yesterday morning,” Hugoson said. “He took the truck at about seven. He brought it back just before noon.”
“He said, ‘We don’t need to worry about McKenzie, anymore.’ Exactly those words.”
“Yes.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said to keep my mouth shut or he’d fuck me over, too.”
“Coach said that?”
“Not those exact words, but that’s what he meant.”
“You didn’t do anything about it?”
“No.”
“What about Josie?”
“I didn’t hear about Josie until—until later that night.”
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