Maggie was waiting at the creek, just as he had expected. She barked and came running to greet them. Qwen laughed and knelt down to pet her as the others gathered about. Then he studied the ground and nodded to himself. Kevin had taken a seat on a big boulder. Ann stood beside him, waiting and watching Qwen search for signs, while Gerson stood right behind him.
It was relatively quiet except for the sound of the water rushing over the stones. In the distance, just over two tall hickory trees, two crows taunted one another. Their caws seemed to be seized by the forest below and tossed back and forth by the large maple and oak, the sounds dying somewhere below the ridge to the left. No one spoke. They were all watching Qwen closely and waiting for his conclusions.
Suddenly he took off his moccasins, stepped into the water, and began to make his way across the creek. Maggie began barking madly and then went in behind him. The water wasn’t deep; it came to just below Qwen’s knees. The dog swam and used large stones to keep up. Since the creek was only about twelve feet wide, Qwen was across it in seconds. On the other side, he rolled down his pants and put on his moccasins. Then, without saying anything to anyone, he began to move down the bank of the creek. He went about twenty feet, paused and came back to the spot on which he had landed. He went upstream about twenty feet, stopped, scratched his head, and laughed.
“What’s so damn funny?” Gerson asked. He came to Kevin’s boulder and lit another cigarette.
“You guys are gonna hafta tell me a little more about this dog,” Qwen said. He sat himself down on the ground, laid his rifle beside him, and folded his legs under one another in Indian fashion. Maggie sprawled out beside him.
“What the hell . . .” Gerson looked at Kevin. He slipped off the rock and stood up beside Ann. Now the three of them stared across the creek at their trapper guide.
“What is it?” Kevin asked. “Why do you ask such a thing?”
Qwen shook his head. He took out a chunk of tobacco and bit off a piece. The crows flying over the hickory trees spotted them and flew overhead to inspect and report. Qwen watched them bank through the two large maples on the left and disappear.
“Well,” Qwen said, “I’ve tracked a few animals in my time, animals that lived all their lives in the forest and knew something about flight from other animals. They all do something different to protect themselves. I’ve known hunters to walk right past a deer because it planted itself so successfully and so quietly in the bush, but anyone who could track worth a shit could come up right behind them and blow them to kingdom come because wild animals, as nature smart as they are, don’t know what we’re looking for. They don’t know what to hide, cover up, understand.”
“So?” Gerson said.
“Kevin, yesterday when I showed you what your dog did at that bush, you didn’t seem that surprised.”
“Well, he’s smart,” Kevin said.
“Smart?” Qwen laughed. He pointed to the area about ten feet below them. “Look carefully over there. You’ll make out the dog’s tracks. You’ll see where he came to the creek. What I was thinking was he’d go either east or west along the bank of the water, follow it somewhere. Okay, he didn’t do that. He went into the water.”
“So? What’s so smart about that?” Gerson asked.
“What’s so smart about it, Mr. Fishman, is he didn’t cross the creek.”
“He remained within it,” Ann said quickly. “So we’d lose his tracks.”
“Exactly,” Qwen said, “and I ain’t never seen . . . no animal.. . think that far ahead.”
The three stared at him for a long moment. Qwen stroked Maggie slowly and watched them. They were strange, all right. This whole thing was strange, but he’d be damned if he’d go any farther until he found out why.
“All right,” Ann said. “Tell him.”
“Are you crazy?” Gerson said. “What if we never find the dog?”
“No one’s going to believe him anyway,” Kevin said. The three turned to one another for their conference.
“Bronstein’s not going to like this. I’m warning you.”
“Don’t be illogical,” Ann said. “Dr. Bronstein wants the dog back more than anything else. This man can’t do the job if he doesn’t know the full extent of what he’s up against.”
“She’s right,” Kevin said. Gerson’s eyes narrowed as he turned and contemplated the trapper across the creek.
“Okay,” Gerson said. “Do what has to be done.”
“Mr. Qwen,” Kevin said. “Why don’t we break out some lunch and talk?”
“Well it’s a little early for lunch,” Qwen said, “but under the circumstances . . .” He got up, took off his mocassins again, rolled up his pants, and came back across the creek.
After leaving the hospital the night before, Harry Michaels had no desire to remain long with Lieutenant Carlson. There wasn’t any gratitude or camaraderie in the I.D. man’s voice when he spoke. He made Harry feel like an underling assigned to do some insignificant “gofer” work. After Harry pulled up in front of Ken Strasser’s house, Carlson, parking behind him, took out his portable spotlight and washed the front of the home in its rays—as though the killer might be found plastered to one of the outside walls. Harry reached into his glove compartment, took out his flashlight, and stepped out of the car.
“He lived here alone?”
“For about ten years. That’s when his wife passed away.”
“And he was in his eighties?”
“Right.”
“I assume you checked the house for burglary,” Carlson said. Harry hadn’t personally done so, but he knew Patrolman Clark had been inside and that Charley had started looking for his father there.
“His son ransacked the place looking for him first. He didn’t mention any kind of robbery.”
“But you didn’t check it out yourself?” Carlson didn’t put his light directly on Harry, but he pointed the beam so it would strike that portion of the road before Harry and the illumination would encompass him.
“I had a patrolman in and out of there.”
“In a case like this, involving an elderly person, that is the most likely motive.”
“No shit.”
Carlson chose to ignore the sarcasm. “Show me where it supposedly happened first,” he commanded.
“Supposedly? The coroner pulled pebbles out of his head. He was killed outside, unless of course, he has a sandbox inside.” Harry turned on his light and started around the house. Carlson kept his light on and followed closely behind him, moving in silence. “That’s the barn,” Harry said, hitting it with his beam. “The coroner and I feel he was heading for it when something, someone, came out at him. I don’t know what that would do to your most likely motive, but. . .”
“Doesn’t do anything to it, Chief. The thief could have just escaped detection in the house and fled to the barn for cover, not knowing that the old man had seen him. The old man went for his rifle. He was probably the self-reliant type. And the rest is police history,” Carlson concluded. He had a tendency to speak a little through his nose and hold his head back. Harry hated to admit it, but the I.D. man’s theory sounded very logical. He regretted now that he hadn’t gone through the house. All alone out here and a man of his age, Ken Strasser would have been a prime target for some burglar.
“Has there been an upswing in burglaries in your jurisdiction, Chief?” Carlson asked. Harry didn’t have to think long. Statistics showed they already had doubled last year’s.
“Yes.”
“Any on this road lately?”
“On this road? No, not for nearly five years,” he added. He recalled the burglarization of the Levins’ home because it had been an incredible job. The story had even made the New York City papers. The thieves, after having well scouted Phil Levin’s family, pulled up in a moving van while the Levins were away for a weekend. They had practically emptied the house. Witnesses saw the truck, but no one called the police station. Who would suspect such a blatant theft perform
ed in broad daylight? Some of the men even waved to passersby. They did nothing to hide the name on the truck—CARE FREE MOVERS. Harry suspected a little irony and humor deliberately placed there. Afterward, there was no sign of such a truck and the conclusion was that the wording had been painted over quickly or somehow quickly removed. Most people minded their own business and simply assumed the Levins had bought new furniture and sold the old.
Carlson studied the diagram and measured out the distance to the barn. Inside, he inspected the hay bed that Harry had described. He said nothing while he did all this and Harry debated whether or not to simply leave. What kept him was the thought that he hadn’t personally inspected the inside of the house and he had better help do so.
“I see what you mean about a dog,” Carlson said suddenly. “There are prints all over the place here.”
“What do you make of it?” Harry asked quickly. He hadn’t meant to; it went against his grain to show this man he respected his opinion or his intelligence, but his own driving curiosity was too strong.
“There was a case we had back in the early seventies,” Carlson began. He set his spotlight down at his feet and took out a cigarette. “Fascinating, I thought. Most people, especially today, are buying and training guard dogs, German shepherds, police dogs, to help protect them. It’s becoming a booming business. Anyway, this guy, a good trainer himself, used a dog to help rob people.”
“Rob people?”
“Yeah,” Carlson said. He blew his smoke into the darkness. “He’d confront people with his dog and the dog would growl and show its teeth and he would say, ‘Empty your pockets,’ whatever. Better than a gun. I mean, is that armed robbery?”
“Hard to make an escape though, wasn’t it?”
“Not really. He drove around in a station wagon and the dog would stay down between the seats.”
“But he got caught, didn’t he?”
“Oh yeah, by a police dog too,” Carlson said and laughed. “One night he chose to rob this little diner just outside of Jamestown, New York. He picked a time when the place was empty, just before closing. What he didn’t know was the owner had his own dog and the two got into a real battle. The diner dog tore his dog up pretty badly and while that was going on, the owner had time to get to his pistol.”
“If you had a story like that on the records, why did you laugh when I mentioned a dog?”
“Well, I didn’t know about the paw prints and it’s one thing to have a dog growl and threaten people and another to train one to smother a man to death, wouldn’t you say? A dog would bite, if he’s a killer, trained to go for the throat, but once the coroner confirmed asphyxiation as the cause of death . . .”
“Well, what do you make of it now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see any evidence of a human being around that bed of hair ... no cigarette butts or anything. Of course, it’s dark and even with the light, it’s hard to search. I’ll come back first thing in the morning and scout this whole area. I’ll bring in some of my people and we’ll have forensics work out this animal hair. Can we get into the house?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. Despite himself, he felt he was getting so he could tolerate Carlson enough to work with him. They walked up to the back door and entered the old farmhouse.
“Big place for one old man,” Carlson said. “Did he have a housekeeper or something?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ll check with his son. I’ve got to call him now. I promised I would.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect him?” Carlson asked. Harry thought for a moment. Again, here was something he hadn’t even considered. It wasn’t good police work. Maybe this was a job only for men like Carlson.
“I don’t, no.”
“Inheritance. Is the son in any kind of serious debt?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“We’ve got to consider it,” Carlson said.
“Yeah,” Harry said, the realization settling in. He watched Carlson inspect the kitchen. “It’s all right for me to call him though, isn’t it?” In a matter of moments, Carlson had made Harry feel insecure. Maybe we are the country bumpkins, he thought. After all, they are the experts. Their days aren’t filled with the same kind of trivia. You don’t have to like the specialist that the GP calls in, but you damn well need him when things get serious. It was a matter of the experiences. Harry could count on his fingers all the homicides that had occurred in the township since he had become a police chief, but for a man like Carlson, homicide was his daily work.
“What are you supposed to tell him?”
“The cause of death, that it was a definite homicide.”
“All right. Ask him if there was some kind of housekeeper and ask him how thoroughly he went through this house first. See if there are any valuables we should look for to find out if they’re still here. I assume you asked him about a dog.”
“Yeah. The old man didn’t have one, but there have been some problems with dogs on this street. I’ll tell you about them.”
“Good,” Carlson said. “While you’re calling him, I’ll start looking through the house.” He went on to the living room.
When Harry was finished with Charley, he joined Carlson in the hall at the foot of the stairway.
“No housekeeper. The old man was just very particular about how the place was kept. Charley hadn’t really checked the place, but he says his mother’s jewelry is still up in the bedroom and his father kept some savings bonds in a dresser drawer.”
“All right. Let’s check that,” Carlson said. He stopped before taking the first step and went to the small table by the phone. Ethel’s picture turned to the wall caught his attention. “Funny, isn’t it? Why would someone do that?”
“Cleaning maybe, and forgot to turn it back.”
“Maybe.”
“Jesus, you are a stickler for details,” Harry said, half admiringly.
“It’s in the smallest, seemingly insignificant acts that people leave their signatures,” Carlson said.
Harry nodded and then followed him up the stairs. Everything was there.
They didn’t part on what he would call friendly terms, but the case itself had caused a natural truce to form between them. Carlson’s gesture came when he said he would contact Harry in the morning and keep him abreast of events. He didn’t laugh or smirk when Harry told him about the near tragic incident the Kaufmans had had with their dog and the strange things the family had seen and heard afterward. At the moment he couldn’t see how it related, but he promised to speak to the Kaufmans. Harry said he would start investigating Charley Strasser’s finances immediately. They shook hands and parted.
Harry checked in at the station first and was grateful that everything was quieter than usual. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realized he hadn’t eaten a thing since twelve o’clock. As he expected, Jenny was waiting for him in the kitchen, preparing his late supper. As soon as she saw his face, her expression softened.
“I earned my money tonight,” he said. He sat down and as she served him, he told her about the autopsy, about Carlson, and about their investigation. He didn’t mention Carlson’s suspicion of Charley Strasser, but he told her about the dog hairs.
“Eerie,” she said. She sat across from him, watching him eat.
“Well, Carlson has a theory based on a case that occurred before, but . . .”
“But you don’t think it’s the same thing?”
“No, and neither does he, as far as I can tell.”
“You’d better call the boys,” she told him after she served him his coffee. “Larry called an hour ago because Johnny called him. They’re both worried about you.”
“A conspiracy,” he said. “I smell it.”
“Conspiracy?”
“Don’t tell me my retirement didn’t come up in your conversations, Jenny Michaels.”
“Why Harry, do you think I would stoop so low as to use our children a
s a way of influencing you?”
“Yes.” They stared at each other a moment, neither changing expression.
“Well, it’s only natural,” she said, and he laughed. Later, he did talk to his sons. He told them something about the case, and during the conversation with both of them, he promised he was going to seriously consider his future. It was enough to quiet everyone down for the evening.
He was up at the start of dawn, actually a few minutes before the first rays of sunlight broke the wall of darkness. It had been a restless sleep, and although Jenny didn’t say anything, she was just as disturbed. She watched him slip silently from the bed and begin to dress. For a few moments she debated whether or not to pretend to be asleep and then decided that it was no sense kidding anyone, least of all herself.
“What do you expect to find this early in the morning, Harry? Even thieves and killers sleep.”
“No sense in me just lyin’ here. My eyes won’t close and my mind don’t stop.”
“Wonderful.” She started to get up.
“You just sleep. I’ll make some coffee. That’s about all I’m havin’ now anyway. I’ll eat later at Willy’s luncheonette.”
“So everyone can say I don’t get up to give you breakfast?”
“Now you know no one would say that.”
“I’ll make the coffee,” she said. “You go shave. At least you could look like you live a normal life,” she added. He shook his head and did as she suggested.
He was downtown early enough to see Sid Kaufman come out of Lake Street and head for the New York State Thruway. Kaufman must have been in deep thought, he figured, because although they clearly faced each other and Harry waved, the efficiency expert drove by looking like a man hypnotized by his own thoughts.
7
WHEN HE SAW the man bolt the basement door shut, his first reaction was to charge out to attack. He saw him discover the torn box and the broken glass and he assumed the man had come to the realization that he was here. It looked as though the man had decided to trap him. He hesitated and in that hesitation, he saw a second possible conclusion. Although his ego had been swelling like an infected area of skin, he was still governed by logic. From the early days, days when he had been drilled in the most elemental behavioral tasks, he relied on the distinct steps of observation, action, reaction, and conclusion. The Pavlovian games the man and the woman had made him play gave him an understanding of relationships and rewards; and when they changed the stimulus and stung him with electricity, it didn’t take him a second or third try to change his awareness of what was pleasant and what was not. He respected logic; he relied on it. It was one of his chief weapons.
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