I went in and was immediately stopped short by a counter running the length of the room. A light was on in a large office in the back, and I heard the sheriff call my name. She came out and brought me back. I was placed in a chair directly facing Diane Brinkley across her desk, and Chris took a seat on a small couch to my right. Brinkley looked, if anything, even frostier than she had the day before, and when I turned to look at Chris, she avoided my gaze.
Don’t ask me why, but I suddenly felt like a piece of raw meat between two hungry pit bulls. And it didn’t get any better when Diane started to speak.
“Mr. Akers, we’d like to ask you a few questions, but before we do, just as a matter of form, I want to remind you that you have the right to remain silent; you have the right to an attorney …”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “What’s this all about? I’ve been helping the sheriff’s office in this investigation.”
The two women exchanged what, to me, seemed like a meaningful glance.
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Akers, and I’m not accusing you of anything. At the same time, by your own admission, you were present very near the scene of a capital crime in a remote area that could reasonably be expected to be deserted at the time. Until we have more conclusive information, we wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t at least regard you as a possible suspect.”
“I can’t believe this. I volunteered my plane and paid for the gas …”
“We’ll reimburse you for the gas,” Chris said.
“ … to do an aerial search when you wanted to and didn’t have a plane.”
“And the county appreciates that,” Diane said. “But bear in mind that you also took the initiative in leading investigators to the body.”
“I led them to where I heard the shot.”
“Let me finish, please, Mr. Akers. Unfortunately — and the sheriff can correct me if I’m wrong — it’s not uncommon for persons who commit a crime to try to divert suspicion from themselves by offering to help the authorities.” She looked at the sheriff.
“I’ve seen it happen,” said Chris.
“And so, until you’ve been absolutely ruled out as a suspect, we need to be sure you’ve been properly warned.”
“You don’t have to read me my rights,” I said. “I have nothing to hide. What do you want to know?” I crossed my arms over my chest, leaned back in the chair, and gave the prosecutor the most intimidating glare I could.
She didn’t seem to be impressed.
“Have it your way,” she said. “I know you’ve already done this, but could you please go over your movements on Thursday the sixth between the hours of two and seven p.m.”
I told her in as much detail as possible.
“So by your account,” she continued, “you were fishing Powder Creek for about three hours, with your friend, Mr. Gordon.”
I nodded.
“And did you see anyone during that time — aside from Mr. Gordon?”
“No.”
“Might anyone have seen you?”
“Maybe, but it’s hard to imagine.”
“Assuming, for the moment, that the killer was someone else, wouldn’t he have had to have driven past Mr. Gordon’s Cherokee, parked in plain view of the road, in order to get to where the body was found?”
“I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“But you didn’t see another vehicle pass?”
“No. We were out of sight of the road almost the whole time.”
“And if the shot you heard from up the road …”
“I just heard a shot. I couldn’t tell where it came from.”
“Let me follow the hypothesis, Mr. Akers. If the shot came from the crime scene, and it was the shot that killed Jessica, the person who fired it would have had to come back right past you, is that correct?”
“I don’t know the back roads that well, but …”
“Come on, Diane. It’s the only way out,” Chris said.
“So,” Diane continued, “Did you see or hear anything after the shot?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t hear a car engine? See any lights behind you as you were driving back.”
“Nothing, sorry.”
“Hmm.”
“Look,” I said, my irritation boiling over. “I flew into the airport a little before noon. You can confirm that through my flight log and airport records. That’s the first time I’ve ever been in this county in my life. How many serial killers fly into a strange town, where they stand out as strangers, and abduct someone before they’ve been around even a few hours. Does that seem likely to you? And bear in mind that I was in the Bay Area when the other women disappeared.”
She didn’t say anything for just long enough to get my skin crawling a bit.
“I didn’t say you were a likely suspect, Mr. Akers. I said you were a possible suspect. And I’m just doing my job in Mirandizing you. Is there anything at all you can tell us? The slightest detail or sensation from that night? Anything?”
“Just that I heard the shot and Gordon didn’t, and that I was hungry and wanted to get to dinner. We left within a minute of the shot.”
“All right. I guess that’ll do it for now. How long are you going to be in the area?”
“Through Saturday night.”
“And you’re staying at the Danube?”
“The whole time.”
“Then we know where to find you. Thank you for your time, Mr. Akers. You can go now.”
I got up and walked to the door, but before leaving, decided to get in the last word.
“Call me any time,” I said. “I’ll do anything I can to help, even if you think I’m a person of interest.”
BONE WEARY AND BRAIN WEARY, Gordon slouched through the front door of the Danube. Walking across the lobby, he looked into the bar, where Elizabeth had said she’d be. She was sitting by herself on a barstool, halfway down the bar. He watched her as she lifted a clear, carbonated beverage to her lips and turned her head toward the door. Their eyes met, and he nodded as he walked in.
The only other customer was a man in his fifties with long gray hair under a Vietnam Veteran cap and an unkempt salt and pepper beard. He and the bartender were at one end of the bar, watching the Sunday Night Football game, leaving Gordon and Elizabeth essentially alone.
“Good to have you here,” she said. “There’s something depressing about a single woman sitting alone at a deserted bar on a Sunday night in a small town. It seems so desperate, don’t you think?”
“You don’t look desperate to me.”
She nodded. “Rough day?”
“I’ve had worse, but, yeah, it was a rough day.”
“Where’s your amigo?”
“Sam? He was off to the sheriff to go over what he heard the other night. He’s probably tired of talking about it by now.”
“The horror is still sinking in. It’s real now. I mean, it was always real in that we were pretty sure they’d been abducted. Now there isn’t even that sliver of hope that we were wrong and they might be OK.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
There was a commercial timeout in the football game, and the bartender walked over with a slight limp.
“What can I get you?”
“Just a beer,” Gordon said.
“Budweiser or Coors?”
“Bud.”
The bartender turned to a small refrigerator behind him, took out two bottles of beer, twisted off the tops, and pushed one toward Gordon.
“Glass?”
“Why?”
The bartender shrugged and looked at Elizabeth. “Anything for the lady?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You can pay later,” he said, and walked back to the end of the bar.
“Shall we move to a table?” Gordon asked.
She nodded, and they moved to a circular table as far from the bartender and the other customer as possible. The tables and chairs had been bought more than four d
ecades ago but were serviceable despite their wear and tear. The carpet was worn, but not yet dangerous.
“You must admit,” she said, as they sat down, “the place has character.”
“Of a certain kind,” Gordon said. He took a long pull on his beer, set it on the table, and closed his eyes.
“Bob called me this afternoon,” she said
“I was just talking to him myself.”
“Did he tell you he was doing a little investigating?”
“It’s about all he told me.”
“He said he thinks he’s onto something that he got from a babe.”
“You let him use language like that?”
“It’s just Bob being Bob. Anyway, he wanted to talk to me about it tomorrow, right after his show ends at noon.”
“I guess I wasn’t invited.”
“It got me thinking that maybe there’s something you can contribute, Gordon. Can you meet me at my office at the college later in the afternoon to talk about it.”
“Can you give me a hint about this?”
“I’d rather not until I talk to Bob. It may be all three of us will be there. Sam can come, too, if he likes.”
Gordon took another swallow of beer and rubbed his eyes.
“Desperate woman in dive bar issues mysterious invitation. How can I refuse?”
“You’ll be doing it for Bob, too.”
“All right. I’ll ask Sam when he gets back.”
“I think he just did.”
She was looking over Gordon’s shoulder toward the bar entrance, and Gordon turned to see Sam heading in their direction. The grim purposefulness of his stride, in contrast to his usual casual amble, told Gordon his friend was agitated. Sam looked at both of them when he reached the table.
“Am I interrupting something?” he said.
“Not yet,” she said.
“You look like you could use one of these,” Gordon said, holding up his beer. He saw the bartender heading toward the refrigerator and pointed to his bottle and Sam. “Go get it, and tell him to put it on my tab. How about you, Elizabeth?”
She shook her head. “I’m just having soda with a twist. I have a long drive home.”
“You don’t live in town?”
“The apartments are too small to give me a place to paint. I found an outbuilding on a ranch a few miles north where I can have a little studio. You should come take a look some time.”
“Maybe I will.”
Sam returned with his drink.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “They read me my rights and they’re treating me as a suspect.”
“Was it Diane Brinkley who did that?” Elizabeth said. Sam nodded. “Maybe you should cut her some slack. She has a brilliant legal mind, but her diplomatic skills aren’t exactly suited to the Foreign Service.”
“And you have to admit,” Gordon said, “that being so close to the crime scene, we probably look a bit suspicious. Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’m sure it’ll all work out. And we have an invitation to join Bob and Elizabeth for a discussion about some mysterious matter tomorrow afternoon.”
“I thought we were going fishing.”
“We can fish all morning. It’ll be fine.”
They lapsed into a silence that lasted half a minute. Elizabeth finally spoke.
“You know, Sam, I was thinking about what happened to you. It’s just the beginning of what’s going to be going on in this town now that we know for sure there’s a killer on the loose. And it has to be someone in this town or the general area. Someone we all know, someone who seems like a normal member of the community for all intents and purposes. When the shock over the discovery of Jessica’s body fades away, all of us in this community are going to be looking sideways at each other, wondering who it is. It’s going to be awful.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Gordon said, “but you’re right. In a big city, even a suburban town, you can always tell yourself it must be some loner you don’t even know. Hard to do that here.”
She finished her drink and stood up. “And on that note, I’m going to drive seven miles home down a dark, deserted highway so I can get some sleep before my eight o’clock class tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams,” Gordon said.
Monday November 10
THEY AWAKENED to the voice of Mountain Bob on the radio; they ate breakfast with the voice of Mountain Bob playing in the background of the Buckhorn Café; and Mountain Bob was giving full throat to the morning news when Gordon and Sam started up the Cherokee to go fishing.
“What’s the plan?” asked Sam.
“The Big Hole River flows through another valley about ten miles west,” Gordon said. A dirt road leads to a campground and a long stretch of public access. Sound all right to you?”
“It sounds just fine to me. It’ll be good to be fishing again.”
The sun had risen but not many people were out and about as they drove through town. Mountain Bob was wrapping up the news with a weather report.
“And we had a beautiful sunrise this morning, but if the weatherman is right, clouds will be moving in later in the day, and we’ll have a chance of a shower late afternoon and evening. In fact, our weather friends say that spell of Indian Summer we’ve been having is over and we’re moving into more typical fall weather. Today’s high is expected to be 58, and we’re looking at steadily cooling temperatures the rest of the week with a serious chance of rain on Thursday and maybe even the first snow of the season on Saturday. So if you get caught without your cold-weather outfit, don’t go around saying Mountain Bob didn’t tell you.
“And that’s the news at seven, brought to you by Nate’s Towing and Body Shop. If you run off the road, Nate’ll get you back in business. And remember: Nate has thousands of friends, and he met them all by accident.”
“Where does he come up with that stuff?” asked Sam.
“He can probably do it in his sleep,” Gordon replied. “We’re almost at the radio station. Let’s wave to him as we go by.”
They did, knowing Bob couldn’t see them anyway. His patter continued.
“It’s 7:06 a.m., just past the top of hour two of Morning Coffee with Mountain Bob. You’re listening to Radio KNEP, the voice of the high desert.” Again, the coyote howl. “Don’t go away, folks. We’ve got a lot of good music coming up between now and noon, and at eleven, our guest interview will be with Sheriff Chris Huntley, who will tell us in her own words what’s going on in the investigation into the murder of Jessica Milland, whose body was found yesterday off a logging road above Powder Creek.
“Just to remind you, Mountain Bob and Radio KNEP are committed to reporting the events that have shattered and horrified our community, and we will continue to do so until the person or persons involved are brought to justice. Along those lines, just between you and me, Mountain Bob has been doing some investigating on his own, involving someone with a famous name, and I’m hoping that later on, I can give the sheriff information that could lead to an arrest. So this could be an eventful day, and you’ll hear it all first on Radio KNEP.
“And now for some music. We’re going to start things off with Patsy Cline’s classic rendition of ‘I Fall to Pieces,’ and then go to Porter Wagoner, before he teamed up with Dolly Parton, singing ‘Green, Green Grass of Home,’ a song that, if my investigation is right, someone in this town may be singing before long.”
Gordon slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop in a turnout. He slapped the top of the steering wheel with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“I’m half tempted to turn around, go back to the radio station, and box Bob’s ears,” Gordon said. “Last night at dinner he was being cute about it, but he definitely thought he was onto something, though he wouldn’t say what. He’s putting himself in danger talking like that.”
Sam nodded gently, once. “He probably isn’t in much danger now, and you’ll be seeing him this afternoon. Maybe you can say a word then.” They sat for a
minute listening to Patsy. “She has a big voice.”
“And a great voice. Too bad she died so young. Plane crash.”
“Like Buddy Holly.”
“You’re probably right about Bob. I’ll talk to him later. I love the guy, but he can be exasperating.”
Gordon pulled back onto the highway as the Wagoner song — about a prison inmate remembering his hometown shortly before his execution — came on. As it wound down to its final notes, Gordon unconsciously leaned slightly toward the radio to hear what Bob would say when he came back on.
Bob said nothing. When the song ended, there was dead silence. At first, Gordon thought Bob may have been momentarily distracted, but as the silence dragged on, second after agonizing second, it became more sinister. Half a minute passed, but it felt like two hours.
“Something’s not right,” Gordon said.
Another turnout materialized ahead, and Gordon pulled into it. Looking both ways down the deserted highway, he turned the Cherokee around and started back toward the radio station.
I THOUGHT OF TELLING GORDON he was driving too fast, but he was clearly in no mood for the message, and he’s never listened to it anyway. At least not when it comes from me. Instead, he got the message from another source when a set of police lights began blinking at us a couple of minutes later.
“Not again,” he said. “I won’t be able to afford insurance.”
Actually, he would, but he caught a break. When he pulled on to the shoulder, the Highway Patrol sedan blew past us.
“You dodged a bullet,” I said. “There must be an accident ahead.”
“He can’t pull me over if I’m behind him,” Gordon said, getting back on the highway and obliterating the speed limit again. He doesn’t learn.
We were only a few minutes from town, and the CHP vehicle remained in sight most of the way on the straight highway. Near the edge of town, it made a left turn.
“Did he turn into the radio station?” Gordon said.
Apparently so. As we got there, we saw Sandy Steadman getting out of the car. She looked up as Gordon skidded into the parking lot.
The Daughters Of Alta Mira (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 4) Page 11