preoccupied.
“With that horrible phone message and everything else going on today, I forgot to tell you that the insurance adjuster was here.”
“He was here to examine the barn?”
“And ask questions.”
“Like Kramden?”
“He covered the same ground. List of contents, who did what when, details of any other insurance policies we have, et cetera.”
“I assume you gave him copies of the same stuff we gave Kramden?”
“Her.”
“Sorry?”
“It was a woman. She wanted sales receipts for the bicycle and the kayaks.” In Madeleine’s voice there was sadness and anger. “You have any idea where they are?”
He shook his head.
She paused. “I asked her how soon we could demolish it.”
“The part of the barn that’s still standing?”
“She said the company would let us know.”
“No hint of when?”
“No. They need written permission from the arson squad before they can okay anything.” Her hands had closed into fists. “I can’t stand looking at it.”
He gave her a long look. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m mad at the evil bastard who destroyed our barn. I’m mad at the creep who left that disgusting message on our phone.”
Her anger created a silence between them, which lasted until she left for the clinic. In the interim he thought of things he might say, then reasons not to say them.
After watching her car head down the pasture path, Gurney carried their used dishes to the sink, squirted a bit of detergent on them, and turned on the hot water.
The cell phone in his pocket rang.
ID said G. B. BULLARD.
“Mr. Gurney?”
“I’m here.”
“I wanted to fill you in on something, since it concerns a point you raised earlier today.”
“Yes?”
“The matter of the tire tracks…?”
“Yes?”
“I wanted you to know that we did find a set of tread marks, where you suggested they might be, at the auto- body shop.”
“Indicating a car was parked in a space that the shop owner says was unoccupied?”
“Essentially that’s correct-although he isn’t absolutely sure about it.”
“And the dirt strip at the end of Ruth Blum’s driveway?”
“Inconclusive.”
“Meaning not enough soil surface to be certain one way or the other, but no positive evidence of any vehicle entering or leaving?”
“Correct.”
Gurney was getting curious about the purpose of her call. It was not common practice for an investigating officer to give a progress report outside the immediate chain of command, much less to someone outside the department.
“But there’s a little twist,” she went on. “I’d like your opinion. Our door-to-doors turned up two eyewitness reports of a Humvee in the area late yesterday afternoon. One witness insisted it was the original military model, not the later GM version. They both saw it passing back and forth two or three times along the stretch of road that includes the Blum residence.”
“You’re thinking someone was scouting out the area?”
“Possibly, but like I said, there’s a twist. According to the tire tracks, the vehicle that was parked last night at the body shop was not a Humvee.” She paused. “Any thoughts on that?”
Two scenarios came to mind. “The killer might have a helper. Or…” Gurney hesitated, working his way through his second option, weighing its plausibility.
“Or what?” prompted Bullard.
“Well, let’s say I’m right about the Facebook message-that it was posted by the killer, not the victim. The message refers to some kind of military vehicle. So maybe the purpose of the message was to plant the Humvee idea. And maybe driving one up and down that road was designed to get it noticed, get it reported, make us sure it was the killer’s vehicle.”
“Why go to all that trouble if he was going to park a different car where it wouldn’t be noticed anyway?”
“Maybe the Humvee idea is supposed to lead us somewhere.”
Bullard remained silent so long that Gurney was about to ask if she was still there.
“You have a serious interest in this, don’t you?” she said finally.
“I tried to make that clear earlier today.”
“Okay. Let me get to the point. I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Matt Trout to discuss the case and the jurisdictional issues. How would you like to come along?”
Gurney was momentarily speechless. The invitation made no sense. Or maybe it did. “How well do you know Agent Daker?” he asked.
“I met him for the first time today.” There was a chill in her voice. “Why do you ask?”
Her reaction encouraged him to take a chance. “Because I think he and his boss are arrogant, controlling little bastards.”
“My impression is that they hold you in equally high regard.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Did Daker fill you in on the original case?”
“Filling me in was the stated purpose of the visit. The reality was a disorganized data dump.”
“They probably want to overwhelm you, make you see the case as an impossible tangle of complications-so you fade away quietly and cede jurisdiction without an argument.”
“The thing is,” said Bullard, “I have this contrary streak in me. I have a hard time walking away from a potential fight. I especially don’t like being underestimated by… what did you call them? ‘Arrogant, controlling little bastards’? I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t really know you or your allegiances. I must be a little bit nuts, talking like this.”
Gurney figured she knew exactly what she was doing. “You know that Trout and Daker can’t stand me,” he said. “Isn’t that enough reassurance?”
“I suppose it’ll have to be. You know where our zone headquarters is in Sasparilla?”
“I do.”
“Can you make it at nine forty-five tomorrow morning?”
“I can.”
“Good. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. One last thing: Our lab people took a close look at the victim’s computer keyboard. They discovered something. Her fingerprints-”
Gurney broke in. “Let me guess. Her fingerprints on the specific keys necessary to compose the Facebook message were slightly smudged in a way that her fingerprints on the other keys weren’t. And your lab techs consider the smudging consistent with someone tapping those keys with his fingers in latex gloves.”
There was a second of silence. “Not necessarily latex, but how-”
“It’s the most likely scenario. Because the only other way for the killer to have gone about it would have been to force Ruth to type the message herself as he dictated it. But she’d have been so terrified it would have created difficulties. He’d have felt exposed enough just extracting the password from her. The longer she was alive, the more risk he would have faced. She might have a breakdown and start screaming. Not a prospect he’d be
