that for it.’’
‘‘Cool,’’ I said. ‘‘Is it okay with you if we look ’em over with you?’’ You can’t be too careful with the press.
‘‘I’ll have to think about it,’’ said Nancy, ‘‘but I don’t see anything wrong with it… if I can get your promise that if we discover anything I get the exclusive right to it half a day before anybody else does.’’
Hester looked at me. ‘‘A gentleman would say yes,’’ she said.
‘‘So would a desperate cop,’’ I answered. I looked at Nancy. ‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And an exclusive on the parts of the investigation I help you with?’’
‘‘And your time spent for extortion?’’ I asked.
‘‘Whatever works,’’ she said, and smiled. It was forced, but it was a smile.
We watched Nancy walk out the door. ‘‘Never gives up,’’ I said.
‘‘Well,’’ said Hester, ‘‘it could just be her way of coping.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
As soon as she left, I asked the secretaries if we’d had any word on Lamar. Undergoing surgery. I hoped they wouldn’t have to take off that lower leg, but it didn’t look good to me. They said they’d keep me posted.
We went to the jail kitchen for a late lunch. Hester had a bagel with thinly sliced turkey she’d brought that morning from Waterloo. I had brought my usual fat-free wieners, fat-free buns, no-fat cheese slices, and mustard. I put the wieners in the microwave, and set it on high for three minutes.
‘‘Isn’t that a long time for two hot dogs?’’ asked Hester as she carefully placed her paper napkin on the table between her paper plate and her silverware.
‘‘Oh, no,’’ I said. ‘‘Not at all. You gotta leave ’em in until you hear the steam squeaking as it escapes the skin.’’
‘‘You what?’’
‘‘Oh, sure,’’ I said. ‘‘Like little teapots.’’
‘‘I see…’’
‘‘That’s why I call ’em Screamin’ Weenies,’’ I said.
‘‘Jesus, you’re kidding?’’
I grinned. ‘‘No, I’m not kidding. That’s what I call ’em. Hell, Hester, if it enhances the price of lobsters, just think what it’ll do for hot dogs. You could go to the restaurant, pick the ones you wanted out of a tank…’’
‘‘Fat-free is affecting your mind,’’ she said, calmly pouring her mineral water into a small glass.
‘‘Now,’’ I said, listening for the little screams, ‘‘that’s probably true.’’
After lunch, I made a pot of coffee, and we talked about Nancy some more, and the situation in general.
‘‘You suppose,’’ said Hester, ‘‘that the people we missed, the ones who ran out the back door…’’
‘‘I know which ones, thank you very much.’’
‘‘… just might have been the ones who didn’t want Rumsford in the house?’’
I looked at her and sipped my coffee. ‘‘Go ahead.’’
‘‘Well, I was just thinking that maybe there was somebody in the house who really didn’t want to be seen.’’
That was pretty possible, actually. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed very damn possible. That Herman had agreed to Rumsford without consulting the right people. That they had shot Rumsford. Which meant, of course, that we would have a killer who got away, as opposed to just somebody who thought like Herman walking off after it was all over.
‘‘That could be tough,’’ I said.
‘‘You mean, that they got away?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Yep.’’
‘‘Yeah, I thought about that.’’
‘‘You have any good ideas to go with this one?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘Nope.’’
‘‘Wanna keep this to ourselves for a while?’’
‘‘Sure do. I was there too.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ But it had been my call. And we’d never seen them again. No, not so. We’d never seen them in the first place. But we knew somebody who had. Somebody who’d talk to us. Melissa.
Melissa hit the office about 1645 with her daughter and her mother in tow. The media had gone to ground, probably for a beer and some supper, leaving one lonely fellow sitting on our lawn. He tried to speak to Melissa, but she just barged ahead. Her mom stopped to talk, and Melissa had to go back for her. I just shook my head.
Inside, we got everything settled in a hurry, with Mom at the reception area with her granddaughter, and Melissa in the back office with us. Mom, press relations aside, seemed suspicious, and a bit reluctant to let her daughter talk to us. She wanted to be in the room with Melissa during the interview. Melissa was an adult. Mom stayed outside the interview room.
Melissa, now that she was finally out, was ready to do anything we asked, and then some. The FBI had questioned her nearly to death, trying to establish that she was either kidnapped, a hostage, or both. Melissa kept telling them that she’d gone in of her own free will, and had come out as soon as it struck her that it was time to leave. Any shots fired at her were by Herman wanting to shoot a defector. Melissa, Hester, and I pretty well agreed that Herman had shot in the air. He really loved his granddaughter, and thought well of Melissa too. Well, that’s what she said, and we didn’t have any reason to doubt her.
‘‘There were three other men in the house with us, at least until I left. After that I don’t know.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘One,’’ said Melissa, ‘‘was Bob Nuhering, the neighbor from down toward the river?’’
‘‘Sure,’’ I said. I knew who he was.
‘‘The other two,’’ said Melissa, ‘‘were from Wisconsin. One is a big man, about fifty, really fit, crew cut. Wore camouflage clothes, with boots and a hat. They called him Gabe, although,’’ she said very confidentially, ‘‘I don’t think that was his real name.’’
‘‘Why?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘You know,’’ said Melissa, ‘‘I don’t know, you know?’’ She thought for a second. ‘‘Just the way everybody said ‘Gabe,’ you know?’’
‘‘I think I do,’’ said Hester.
‘‘And the other one?’’ I asked.
‘‘He was with Gabe. Came with him, I mean. Dressed the same way, except he had a white tee shirt under his cammo stuff, and Gabe was pretty disgusted, you know, because he could see the white a mile off.’’
‘‘Yep.’’
‘‘And he was called Al, or Albert, and I think that was his real name, ’cause I didn’t get any feeling about it not being his real name
…’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said.
‘‘Both of them had attack guns, you know?’’
‘‘Assault rifles?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Yeah. That’s right.’’
‘‘So,’’ I asked, ‘‘what did everybody think about Gabe and Al?’’
‘‘Like, do you mean respect and like that?’’
‘‘That’s just what I mean.’’
‘‘Oh, Gabe,’’ she said, with her voice showing disrespect just the way a fourteen-year-old would, ‘‘was like God, you know? I mean, anything he just even said, they just ate it up…’’
As it turned out, Gabe was a real leader in that group. He was the one who had everybody but Melissa convinced that they should die for the cause. Whatever the cause was, and Melissa wasn’t too clear about that. Herman was a true believer, and so was his son. Nola had seemed a bit reluctant for others, particularly her daughter-in-law and granddaughter, to die for a cause. She’d helped Melissa out the door, in fact. But Nola was apparently determined to stay. Mostly with Gabe, according to Melissa.
‘‘I think they’ve got the hots for each other,’’ said Melissa.
‘‘Who?’’
