The Big Thaw

rectangular notch struck in the edge of the shell rim. Hence 'rim fire.' They aren't nearly as individually distinctive.

That's why it was always so very nice to find the murder weapon at the scene.

'I sure wish we had something puttin' our man there,' I said.

'We're doing all right,' said Art.

'I'd feel a lot better if we could place him at the scene. You know,' I said, 'even if Fred confesses, we can't convict unless we have some evidence puttin' him at the house when they were shot.'

'You,' said Art, 'are just depressing the shit out of me.'

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

It was pretty close to 1500 by the time we got back to the office. Waiting for us there were the press. About four separate units, three of them television. With them I recognized Nancy Mitchell, formerly of the Des Moines Register, and now with the Cedar Rapids Gazette. She was close to forty, fit, and a good sort. She had the unusual virtue in the media of being accurate. I had first met her when she'd helped us out with a right-wing case a couple of years back. The same one where Lamar got shot, and Bud got killed. She lost her partner, as well, shot through the chest while standing in the yard of the barricaded suspects' residence. He'd been about to go in to do an interview they'd requested. She and he had drawn straws for the interview. He'd won.

Nancy half waved when she saw me. I waved back. Unfortunately, the reporter for KRNQ thought we were waving at her, and hustled over to us along with her camera person.

'Can you tell us what's going on with the triple murder?' she asked, in her best 'on' voice, pushing her epiglottis as hard as she could. 'How many were officers?'

I don't function at my best with a light in my eyes, a mike in my face, and no sleep. The best I was able to manage was 'Huh?'

Art, on the other hand, excelled. While I started to duck inside, he began to speak blather about 'investigative confidentiality,' 'reasonable progress,' and things like that. He was good. As I moved away, he was beginning a statement for another camera unit.

'Three?' I said, mostly to myself. 'Where in the hell did they get three?'

I headed for my office in the rear of the building. I opened my door, and was startled to find Iowa Assistant Attorney General Mark Davies seated at my desk. He'd been recognized, and was avoiding the fourth estate by hiding in my office.

'Hi, numbnuts,' he said, standing as we entered. 'What took you so long?'

Every cop that ever worked with him liked Davies. He was intelligent, aggressive, energetic, and had a great conviction record. What more could you ask?

'I didn't see an ambulance,' I said. 'You must be chasing the media today, for a change.'

'No, they're chasing me,' he said. 'Art with you somewhere?'

'He's out there.'

'Figures. I really think he wants to wear makeup someday. So,' he said, ' Nation County has another murder.'

'Looks like,' I said. 'Double.'

'Well, naturally. You guys don't do anything simple up here. I'm surprised there weren't little slimy space alien tracks around the scene.'

'Obviously,' I said, 'you haven't seen the latest report…'

He chuckled, reaching past a little plate of pastry to a steaming cup of coffee. I made a mental note that our secretary was overimpressed by attorneys. 'So, what we got here?'

'Depends on who you ask.'

'Why don't we start with leads? You do have lots of leads?'

'Well,' I said, thinking fast, 'we have a possibility. Not much more right now.'

He took a sip of coffee. 'You mean to say that you've been out flying all over the county at state expense, and you only have a possibility?' He chuckled. 'The director ain't gonna like that.'

'What we have,' I said, 'is a fairly good circumstantial case. Unfortunately, it's against somebody I don't believe did it.'

Davies sat back, and put his penny-loafered feet on my desk. 'Hey, I do circumstantial. When I have to. Tell me more.'

I did. Art came in about halfway through the briefing, and between the two of us, we gave Davies an accurate picture of the case to date. Just as we were through, Davies put his finger right on the thing that had been making me uneasy most of the day. I knew it as soon as he said it.

'You ever think,' he said, chewing part of a doughnut, 'that there might have been a snowmobile at the Borglan place the killer could have used to make his getaway? Borglan's got bucks. He could own a snowmobile or two.'

Well, hell. Wouldn't have to drive in, just drive out. Placing Fred right back on the front burner.

'That way,' he continued, 'all you have to do is make a stolen snowmobile case, and leave the rest to me.' He grinned. 'Piece of cake.'

If Cletus Borglan had been a bit friendlier, I would have called him right away, and simply asked. As it was, I went hustling out to dispatch, and asked Sally to run all snowmobiles registered to Clete. Zip. Nothing.

'Huh. That really sucks.'

'Well, it surprises me all to hell,' she said, 'since he was the president of the Maitland Valley Snowmobile Club three or four years ago.'

'He was?' I'm usually a bit snappier than that, but I was really beginning to feel tired.

'Same time my sister and her husband were in it,' she said. 'Why don't you check with the treasurer's office? They maintain their registration records for five years.'

I explained to her that I didn't want to make a big deal of it by doing it myself. But that I, Nation County, and the State of Iowa would really appreciate it if she would just make one little phone call.

'I suppose the three of you are gonna give me a raise, too?'

'Sally, you've become so cynical the last few years. What would your mother think?'

She sighed. 'I'll call you when your work's done,' she said, picking up the phone.

I did the polite thing, and hung around. It only took her a few seconds. She wrote furiously, then said, 'Beats me. They could.' She hung the phone up, and smiled.

'Three sleds in Clete's name, one in his wife's. Last registered two years ago. Then stopped.'

'He sold them?'

'No records of sale or transfer. He just stopped registering.'

Well, that'd be in keeping with some of the books in his library. Several people protesting taxes and the like would stop registering their cars, getting driver's licenses, and things like that.

Sally was typing letters and numbers into her teletype.

'What are you running?'

'If I get the numbers, I can pull 'em out for several years back.

'Mildred,' Sally referred to our county treasurer, 'wanted to know if you guys thought the killers escaped on snowmobiles.' She sat back smiling, as the printer began to whisper several sheets out.

You can't get away with a damned thing.

'Just a hunch,' I said, ignoring the question, 'but would you run all vehicles registered to Clete?'

'Shouldn't we include his wife, Inez, in this, too?'

I thought for a second. 'Of course.' You really shouldn't let dispatchers get ahead of you that way. Two or three hundred times, they begin to get ideas.

'Good,' she said, radiating perky. She handed me the papers. 'That's what you got there, along with the snowmobile stuff.' She grinned. 'Now run along and eat your doughnut.'

Sally has always been efficient like that. Sometimes it's a game we play, and sometimes she really catches me about a step behind her. She's usually magnanimous enough to make it seem like a game.