On the way back to my office, I ran over the lists in my hands. Interesting. Four snowmobiles. Two four- wheelers. All six of them had once been registered, which meant that Cletus had, at one time, run them on public right of way. Two Chevy pickups, a Bronco, an Oldsmobile. The off-road stuff had ceased registration two years ago. The trucks and car, though, were current. The snowmobiles and the four-wheelers were registered to Freeman Liberty Enterprises, Inc. Only the oldest pickup was in Clete's name. The new pickup and the Bronco were also registered to Freeman Liberty Enterprises, Inc. The Olds belonged to his wife.
I shared that data with Art and Davies.
'How did you find out about this Freeman Liberty Enterprises, or whatever?'
'Same SSN on the corporate registration as is on Mrs. Borglan's driver's license,' I said. 'When Sally ran the DL numbers, everything with that SSN came back.'
'Probably has his wife as treasurer of the corporation,' said Davies, absently. 'I'm not sure I like the name of this corporation, though. More right-wing shit?'
'Could be. There was some indication in the house, but not as strong as some we've seen.' I was just being honest.
Davies thought for a second. 'So, what does this tell us?'
'Well, he has right-wing leanings, maybe,' I said. 'And it tells me that it's possible that he gave his snowmobiles to his hired man.' I just hate the 'right-wing' label, because it's come to mean irrational in some circles. Sometimes it's right. Sometimes not. But to jump at that tends to skew your thinking.
Art looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
'There were snowmobiles in Grossman's machine shed. They didn't have registration stickers.' I grinned. 'Didn't have those little orange flags, either, in fact.'
'Point for my man Houseman,' said Davies.
'Since we have the VINs for the equipment, why not just go out to the hired man's place and check the numbers?'
A VIN is the vehicle identification number put on all motor vehicles by their manufacturers. In more than one place. They do that so a thief has a hard time selling them. Well, has a hard time selling them to somebody who cares, at any rate.
'Fine with me,' I said.
'Good!' Davies stood up, and reached behind him for his coat. 'Take me along. I'd like to meet him, and then we can swing by to meet Mr. Borglan and let me see the scene.' He put an arm over his head, pulling on a coat sleeve. 'If we're really lucky, maybe we can get to meet Mr. Borglan's attorney.'
Art was reaching for his coat.
'Why don't you stay here?' said Davies. 'Carl and I can just run out there. We wouldn't want old Clete to think he's too important. After all, he didn't die, two other guys did.'
'What do you want me to do,' asked Art, 'while you're gone?'
Davies answered him as he stepped into the hallway. 'Cop shit. Do lots and lots of cop shit.'
We dodged what remained of the press by the simple expedient of going out a side door, and walking behind their cars to mine. It was far too cold for them to simply stand outside for hours. They were all sitting in their vehicles, which were pretty thoroughly steamed over, and never had a hint we were anywhere around.
On the way over to Borglan's, Davies explained that he would only be here today, had to go back to Des Moines, then a trial date in six days in Mahaska County. After that, a big forcible rape case in Bettendorf.
'No rush, though. It isn't like you guys are ready to charge that kid yet. It ought to take the lab another two or three days, at least, if there's any evidence there…'
'True,' I said.
He went on, to reiterate the points he and Art had discussed when I was getting the snowmobile information. They'd covered the ground pretty well, because he ticked off the main points, rapid-fire, almost like he was reading them.
'And I understand that you don't believe the only logical suspect did it?'
'Havin' a hard time with it,' I said.
'Houseman, I don't know what to do with you some of the time.' He chuckled. 'But you do know a lot about these people around here.' He chuckled again. 'From your uniform days.'
'That would have been yesterday…' I looked over at him. 'You got that from Art.'
'Oh, yeah. He thinks relating to people is some sort of disease that comes from wearing uniforms. You having any problems working with your ex-chief deputy?'
'Yeah. But I can cope.'
'What are you thinking about doing to settle the question about this suspect kid?'
'We got the cops in Oelwein talking to the family of the two dead guys. I figure I'll go talk to Fred's mom and sister tomorrow. Then Fred, if his asshole attorney will let me,' I said, turning into Borglan's driveway.
'Check with me before you talk to this Fred?'
'I'll make sure Art talks to the aunt,' he said.
It was getting a little dark, by this time, with the sun having disappeared behind Borglan's hill. Kind of pretty, with the sunlight across the little valley, and the shade in the yard. There were lights on in the living room, but I couldn't see anybody around. Three pickups in the yard, one of them brand-new, and one of them a twenty-year-old rolling wreck. Quite a contrast.
We knocked on the door, and after about fifteen seconds, during which I was sure we were being observed, Cletus answered the door.
'Mark Davies from the Iowa Attorney General's office. I'm here to look at the crime scene. I'm the prosecuting attorney in the murder case. I'll look around outside for a bit while you contact your attorney. Then I'll want to take a quick look around inside.'
'I don't think so,' said Cletus.
'We have this scale in the AG's office. Starts at Interference with Official Acts, goes to obstructing, ends up at coconspirator. A coconspirator, in this case, can get out in maybe fifty years. Talk with your attorney, while we check a couple of things out here.' Very fast, but very pleasant. Said completely deadpan, and then ending with that infectious smile of his. Just like in court.
'I'll call him right now,' said Cletus.
'Well, I hope to hell you will,' said Davies. 'It's cold out here.'
While we waited, I showed Davies around. He was especially interested in the shed where I'd found the two bodies.
'No point in wading through the snow,' he said. 'Just reassure me that you could see a track leading to the shed from the house.'
'Sure. No problem.'
'You get photos of it?'
'It was pretty faint. I sure hope so.'
'Me too.' He looked over the garage. 'Impressive. Not the 'poor' farmer, is he?'
'Hardly. Smart, and a hell of a worker. That, and a little luck, you can make it.'
'Yeah.' He cupped his hands, and blew into them, to warm his face. 'Let's go bug Cletus. I'm getting cold.'
This time, Cletus invited us in. 'He says to cooperate with you.'
'You got a good attorney,' said Davies. 'They are
I showed him. We spent all of five minutes examining the living room, the basement steps, and looking out the basement door. I was brief to the point of terse, not wanting to give anything away. Davies was even more controlled, just making little humming sounds once in a while. He took no notes.
There were at least two other people in the house. One was a sixty-year-old farmer I knew, but whose name I couldn't remember. I did know he was the owner of the ugly pickup in the yard, now that I saw him. The other man was about forty or so, and one of the people we'd seen here earlier today.
Cletus stayed right with us during the whole inspection. When we'd finished, Davies turned to him, abruptly.
'So, what do you think happened?'
