Art just looked at me.
'It means that our federal brothers-in-law have been watching the Borglan place, or at least that general area. Night and day. I'd guess for a while, at least. I'd suspect,' I added, 'that they know more about the murder of the Colsons than we do…' I paused. 'But we're getting closer.'
I told about my phone conversation with Phil. About the Colsons posing as undercover cops.
'That's nice,' interjected Art, 'but it's just a theory. That's all, and not a strong one. No evidence at the scene.'
'No,' I said. 'The people who killed the Colsons suspected they were being watched. Long before those two poor bastards wandered in. They caught the Colsons red-handed, and the boys did what had worked before. They lied about being undercover cops.' Nobody said anything.
'The problem was, they lied to some people who believed them. And who killed them because of it.'
Art looked at George. 'Well?'
George nodded. 'Pretty close,' he said.
Art and I both waited. George, who had taken a sip of coffee, looked up. 'What?'
'You can't just say that and stop,' said Art. 'Are you confirming, or just guessing, or what?'
George put his cup down. 'Confirmation will come shortly. There's another agent en route who will provide more information. I was just, well, letting you know that you were on the right track.'
'Do you know who the people in the house were?' I asked. 'That much…'
George thought for a few moments. 'No, I can't say. I can't give you that.' He looked at each of us. 'I'm really sorry, guys. I can't.'
14
We'd just have to wait. Our secretary, Judy, came in and handed me a package. Developed crime scene photos, those I'd had her take to be developed. As cheaply as possible, I remembered.
'Got a really great deal on these,' she said, 'three sets for the price of one.'
'Hey, great! Thanks… they're quick for a change, too!'
I put the pack on my desk, and started to open the photos.
'My shots of the crime scene at the Borglan place,' I said. 'Let's see what we can find here…'
Art held out his hand for a set, and George scooted his chair closer to the desk.
I looked in the envelope, and just cracked up. Packed neatly inside were three sets of crime scene photos, all right. One set was a normal 4x6 inch series of color prints. Nice. The other two sets were about 2x3 inches… wallet size.
'You want… a… big set, or… a set you… can… carry with you?' I just roared.
'What?' asked Art. 'What?'
'Here,' I gasped out, handing him a set of the wallet-sized prints. 'We got a hell of a deal, though…'
George looked over, and started to chuckle. 'Oh, my God…'
There was absolutely no harm done, all we had to do was resubmit the negatives. But I kept seeing myself in court, holding up a photo wallet, and letting a hundred prints dangle in their linked transparent holders…
We went over the photos, one at a time. It was almost easier, in a way. I used the one set of larger prints, and each of the other two had a set of wallet size. They just picked out the ones they wanted to see…
Privately, I spent a lot of time on the group of photos I'd taken as I turned around and shot into the distance when I thought I was being watched. To see if there was anything there. Nothing I could pick up on. Outside the area that was fairly well lit, it had been so dark that the shutter had stayed open too long and there was virtually nothing but shake lines in shades of dark gray to black. Except one. South of the farm, there was a bumpy white streak.
I looked at it more closely.
'I see you ruined some shots, there,' said Art. 'Flash not go off?'
'Maybe…' I do some amateur astronomy, and one of the first things you do with your camera is just point it straight up, open the shutter, and let the stars make curved streaks in the time exposure. Like those 'cars on the freeway' shots taken at night. That's what this was. Only it wasn't a straight, or even a curved, line. It looked more like the path of a small firefly. One that was drunk.
'What's this look like to you?' I asked, pushing it toward Art and George.
'Flaw in the film,' said Art, turning back to the other photos.
'Yard light,' said George. 'You have a lot of shake here, but I'd say it was a yard light off in the distance.'
'Oh.' I placed the print back in the stack, and continued looking at the others. Yard light. I hadn't noticed any yard light, but it sure looked like that's what it was. That meant there could be a farmyard with a view of the machine shed. I shuffled back through the pack of photos. Yep. Judging from the thickness of the streak, it was quite a way off. But that's what it looked like.
I noticed George kept looking at his watch. 'When are the other agents coming up?' I asked.
'Well, hopefully before lunch. They did have a lot to do, though,' he said. 'They may only send one, anyway.'
George and I sat in silence for a few moments. I looked out my window, and watched Delbert Jacobs unloading buckets full of sand for his driveway. He was one of the jail 'neighbors,' and a pretty decent fellow. He would dip the bucket over the rear of his pickup, which was apparently filled with sand, and carry the bucket to his sand pile, which was hidden from my view by a small pine tree. I watched him make two trips with the bucket, when it came to me. Back and forth went Delbert. And, as he stooped to pick up another load, it occurred to me that, if you were to film him, and freeze frame several shots, it would be very difficult to tell if he were moving the buckets of sand to his house, or from his house. A frozen point of time wouldn't necessarily yield much useful information at all. Just knowing his location at a precise moment wouldn't be enough. Movements. You had to watch his movements.
'Hey, George, how do we know Cletus was coming back from Florida the day I discovered the bodies?'
'Your office, wasn't it Lamar or Sally, were told it was Florida… Wasn't that it?'
'No, not that part. Not how we were told… How do we know he was really in Florida? I mean, we were told he'd be at the farm shortly, and he was. That he was coming from ' Florida,' and that was all. But, how do we know he was really
'Damn.'
'We've been assuming he was telling us the truth.' I reached for the phone. 'He could be a prime suspect. Well, duh…'
I picked up the phone and dialed the intercom. 'Lamar, you get a second, you want to come back here…'
Our first move was to set the machinery in motion to check with the airlines to see if Clete had ever, actually, flown in the last few weeks. He could have used a private plane. He may never have gone to Florida at all. It was the first place to start.
George initiated a discreet inquiry into Freeman Liberty Enterprises, Inc., Cletus's corporation. It was probably an incorporation for tax advantage for his farming operation, but you never know. Regardless, it had to be registered with the Secretary of State of Iowa.
I checked with the county recorder's office, for any documents on file for FLE, as we began to call it. Same with the county assessor's office. He might own another farm, where he had access, that we knew nothing about.
I called Sally, and had her work on a list of members of the snowmobile club her sister, brother-in-law, and Cletus had belonged to. I wanted to talk to them about him ever running his sled with NVGs. Just a chance.
I love the feeling you get when you're working a lead. Much better than sitting on your butt waiting for the FBI to show up and tell you that everything they have is 'need to know.'
Just then, Art stuck his head in the door. 'Just telling you, I gotta get back to Cedar Falls. Something's come up. I'll try to get back tomorrow.'
