He found the telephone message slip pushed down behind the upholstery of the backseat. It was the kind of thing you would jot down to remind you what room you were in. There was no date, but the paper looked fresh.
They now had a dead woman, murdered for sure, a probable kidnapping, and some guy named Hugo was involved. The message slip was from Fayetteville.
Richardson called in again. He did not do any more searching. A kidnapping – and a helicopter being used – was going to mean federal involvement for sure.
And the feds could be more than difficult if they felt their scene of crime had been screwed up.
Sergeant Richardson did not think he had screwed up, but as with most things in life it was going to be a matter of perception.
He checked his watch and hoped that the scene-of-crime team would get their ass in gear. It was going to be dark soon.
Shelby Jacklin, sheriff of Fayetteville, put down the phone and thought. When he had been younger he had been a great believer in immediate action. Now he liked to get the flavor of a situation before moving.
It had taken just one phone call to identify this 'Hugo.' The question now was what to do. Hugo Fitzduane might be the killer or he might be entirely innocent. But the probability was the either the dead woman or the kidnap victim was closely connected to him. And it was a statistical fact that most murders were carried out by someone you knew and most probably were close to. Like married to.
This business was going to get complicated. The body had been discovered by the state police outside his jurisdiction, but this Fitzduane was staying right in the sheriff's patch. And before long the feds would be on the scene.
They could question Fitzduane immediately or go for a search warrant first. Then they could search this Irishman's room with impunity. It was the safer route. A search warrant would not take long. Judge Rikel was a hard-liner with strong views on violent crime.
It would also be a good idea to check Fitzduane with the FBI. Sheriff Jacklin was not overly fond of the feds, but he had learned to sup with the devil if it got the job done.
8
Country and western music filled the air and a demonstration team of line dancers in yellow shirts, red kerchiefs, and white Stetsons sashayed and pivoted with drill-team precision.
Several hundred exhibitors were gathered around the poolside and the open bar was having its predictable effect. Tables covered in checked tablecloths had been set up and the barbecue team were in full action.
After a long hard day, people drank and ate and networked and relaxed. There were many more women present that were actually attending the exhibition. Wives and girlfriends who had steered clear while their menfolk played with weaponry had surfaced.
It was a festive atmosphere, and the evening had all the makings of a really good party. The parachute demonstration would be the last event that was special operations oriented, and then the focus would be on nothing more than having fun.
As agreed, Dana was keeping an eye on Kathleen. Texas was doing much the same for her team. She had considered attending the party, but that would have turned the whole thing into a social event, and she was supposed to be working.
So she stood behind the parapet on the flat roof of the right-hand accommodation block and watched the festivities below. From that location, five stories up, she had the high ground and could actually keep quite a close eye on her charges through binoculars. At full power she was visually near enough to lip-read.
Another reason she had not gone to the party was Don Shanley. It had been a perfect night, and that was the way she wanted to remember it. If they met again face-to-face it could get complicated, and she knew she would get hurt. Shanley was attracted to her, she knew, but he was a certain kind of man. He might stray if she worked hard, but his loyalties lay elsewhere and he would not change them. That she knew, and it hurt because there was something about him that had connected. Too bad. The good ones were so often married.
She checked out her surroundings afresh. The courtyard below was pool and party. To her left was the main hotel block. Directly across from her was the other accommodation wing, similar to where she was standing but two blocks lower. The fourth side of the rectangle was open. There was an access road and a car park. The free-fall parachutists, she had been told, would float in the open end and land around the pool. It should be quite spectacular.
She considered the exhibition security. At the end of the day, all weapons on display were locked up by the individual exhibitors and then kept either on the exhibition hall floor or in the exhibitors' own rooms. The corollary of that was that the organizers' security was relaxed somewhat. If the weapons were locked up there was no need for so many guards, so went the argument. And having full strength at night was expensive.
The Bastogne Inn was one location where they really should be safe. But Texas was a professional. She stayed and she watched, because you never really knew. In the final analysis, it was all a giant craps game.
Then she saw Shanley and her heart leaped.
You tried to stay in control and then your body betrayed you.
'Hugo,' said Kilmara patiently. 'Relax and enjoy yourself. If Kathleen has gone to the coast to spend the day sight-seeing, which is my understanding, there is no way she will be back before late this evening. She may even stay there overnight. There is a lot of driving involved. So take it easy. She is a grown woman, Dana is keeping an eye on her, and Kathleen is pregnant, which does things to your hormones and moods. She wants some space. It's normal.'
Fitzduane looked at his friend. He wanted to believe him with every fiber of his being. Yet his instincts told him something was wrong, and, unfortunately, his instincts rarely let him down.
He struggled for the middle ground. The music was infectious and people were having fun. He did not want to cast around doom and gloom.
'I'd be happier if she had telephoned,' he said quietly. 'She almost always phones.'
Kilmara looked at him sharply. Privately, he was as concerned as Fitzduane, but he could not see what they could do right now that would be of any practical advantage.
'Hugo,' he said firmly. 'You had a row. Kathleen wants to keep her distance for a few hours. Accept it and stop behaving like an old woman.'
Fitzduane smiled. Shane was right. He was overreacting. It was time to change the subject.
He gestured at the line dancers. 'You know, I've never danced or made love wearing a hat and cowboy boots.'
'You don't know what you're missing,' said Shanley. 'Where's Maury?'
Kilmara laughed. 'Maury can make it one to one with difficulty. He can't handle large gatherings. He's in his trailer working.'
'And Texas is on the roof,' said Fitzduane conversationally. 'The beautiful blonde with the binoculars on the skyline. She's our guardian angel.'
Shanley looked up and straight into Texas's eyes. 'I know,' he said quietly.
Sheriff Jacklin went through the FBI report once again.
Hugo Fitzduane was indeed known to the bureau, only no criminal record was involved. The Irishman was on
