'I don't remember. He just said that Mac was dead.'
'He said it like that or did he say Mac had killed himself?'
'I don't know what he said. He might've. What's the point?'
'The ranger out there who called it in said Sean shot himself. That started the whole thing rolling. You all went out there expecting a suicide and that's what you found. The parts of the puzzle fit into the picture you brought with you. Everybody around here knew what the Lofton case was doing to him. You see what I'm saying? You were all predisposed to believe it. You even got me believing it on the ride out to Boulder that night.'
'That's all bullshit, Jack. And I don't have the time. There's no proof of what you're saying and I don't have time for theories from somebody who can't face the facts.'
I was silent a moment, letting him cool down.
'Then where's the car, Wex? If you're so sure, show me the car. I know how I can prove it to you.'
Wexler paused himself. I guessed he was contemplating whether he should get involved. If he showed me the car, he was admitting that I had at least put a small doubt in his own mind.
'It's still in the yard,' he finally said. 'I see it every goddamn day when I come in.'
'Is it still in the same condition as the day it was found?'
'Yeah, yeah, still the same. It's sealed. Every day I come in I get to see his blood all over the window.'
'Let's go look at it, Wex. I think there's a way to convince you. One way or the other.'
The snow flurries had made it over from Boulder. In the police yard Wexler got the key from the fleet manager. He also checked an inventory list to see if anyone had taken the keys or been inside the car other than the investigators. No one had. The car would be in the same condition as it was when it was towed in.
'They've been waiting for a requisition from the chief's office to clean it up. They have to send it out. You know there are companies that specialize in cleaning houses and cars and stuff after somebody's been killed in them? Some fuckin' job.'
I think Wexler was talking so much because he was nervous now. We approached the car and stood there looking at it. The snow was swirling around us in a current. The blood sprayed on the inside back window had dried to a dark brown.
'It's going to stink when we open it,' Wexler said. 'Christ, I can't believe I'm doing this. This is going no further until you tell me what is going on.'
I nodded.
'Okay. There are two things I want to look at. I want to see if the heat switch is on high and if the security lock on the rear doors is on or off.'
'What for?'
'The windows were fogged and it was cold but it wasn't that cold. I saw in the pictures that Sean was dressed warmly. He had his jacket on. He wouldn't need the heat on high. How else do windows get fogged when you're parked with the engine off?'
'I don't-'
'Think about surveillances, Wex. What causes fogging? My brother once told me about the stakeout you two blew 'cause the windows fogged up and you missed the guy coming out of his house.'
'Talking. It was the week after the Super Bowl and we were talking about the fucking Broncos losing again and the hot air fogged everything up.'
'Yeah. And last I knew, my brother didn't talk to himself. So if the heat is on low and the windows are fogged enough to write on them, I think it means there was someone with him. They were talking.'
'That's a long shot that doesn't prove anything either way. What about the lock?'
I gave him the theory: 'Somebody is with Sean. Somehow he gets Sean's gun. Maybe he comes with his own gun and disarms Sean. He also tells him to hand over his gloves. Sean does. The guy puts the gloves on and then kills Sean with his own gun. He then jumps over the seat into the back where he hides down on the floor. He waits until Pena comes and goes, then he leans back over the seat, writes the note on the windshield and puts the gloves back on Sean's hands-now you've got the GSR on Sean. Then the doer gets out the back door, locks it and splits into the cover of the trees. No footprints, 'cause the lot's been plowed. He's gone by the time Pena comes back out to watch the car like he's told to do by his supervisor.'
Wexler was silent a long time while catching up.
'Okay, it's a theory,' he finally said. 'Now prove it.'
'You know my brother. You worked with him. What was the routine with the security lock? Always keep it on. Right? That way no mistakes with prisoners. No slip-ups. If you take a nonprisoner you can always disengage it for them. Like you did on the night you came for me. When I got sick, the lock was on. Remember? You had to switch it off so I could open the door to puke.'
Wexler said nothing but in his face I saw that I'd struck home. If the security lock was off in the Caprice it wouldn't be rock-solid proof of anything. But he would know in the way he knew my brother that Sean hadn't been alone in the car.
He finally said, 'You can't tell by looking at it. It's just a button. Somebody will have to get in the back and see if they can get out.'
'Open it. I'll get in.'
Wexler unlocked the door, flipped the electric locks and I opened the rear passenger side door. The sickly sweet smell of dried blood hit me. I stepped into the car and closed the door.
For a long moment I didn't move. I had seen the photos but they didn't prepare me for being in the car. The sickly smell, the dried blood sprayed over the window, the roof and the driver's headrest. My brother's blood. I felt the cloying grip of nausea in my throat. I quickly looked over the seat to the dashboard and the heater control panel. Then, through the right window, I looked out at Wexler. For a moment our eyes met and I wondered if I really wanted the security lock to be off. The thought occurred to me that it might be easier to just let it go, but I quickly ran it from my mind. I knew if I let this go I would be haunted for the rest of my life.
I reached over and hit the passenger lock switch for my door. I pulled the door handle and the door swung open. I stepped out and looked at Wexler. Snow was starting to stick to his hair and shoulders.
'And the heater's off. It couldn't have fogged the windows. I think Sean had somebody in the car with him. They were talking, Then whoever the bastard was killed him.'
Wexler looked as if he had seen a ghost. It was all clicking in his mind. It was more than just a theory now and he knew it. It looked as though he might start to cry.
'Goddamnit,' he said.
'Look, we all missed it.'
'No, it's different. A cop never lets his partner down like that. What good are we if we can't watch out for our own? A fucking reporter…'
He didn't finish but I think I knew what he was feeling. He felt as though he had somehow betrayed Sean. I knew that was how he felt because it was the same for me.
'It's not done with yet,' I said. 'We can still make up for believing the wrong thing.'
He still looked forlorn. I wasn't the one who could comfort him. That would have to come from within.
'All that's lost is a little time, Wex,' I said anyway. 'Let's go back inside. It's getting cold out here.'
My brother's house was dark when I went there to tell Riley. I paused before knocking, wondering at how absurd it was that I believed the news I was bringing might in some way cheer her. Good news, Riley, Sean didn't kill himself like we all thought, he was murdered by some nut who has probably done it before and probably will again.
I knocked anyway. It wasn't late. I imagined that she was sitting in there in the dark, or maybe in one of the back bedrooms which emitted no light. The lantern light came on above me and she opened up before I had to knock a second time.
'Jack.'
'Riley. I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you.'
I knew she didn't know yet. I had made a deal with Wexler. I would tell her in person. He didn't care. He was too busy reopening the investigation, drawing up lists of likely suspects, getting Sean's car inspected again for prints and other evidence. I hadn't told him anything about Chicago. I'd kept that to myself and I wasn't sure why. Was it the story? Did I want the story just for myself? That was the easy answer and I used it to soothe my uneasiness at not telling him everything. But in the deeper folds of my mind I believed it was something else.
