Wild fire

“Not possible. The warrant was for a missing-person search. The missing person has been found off the subject property.”

“Does Madox know that?”

“How would he even know there was a warrant? Or that someone might be missing on his property?” He paused, then said, “I was about to call him and ask for his voluntary cooperation, but then that anonymous call came in that led us to the body. Did you tell him about the missing person?”

“I did. So let’s execute the warrant.”

Major Schaeffer reminded me, “The person has been found.”

I thought he might buy into my philosophy, so I said, “The law sometimes gets in the way of truth and justice.”

“Not under my command, Detective.” He added, “Now that you told him about the missing person, I’ll have someone call to inform him that the person has been found.”

I was sure this guy had once been an Eagle Scout, and I didn’t want to highlight the differences between a New York City cop and a state trooper, so I said, “Well, we need to think of something to take to a judge for a new search warrant.”

“What we need is a link between the body found in the state park and the Custer Hill Club. Without such a link, I can’t ask the D.A. to ask a judge for a search warrant.” He inquired, “Do you have any proof that Detective Muller had actually been on the property?”

“Uh… not conclusive-”

“Well, then, there’s no link.”

“Well, we have the anonymous phone call about the body. Anonymous is suspicious. Also, there’s strong circumstantial evidence that Harry was on the property.”

“Like what?”

“Like, that was his assignment.” I explained about the phone call at 7:48 A.M. on Saturday, Harry’s proximity to the property, the suspiciously distant location of his camper from the subject property, and other circumstances that I stretched a little.

Schaeffer listened, then shrugged. “Not enough to place Bain Madox under suspicion and not enough for me to ask for a search warrant.”

“Think about it.” I had no doubt that the FBI would eventually get a Federal judge to issue a warrant, but that might come too late. It appeared that I’d have to issue myself a Midnight Warrant, meaning breaking and entering. I hadn’t done that in a while, and it could be fun, except for Madox’s private army, electronic security, and guard dogs.

Schaeffer asked me, “What do you think you’d find on that property?”

“I don’t know.”

“Judges don’t like fishing expeditions. Think of something you’re looking for. Did you see anything on his property or in his house that I can take to the D.A.?”

“I saw more security than the president has at his ranch.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“Right. Well… I think we just need to work the case.” I suggested, “Why don’t you stake out the property?”

“What am I looking for?”

“People coming and going, including Madox.” I reminded him, “You don’t need permission to do a surveillance- only suspicion.”

“Thanks for the tip. Yeah, well, the only suspicion I have is what you’re telling me.” He thought a moment, then asked, “Do you want to spook this guy? I mean, you want an open surveillance or a clandestine surveillance?”

“Clandestine. Like tree cutters watching the road and the perimeter.”

“Okay… but I need to notify and coordinate that with the county police, and I have to tell you, I think Madox has friends in the sheriff’s office.”

I considered that, and it seemed as though Mr. Bain Madox, Lord of the Manor, had his tentacles out into the hinterlands, as witnessed by Rudy’s call to the Custer Hill Club. I asked Schaeffer, “Does Madox also have friends in this office?”

He replied without hesitation, “Not under my command.”

“Right.” But how would he know? “If you think someone in the sheriff’s office is too chummy with Madox, it seems to me that you could in good conscience run a surveillance without notifying the sheriff.”

“Nope. I need to solve the problem with the sheriff, not add to the problem.”

“You’re absolutely right.” We weren’t even on the same planet. Major Schaeffer ran a clean, tight ship, which was nice, but not convenient at the moment. “We really need that surveillance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great.” I belatedly informed him, “Kate and I went to the morgue before we came here.”

He seemed surprised, then asked, “Did you discover anything new?”

“I spoke to the medical examiner-Dr. Gleason. You should talk to her.”

“I intend to. Meanwhile, what did she say?”

“Well, it appears that Detective Muller was subject to some physical abuse before death.”

He processed that, then asked me, “What sort of physical abuse?”

“I’m not an M.E.” I added, not quite truthfully, “I was just there to make the positive ID and say farewell.”

He nodded. “I’ll speak to her tonight.”

I told him, “She found what appears to be rug fibers and dog hairs.” I explained to him what Dr. Gleason had discovered, then said, “If they don’t match the rug in his camper, they may match a rug at the Custer Hill lodge. Harry didn’t own a dog.”

“All right. If we do get a search warrant, we’ll check that out.”

Major Schaeffer had long-range plans for what was going to be, for him, a short investigation, so I informed him, “You’re going to wind up sharing this case with the FBI, and they don’t like to share, and they don’t play well with others.”

He reminded me, “Murder, even of a Federal agent, is a state crime, not a Federal crime.”

“I know that, Major. And ultimately, there may be a state trial for murder. But the FBI will be investigating an assault on a Federal agent, which is a Federal crime. The net result is the same-they’re going to be all over this place and this case very soon.”

“It’s still my case,” Major Schaeffer said.

“Right.” This was like the local baron telling the invading army that they were trespassing on his land. I said, “For instance, Dr. Gleason is not doing the autopsy. The body is being transported to New York City.”

“They can’t do that.”

“Major, they can do whatever the hell they want. They have two magic words-national security. And when they use those magic words, the state and local police are turned into…” I was going to say puppy dogs, but that would piss him off, so I said, “Stone.”

He stared at me, then said, “We’ll see.”

“Right. Good luck.”

“What is your actual status on this case?” he asked.

“I have seven days to crack it.”

“How did you get a whole seven days?”

“I made a bet with Tom Walsh.”

“What’s the bet?”

“I bet my job.”

“And your wife?”

“No, I didn’t bet her.”

“I mean, did she bet her job?”

“No, she’s career FBI. She has to shoot a supervisor before her job is in jeopardy.”

He forced a smile. “I don’t think you’re going to crack this case in seven days, unless someone comes forward.”

“Probably not. Are you hiring?”