Red Herring Page 23

  She smiled broadly, despite her pallor. “You got that right, boss.”

  Lyn heard the knock on the front door downstairs over the sound of the television news. She quickly finished dressing for her upcoming late-evening shift, buttoning a pair of tight jeans, and ran downstairs shouting, “Coming.”

  She pulled open the door to reveal a woman older than herself, well groomed and stylishly dressed, who disguised her own obvious surprise with a polite smile and an outstretched hand. Behind her, in the driveway, a car was idling with a driver at the wheel.

  “Oh, my God,” Lyn blurted out, ignoring the hand for a moment. “You’re Gail.”

  The smile widened. Gail said, “And you’re Lyn, from what I’ve heard. I’m sorry we haven’t met until now.”

  Lyn clumsily took the handshake and stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

  “That would be great. It’s cold tonight.”

  Lyn paused. “Is your driver okay out there?”

  Gail walked by her. “She’s fine. She can listen to her own radio station for a while.”

  Lyn blinked at the now empty doorway, shut out the cold, and turned around to take Gail’s long, elegant coat and hang it on one of the hallway pegs.

  “Have a seat,” she offered. “Would you like a drink? Or some coffee? I have a fresh pot.”

  Gail settled into an armchair, looking around Joe’s living room. “Coffee would be great. So, you and Joe are living together?”

  Ouch, Lyn thought, entering the kitchen. “No, no,” she said over the counter partition. “We visit each other’s place . . . Or not, depending. We have pretty crazy schedules.”

  “That, I remember,” Gail said pleasantly. “This doesn’t look any different. That’s for sure.”

  Lyn turned her back to pour two cups. Try not to read anything into anything, she counseled herself. “Well, like I said, neither one of us is home much. You take cream or sugar or anything?”

  “No thanks. Joe’s the one who turns decent coffee into a hot milkshake. I’m guessing he’s not here.”

  Lyn took the two cups into the living room. “No. I actually don’t know where he is. He has a big murder case—” she interrupted herself as Gail took one of the coffees.

  “I guess you know that,” she ended.

  Gail placed the cup on the wooden arm of the chair, where Lyn expected it would sit untouched.

  “I certainly remember the rhythm,” Gail said. “Does running a bar make his schedule more bearable?”

  Lyn sat opposite her and took a sip of her own beverage. She’s letting me know she’s researched me, she thought.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she told her guest. “I have nothing to compare it to. I don’t mind it, though. We seem to see enough of each other.”

  “I guess he hasn’t landed himself in the hospital yet,” Gail said, her voice neutral. “You’ll get to see a lot of him when that happens.”

  Lyn nodded, and tried to change the subject. “I see you on TV almost every day now. How’s it going?”

  “Well enough,” Gail answered dully. The next words out of her mouth came in a hurried, almost irritated fashion. “Is he even in the area, or is he upstate? I called his cell, but of course he didn’t pick up. It would be just my luck if he was in St. J.”

  Lyn frowned slightly. This was weird. “As far as I know, he’s around. I think he was at the office earlier. He might still be, if you want to call.”

  Gail cupped her cheek in her hand. Suddenly she looked tired, almost exhausted. “I just wanted this to be simple,” she said softly, as if to herself.

  Lyn put down her cup and sat forward. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Gail closed her eyes briefly, trying to rally. “I was told some bad news tonight, at a press conference. It might put me and Joe at odds—politically, I mean.” She sighed deeply. “God, I hate some of this shit sometimes.”

  “Is it this case?” Lyn asked.

  Gail nodded. “It sure is. I should’ve known that something would come up. I thought it would be our past together—the cop and the liberal. I didn’t think of an ongoing case . . . It’s always what you aren’t expecting.”

  Lyn nodded politely, half wondering if she shouldn’t just leave this woman alone with her thoughts.

  She reached for the phone by her side, instead. “Want me to call his office? Just to see if he’s in?”

  “That would be great. Thank you,” Gail said, showing a warm and disarming smile.

  Lyn placed the call, identified herself, and asked if Joe was there. She then followed by saying that there was no reason to put him on the phone; she was just curious. And then she hung up.

  “He’s there,” she said unnecessarily.

  Gail stood up, the coffee forgotten. “I better go then. I have to be in St. J later tonight.”

  Lyn’s eyes widened. “Jesus. That’s two hours from here.”

  Again, the tired smile greeted her. “I know. I have a sunrise Rotary in the morning. I’d sooner travel tonight than at the crack of dawn.”

  Lyn rose also and escorted her to the door, helping her on with her coat. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

  Gail turned to face her. “Why I’m doing it makes the how easier. If I didn’t believe all the stuff most people think is political crap, I wouldn’t last a week.”

  “I’ll be voting for you,” Lyn said simply.

  Gail gave her a hug at the door. “Our Joe is a lucky man,” she said, and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ike dropped his duffel bag on the floor of the motel room and looked around. The clerk had taken cash, hadn’t asked for a credit card or an ID, and hadn’t made eye contact. A well-trained man for a certified, hole-in-the-wall dump. It was a worthwhile exchange for a room that could have been improved only with a can of gas and a match.

  The one thing it did have, however—the one thing he’d made sure of—was wireless access to the Internet.

  Ike locked the door, drew the curtains against the night, turned the TV on with the sound off, and pulled a battered laptop out of the duffel. The chair near the door looked too fragile for occupancy, so he bunched up the two small flat pillows for a backrest, and sat on the bed.

  He turned on the computer, opened up to Google, and typed in, “Joseph Gunther, VBI.”

  Joe glanced up to see Gail standing in the doorway, looking awkward.

  “Gail?” he asked, immediately feeling foolish.

  Everyone in the office followed suit.

  “Holy shit,” Willy muttered.

  Sam moved first, crossing over quickly to give her a hug. “Gail, my God. What a treat. How are you?”

  Gail smiled wanly, patting Sam on the arm. “I’m doing well. A little tired.”

  Lester was next, stepping up for a handshake. “You’re doing great work out there.” He laughed, adding, “You keep it up, I might have to vote for you, if you don’t tell anybody.”

  Gail patted her heart. “Swear to God, Les. Between you and me.”

  But Joe knew this wasn’t a casual drop-by. He rose from his desk, crossed the small office, and gave her a warm embrace. “Hey,” he said simply.

  Without waiting for her to explain her presence, he told his crew, “Be right back,” and escorted Gail back into the central hallway.

  It was after hours in the Municipal Building, so he took them down to where the selectmen normally met—familiar territory for Gail, who used to number among their ranks, although many years ago by now.

  She smiled as they entered the room and Joe hit the lights to reveal the semicircular row of desks facing the assembled chairs for the audience.

  “Wow,” she said. “Memory lane.”

  She moved along the wall, as if trying not to disturb the ghosts, and took in the scene from the far corner.

  Joe stayed by the front door. “Good to see you,” he said.

  “I met Lyn at the house,” she answered, not looking at him. “She’s very pretty.”
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  Joe chuckled. “That’s what I thought of Don. That was his name, right?”

  That made her turn toward him. “Donald. Please,” she corrected with a smile, adding whimsically, “Yeah, he was pretty, too. I think your Lyn is a lot brighter, though.”

  “I take it that means Donald’s in the past?”

  She nodded, her attention taken by the traffic moving outside, far below. “Oh, yes. Not much time for that sort of thing these days.”

  “They running you ragged?”

  She finally stepped away from the wall and sat on the nearest chair, still in her coat. “I am never not totally exhausted. I think it’s going well, though.”

  “Except for . . .” he suggested.

  “What?” she asked.

  He sat as well, across the room. “Well, you’re here for some reason. I’m assuming you hit a hiccup involving me.”

  She laughed shortly but without humor. “You should be a detective. Yeah—I was asked a question at a press conference tonight. Apparently, you just used the criminal DNA data bank for a familial search.”

  Joe’s slight smile slipped away. “True. David Hawke ran it by his lawyers beforehand, just so you know.”

  “I do know,” she said. “I spoke to him on the phone on my way here.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “The person you located that way is suing the state for invasion of privacy.”

  Joe laughed incredulously. “Robert Hildreth? No shit. The man’s on his deathbed. That’s feisty.”

  Gail’s response was more restrained. “It’s also a little awkward. I happen to agree with him.”

  Joe shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m not surprised. How’s this going to cause you trouble?”

  “People will try to tar me with your actions, saying our past relationship is affecting my judgment.”

  He looked confused. “But you just said you didn’t agree with it.”

  “I haven’t made that official yet.”

  A silence fell between them, as each considered her meaning.

  “What are you asking for?” Joe finally asked.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “I just felt so badly, calling you earlier about Felix Knowles.”

  “Felix . . .”

  “Reynolds’s chauffeur,” she interrupted.

  “I know,” he said, repeating more softly, “I know.”

  She suddenly looked as tired as she sounded. “I am so sorry, Joe. I hate to hit you with all this. I know what you’re up against.”

  He left his seat and walked through the assembled chairs to take the one beside her. He grabbed one of her hands.

  “Gail, not to worry. I won’t deny, I was disappointed by that, but only for a moment. I know what it’s like for you, too, running for office. I’ve seen it in others. You can get turned around. I’m half amazed any politician can figure out which end’s up after a while. You guys are surrounded by people interpreting reality for you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Say what you have to say, Gail. Goddamn cops are trying to steal our civil liberties. People’ve been saying that forever. It’s part of the process. We did what the lawyers said we could do when we went after that DNA, and between you and me and nobody else, I’m glad we did. I don’t mind if after you become governor, you try to make it all illegal. Just don’t be surprised if I testify in the State House against you.”

  She looked at him more closely. “So you think you got something?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you that, should I?” he asked her.

  She shook her head mournfully. “No, you’re right. I did like it when we could talk about what you were working on. I guess Lyn gets that privilege now.”

  “I don’t know if she considers it that,” he conceded.

  “But she is good for you, isn’t she?”

  He smiled. One of the things he cherished most about his connection to Gail was that at its foundation was a friendship, undisturbed by whether they were a romantic couple or not. It was this, he knew, that made Lyn uncomfortable on occasion.

  “She is,” he admitted, thinking back over the short time he and Lyn had been together, some of it quite action-filled. “She does things I wouldn’t dream of doing sometimes, but that can be good, too, assuming everybody survives.”

  Gail laughed softly. “I think I heard a little about that. Got a little hairy in Maine?”

  He nodded, smiling. “Oh, yeah.”

  Outside, through the bank of windows, the passing traffic circling the district courthouse could be heard across the street.

  “I better go,” she finally said, not moving.

  “Where to now?” he asked.

  “St. J for a breakfast meeting.”

  He looked surprised. “You were down here doing something? I didn’t know.”

  But she was shaking her head. “No, I was up north. I just wanted to talk to you about this.”

  “My God, Gail,” he said. “That’s hours out of your way. You can’t afford that.”

  She stood up and gathered her coat around her. “I’ll sleep in the car. I do that a lot. I’ve gotten good at it.”

  He rose with her and she laid a hand on his forearm. “I needed to do this, Joe. I hated the way we left things with that last phone call.” She looked away, still speaking. “And now with this new thing, I didn’t want you thinking I’d changed . . .”

  He reached out and touched her hair, smiling, bringing her eye back to his. “Hey, not to worry. But thanks for coming. I know what I said about it all being okay, but your doing this counts a lot.”

  She nodded.

  He added, “And don’t worry too much on how politics is going to change you. You’ll stay in control. You’re tired, you’re under an incredible amount of pressure, and you don’t like hurting people’s feelings. Things are tougher now than they’ll probably ever be, unless you choose to run for something higher up the food chain. You’ll get to feeling better.”

  He took her elbow and began guiding her through the chairs.

  “Thanks, Joe,” she said. “Maybe I wanted to hear that more than I wanted to tell you about this man’s lawsuit.”

  He laughed. “Oh, right. Crazy Hildreth. What a way to wrap up your life—suing someone. Yeah, don’t worry about that. I’ve already had a few people remind me that you’re going to be my boss once this is over.”

  “Oh,” she groaned. “Don’t go there.” But then she stopped at the door and turned toward him, her expression serious once more.

  “Do you really think I’ll win?”

  He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m probably the last one to answer that. You know what a political Slick Willy I am. Still, I think people are tired of Reynolds, and while Jyll Ivory is definitely going to eat into your votes, you’re doing well.”

  He shook his head and added, “Who knows? You make a big enough stink about how we violated this poor bastard’s last days on this earth, it could make you a populist poster child.”

  She frowned, but he could see she appreciated his releasing her. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  They were walking down the hallway and reached the door to his office. “Joking is all I have left sometimes,” he told her.

  He gave her a warm hug and asked, “Is it improper to say, ‘Break a leg’?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Hell, what goes for the theater should go for what I’m doing, so thanks. Same to you.”

  He stepped back. “Guess we’ll both find out in the headlines.”

  She laughed one last time and retreated down the hall, waving backward as she went. “Say good night, Joe.”

  “Good night, Joe,” he answered, and returned to work.

  By the time they all met up off the Augur Hole Road, a dirt track meandering through the woods between Marlboro and South Newfane, dawn was just graying the starless sky above the trees.

  Joe and his three colleagues were all in one van, wearing ballistic vests and heavy clothing against the cold, and carryi
ng shotguns. Except Willy, who preferred a specially shortened semiautomatic carbine for such outings—something he could operate with one hand.

  They weren’t alone. Positioned along the road near Gini Coursen’s address were additional VBI agents, members of the Vermont State Police, and, farther back, a couple of ambulances, just in case.

  Joe had his highly detailed search warrant, after spending the night dissecting Ike Miller’s life, trolling for what they’d found at last—a bad boy colleague of Ike’s whom they’d bounced out of bed and grilled for what they needed.

  Now, they knew the layout of the three buildings—the house, a pole barn garage, and a storage shack; the usual inhabitants—Ike and his mother Gini; and they’d compiled a list that included an acetylene torching rig, reloading equipment, woodworking tools, a stockpile of oak planks, blood and syringes, a computer and printer—all elements of what the Brookhaven scientists had linked to the killer of Ferenc, Fish, and Clarke—and any and all relevant documents. Ike’s buddy had also told them that he regularly fooled with cars, which included changing engine oil inside the garage, where he also had his office.

  The police radio mumbled inside the van. Joe left Sam to coordinate the last units to get into place while he gazed outside at the slowly emerging countryside. He could just discern the outline of the mostly bare tree limbs from the night sky behind them.

  It was a conflicting time of year for local residents. The coming winter, the dying vegetation, the shortening hours of daylight, all contributed to a hibernating mood—and sharpened the conflict between it and humanity’s self-imposed obligation to keep functioning. Joe often pondered, especially in the fall, how much his species had disconnected itself from its natural environment. At more leisurely moments, he was curious where it might all end up, and who would win.

  “All set, boss,” Sam said softly, aware of his thoughts being elsewhere.

  He turned away from the window and studied the intense trio of faces beside him.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, and opened the door.