“Running away wasn’t going to guarantee my safety. I’m a public guy, easy to find. I figured maybe the best defense was a good offense, especially after I met Greta. If I made a big enough stink, with lots of publicity, it would not only give me some protection, but the extra heat would keep you guys on your toes, and the sooner you caught Julie and her father’s killer, the sooner I could stop looking over my shoulder.” Spinney’s voice was like acid. “Well, I don’t know about you looking over your shoulder, but I’ll guarantee you some protection.”
He slapped a pair of handcuffs onto Gorman’s wrists and steered him out into the hallway, reading him his full rights. Spinney and I were standing in the parking lot of the correctional facility on Route 5, just a little south of the State Police barracks, having hand-delivered Gorman there. The jail was high on a hill looking east, and we were both idly facing that direction without actually registering the view, which the falling snow had reduced to a blur in any case. “So he was tall and thin.” Spinney’s voice was reflective. “Yeah. He must have put Rennie’s clothes on over his own-to keep himself warm and to expose the clothes to any blood. And he must have kept the pants up with suspenders. That’s why that one spot of blood showed up where a belt would have been.” I felt particularly vindicated with that last detail.
“So who do we know who’s tall and thin?” I looked at him. “Sarris.”
Sarris, as usual, didn’t seem surprised to see us. His only greeting was a single world-weary, “Ah.” “We’d like to speak with you, if we might,” Spinney said. Sarris shrugged and led the way through the big hall with its dozens of sparkling windows. At the far wall, he opened a small door I’d never noticed and ushered us in.
%225 We stepped into a brightly lit room, very woodsy and warm, which looked like something torn out of an Aspen real estate brochurebright ponchos on natural wood walls, beige wool u~holslered ~rrnchairs and a sofa, a thick hand-woven rug in front of the fireplace, a huge slab of polished maple as a coffee table. There were watercolors hanging about, a couple of wooden duck decoys on the mantle, odd pieces of quaint metal farming tools propped about as decorations. The air was filled with soft classical music.
“Is this the cutting edge of anti-materialism?” I asked. “Please, no polemics. Have a seat.” He gestured to the various seats.
“Electricity too?” He settled into an armchair opposite us and crossed his legs. He looked only at me. “What do you want?” I glanced at Spinney, who merely nodded. I was to kick off. “A few more questions.”
“I’ve already answered your questions.” He was definitely more peevish than before, his polished, urbane patina worn down by current events-a good sign, I hoped.
“More have come up.” “I’m afraid that’s your problem.” “Not really.
You’re in very hot water.” “It can’t be too hot, or you would have arrested me for something.” “There are seven dead bodies out there, all of which have ties to you and the Natural Order. I wouldn’t be too optimistic, if I were you, or so cocky.” “I have broken no laws.” “We have evidence that suggests otherwise,” Spinney murmured gently.
“You know one of the things that threw me oIl?” I asked, to stop him from asking us to produce Spinney’s “evidence.” “It was why you were being so coy. If Julie killed her father, why didn’t you just hand her over? You said your opposition was philosophical, but it’s been forcing us to chip away and chip away, looking for a way to crack your whole organization wide open. She couldn’t have meant that much to you.
Besides, you’ve cooperated in the past. You helped the State Police when that child went over the bridge, and you supplied the identifications to the five people who died in the fire.” Sarris sighed. “I apologize for making you tax your brains unnecessarily. I’m not sure I understand why you choose to continue doing so here and now.”
Spinney spoke up again. “We want you to understand your posi %226 tion.
Picture yourself on top of a mountain, with all of us climbing up in order to nail your hide. Each time we establish another fact, we take another step in your direction, and you’ve got nowhere to go-you’re stuck where you are.” Somewhere, in the back of my brain, a bell was beginning to sound.
“I’ve committed no crime,” Sarris repeated. I was lost in my thoughts, digging furiously through a mental index file, trying to match two separate pieces of information.
Spinney kept going. “That’s not true. Julie, for instance. Now there’s one hot potato. As soon as we get our hands on her, your world is going to fall apart. But even if you’ve buried her in some ditch, and we never get to lay a legal hand on you, you’re still out of business. Because what we can’t do to you, the bad publicity will.” He hunched forward in his chair, warming to his task. “This is no Island Pond. We’re the good guys this time. Have you been reading the papers?” Spinney looked at him impassively. “Not good. Questions are being floated about your being the next Jim Jones. In fact, there was an editorial this morning that suggested we ought to close you down right now to protect the people under your thumb. In fact, your only chance of survival is if you start cooperating with us.” I stood up, the adrenaline pumping, a previously negligible tidbit of information suddenly large in the front of my mind. That I was about to pull the rug out from under Spinney was of little consequence at that moment, and I was convinced that in the long run, Spinney would agree with me. I made a lame attempt to end the interview with the upper hand by fixing Sarris with a stern eye and saying, “Think about it-if you meet us halfway, you might be able to salvage something.” Spinney looked at me, his mouth half open in stunned surprise. He struggled quickly to his feet so as not to look completely left out.
I led the way to the door. ‘We’ll show ourselves out.” Spinney waited until we’d both gotten into the car. “What the hell was that all about?
I hadn’t even started with him. He must think we’re out of our minds.”
For the first time since we’d met, Spinney was truly upset.
“You can sweat him later, and you can pat yourself on the back now.”
“Why?” His voice was incredulous.
“Your flowery images do you justice.” I turned on the wipers to brush the snow off the windshield. “The hypothesis so far is that the guy who killed Wingate wouldn’t have killed Rennie because he’d framed Rennie for Wingate’s murder in the first place.” %227 “So?” “What do we know about Rennie’s killer?” Spinney pursed his lips, still mentally switching gears. “He’s a woodsman, or at least an outdoorsman, good at tracking, good at keeping quiet.” “And athletic-probably slim and fit.”
“Okay.” “I think I’ve seen him before.” With no cars parked out front, Nadine’s house looked abandoned. Spinney and I walked up the long ramp to the front door and pressed the buzzer.
The snow had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the entire countryside blanketed in a thick, white, sound-absorbing shroud.
We waited a long time before the door opened. Nadine looked up at us from her wheelchair and gave us the ghost of a smile. “Hi, Joe.” “Sorry to bother you, Nadine. Are we interrupting anything?” “Just television.” “We can come back.” That was diplomatic; I had no intention of leaving.
She retreated a little from the threshold. “No, please. Come in.” We entered the house, closing the door behind us. I was again startled at how good the air smelled in here, especially in contrast to the Beirut-like front yard. “This is Lester Spinney. He was here earlier.”
Spinney bent over and shook her hand. “I apologize for not introducing myself then. We tend to lose our manners sometimes. I’m sorry about your husband.” She nodded and let her eyes drop to her lap. We were still standing at the door-the high, tinny sound of a television came from somewhere down the hall.