“Might work for us,” she said, “but it could play hell with a jury at some point.”
“Well,” I said, “in Edie's case, I'm afraid that knowing she'd tried to do herself in before just gave her killer an idea. He just screwed up faking it, that's all. That'd make the jury think.”
The mere existence of the body bag spoke volumes about the malice aforethought in the mind of the killer or killers.
“Hey, Hester,” I said, “how many people you suppose have a body bag at home? Just lying around out in the garage, for example?”
“Not a lot. How many you know would know where to even get one?”
Not average citizens, anyway. “Well,” I said, “let's start with funeral homes. Then hospitals. Then ambulance services. Police departments. Maybe even a few fire departments.” I shrugged. “It's not a military bag. That leaves civilian agencies who would have them, plus manufacturers and sales outlets. That's about the only ones who would even have access.”
“Wonder if a sales or manufacturing place would question a request for one?”
“Well, I'd hope. But you never know.”
“I think,” she said, thoughtfully, “that it had to come from somebody who wouldn't ask, and who wouldn't have to mess with accounting for it.”
“Okay.”
“So, like, if you had a relative or a good friend who owned a small funeral home, for instance. They would order often, I suspect. The owner wouldn't have to account to anybody else for the items.” She smiled.
I didn't even answer her as I reached for the phone, and dialed Dispatch.
Sally answered. “Jiffy Dispatch, at your service.”
“I hope you never get inside and outside lines mixed up,” I said. She giggled. “You'll never know. Whatcha need?” “Well… ” I gave her the gist of what we'd been talking about, and asked her to check for any funeral homes with the same name as any of the five surviving residents of the Mansion, or Hunley or Ostransky, or Peel.
“Sorry I asked,” she said. “Give me a while on this one, okay? And how far away do you want me to look?”
That was a good question. It's always tempting to say, like, the whole world. To make it reasonable, and to increase my chances of ever getting another favor like this, I said, “Two hundred miles… ” Before she could object, I added, “… because Hunley lives about that far away, for one thing.”
“This,” she said, “will cost. Big time.” “Anything you want,” I said. “Just say what and when.”
“Well, Houseman,” said Hester, “how about you and me go get some lunch, and then lean on some witnesses?” That was more like Hester's normal good spirits. She'd seemed just a bit down since the bit about Edie's daughter came up.
I smiled. “Might as well. Can't dance.”
Before we could get out the door, Sally called the back room and reminded us that there was a wake for Edie from 4:30 to 6:00 P.M., at the funeral home at Freiberg. Swell. I just hate to go to wakes where we're involved in a case. They're usually pretty sad, and they can really skew a cop's perspective. You just don't want to get emotionally involved. Makes you rush things, because you want to do something for the grieving survivors. Rush, and the case can get away from you.
We decided we had to go, though. Lamar would want us to. And we'd be near Freiberg anyway, while we were at the Mansion.
There was a consensus that I'd better stop at home and get rid of the blue jeans and tennis shoes, and put on something a little more presentable. Considering that I'd also have to be working, and maybe doing grungy things, when I got there I settled for a pair of wash pants, olive, and dark hiking shoes. A shirt, and cardigan sweater-vest to hide the gun at my hip, rather than take a chance and leave it in the car when we went to the wake. I didn't think it was too startling a contrast to my normal attire. Apparently I was wrong. As I walked back out to the car, Hester looked up from her notes.
“Well, the new Houseman. Hardly recognize you.”
I got in the driver's seat, and started to buckle my seat belt.
“My,” she said, “I hope we don't get you dirty.” As I threw her a look of disdain, she continued with, “Maybe you should have eaten first.”
“Now, come on. They're just wash pants.”
“You're too modest, Houseman,” she said. “You're creepin' up on presentable on me.”
“You know,” I said, as we headed out for lunch, “I'd think the group up at the Mansion would want to go to the wake, too.”
“It could be tough for 'em,” said Hester. “Hard to fit in, I'd think.”
I grinned. “Then I'll be in good company. Really, though, it's not going to give us much time to do interviews.”
“Give me a little while on this,” she said, “but we may just have enough to get selective.”
We were barely in the car when lunch was canceled.
“Three, Comm?” came crackling over the radio.
“Three… ”
“Ten-twenty-five with the search party up north. Eighty-one says they have something for you.”
Fantastic! “Ten-four, Comm. We'll be ten-seventy-six,” I said, turning left instead of right at the bridge, and heading north. “ETA about fifteen.”
“Ten-four. They advise at the bottom of the bluff, on the highway end. They'll be in plain sight.”
“Ten-four.” I was really, really tempted to ask if they had somebody in custody, but I was aware that the media were probably monitoring our radio traffic even then.
“You think they got him?” asked Hester.
“I'd think so,” I said. “But maybe not.”
“Hard to think why else they'd call us up,” she said.
“If I'm gonna miss lunch,” I replied, turning onto the main northbound highway, “they damned well better have a warm body for us.”
They did, as it turned out.
“Eighty-one, Three,” I said into my mike, as I got within a mile of the bluff.
“Three, go.”
“I'm a bit less than a mile from you.”
“Ten-four, got you in sight. Pull in here,” he said, and I saw a figure in blue jeans and a dark green jacket step onto the highway on the bluff side. There was a sheriff's car parked in a level area just off the roadway, where the county kept a gravel pile for use on the roads. The figure waved, and I recognized Old Knockle. As I got closer, I saw there was a blue Chevy parked ahead of the squad car, and as I pulled in, I saw that it had Wisconsin plates.
As we got out of the car, I said, “Don't you ever sleep?”
“Only got an hour to go. Hello, Hester.”
“Right,” I said. “What you got?”
“Well, we were up the road there, me and Tillman, and we were comin' in to relieve the other guys, and I noticed this car, here. Ran the plates, and they're expired. To a woman named Gunderson, over by Madison.”
“Okay?” I was awfully eager to see what else he had, but I didn't want to rush him.
“Well, while Tillman was checkin' under the seats,” he said, provoking a wince from me, “I looked up there.” He pointed to the bluff. “There was a fellah up there lookin' back at me.”
“Recognize him?”
He pointed to his glasses. “Surprised I even saw him, Carl.”
“What'd he look like?”
“He's just a man in a gray sweatshirt with a hood, I think. Not much more. Anyway, I yell at him, and he just stares at me. I holler 'Who're you?' and he just motions like he wants me to go away.”
I hate to admit it, but my heart rate was elevating.
“Where'd he go?”
“Well, he sort of disappeared, Carl. But I think he went back toward the top of the bluff.”
“And where's Tillman?” My heart sank. Tillman was about twenty-five or so, and had been a reserve for about three months. A great kid, but I was pretty sure he didn't fully appreciate some aspects of the job. Like risks, for example.