“We got shit to do, so pucker up,” Jenkins said. “The sheriff’s department has a deal with the medical examiner over in Rochester. We’re thinking that might be the way to go—”
“Whatever. We gotta find Kerns.”
“The whole sheriff’s department is looking for him. We’ve got the highway patrol looking for his truck. They been over to his house, but it’s dark. Don’t know if we have enough to get a warrant, since you never saw him.”
“I gotta think,” Virgil said. “I gotta go somewhere and think.”
“The cabin,” Jenkins said. “Shrake went over there with a couple of deputies. We thought that crazy as he is, he might have been making a last run at you, but there’s nobody there. We’re going to keep a couple of cops there overnight, just to make sure. And we’re putting a couple cars on Kerns’s place until we get a warrant figured out, and I’ve called back to St. Paul for a crime-scene crew. They can be here in three hours, but that’s about as good as they can do.”
When they were sure that the sheriff had everything handled, Virgil and Jenkins drove over to the cabin in Virgil’s truck. A cop car was sitting on the entrance road, Jenkins’s Crown Vic was parked beside the house, blocking the driveway, and Johnson’s travel vehicle, an enormous GMC Tahoe XL, was parked on the front lawn, between the water and the porch. Virgil parked behind the Crown Vic, and he and Jenkins walked around the collection of vehicles and up on the porch, where Shrake and Johnson were waiting.
“You’re better protected than the fuckin’ president,” Johnson said. He gestured at his truck and said, “We thought he might come up by boat and take a potshot from the water, so we’re blocking out the door with the truck.”
Virgil nodded and said, “Thanks,” and they all went inside and sat on a long couch and a couple of chairs and Shrake asked, “You okay?”
“Pretty unhappy,” Virgil said. “But I’m not gonna start chewing on the rug.”
“Good thing, too, when you think about what’s been on that rug,” Johnson said. “We’d like to know that you’re functioning again.”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
The side window lit up, with headlights bouncing down the rough road, and Johnson asked, “Who’re we expecting?”
“Don’t know,” Jenkins said.
The approaching car stopped, and a second later the door slammed, and Virgil said, “That sounds like Frankie’s truck door.”
Shrake and Jenkins both had weapons in their hands when Frankie came through the front door carrying a backpack and a well-used Remington pump shotgun. She looked at them and said, “I give up.”
Everybody had something to say, but Frankie ignored them and came to Virgil and said, “Sit down and let me look at your head.”
“Ah, my head’s okay,” Virgil said.
“Sit the fuck down, and let me look at your head. What’d they do, take a bullet out?”
“Splinter,” Virgil said. “Not too bad. Besides, I got a lot bigger problem.”
Virgil hadn’t had a chance since the shooting to tell everything that had happened in one coherent story. He did it now, starting with his talk with the bus driver, the connection with Will Bacon and the secret apartment, the delivery of the camera and microphone, and finally, the call from Bacon before he was killed.
They all thought about the story for a few minutes, then Frankie said, “I’m not a cop, but I’m probably the smartest person in the room, and I’ve got some ideas.”
“Let’s hear them,” Shrake said.
“If this killer man, if he knows he left blood behind, then he knows the jig’s up for him. I would expect that he’s either running, or he’s holed up somewhere with a lot of guns. Or maybe he makes a run at Virgil out of revenge, or something crazy, but you’ve got all of that covered. Everybody’s looking for him, and we’ve got guys out in the driveway with guns, and guns in here. Right?”
Virgil nodded. “That’s right.”
“So you can ignore all that — nothing more you can do there. The question is, what can you do?”
Everybody looked at Virgil, and finally he said, “Bust the rest of them. Okay. I need to make a phone call.”
He took his phone out, called directory assistance, got a number for Janice Anderson, the woman who’d given him the school budget, and punched it in. She answered on the third ring, sounding cranky. “Who is this?”
“Virgil Flowers. Something terrible happened at the school tonight. I’ve got to ask, were you at the meeting?”
“Just a minute, let me put the light on, I can’t talk in the dark,” she said. A few seconds later she said, “Yes, I was at the meeting. What happened?”
“After the meeting, somebody killed Will Bacon, the janitor. I need to tell you, you’ve got to keep your head down. Don’t tell anyone you talked to me, don’t even hint that there’s a connection.”
“I’ve kept my mouth shut,” she said.
“Good. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to go on a shopping trip up to the Twin Cities, maybe stay over for a couple of nights.”
“You really think that’s necessary?”
“It would be helpful — I wouldn’t have to worry about you. I think Randall Kerns is the killer, and he’s crazy. We’re looking for him, but he’s out in the wind somewhere. I’d be a lot happier if you were out of sight.”
“Okay. I haven’t been to the Cities for a while, I’ll go first thing in the morning.”
“That would be smart,” Virgil said. “Now, was the auditor, Masilla… was he at the meeting?”
“No. He’s hardly ever there.”
“But Hetfield was.”
“Oh, sure, he had to be, he’s the superintendent, he’s, you know… he runs things, and with the fire… they had their insurance agent there, and all that, figuring out what to do, and whether they’d have to delay the start of school and so on.”
“Okay. I’m going after those two, just like we talked about in your backyard. If you will take care—”
“I’ve got a gun in my nightstand, and I will leave for the Cities as soon as it gets light.”
“Good night, Janice.”
“Good night, Virgil. You take care, too.”
Virgil hung up, and looked at the others: “Here’s the plan: Jenkins, Shrake, and I are going up to Winona tomorrow, and we’re going to scare the living shit out of a guy.”
“I like that plan,” Jenkins said. He interlaced his fingers out in front of himself, and cracked all his knuckles.
Virgil’s head was beginning to hurt again, and they all went off to their various beds, leaving Virgil and Frankie alone in the cabin. Frankie said Virgil was too injured and tired for sex, but that a little bodily warmth never hurt anyone, so they wound up huddled together on an old-fashioned double bed, which was almost large enough for them, Frankie being a small woman.
They’d agreed to meet Jenkins and Shrake at nine-thirty at Ma and Pa’s Kettle for pancakes; they’d gone to bed late, and there was little point in killing themselves by getting up too early. Winona was an hour or so away, straight up the river, so if they left a little after ten, they’d catch Fred Masilla, of Masilla, Oder, Decker and Klandorst, Certified Public Accountants, Auditors and Consultants, shortly before lunch.
If he was available.
Virgil was awakened at eight-thirty by an unexpected stimulus, and he groaned and said, “I thought I was too injured for sex,” and Frankie said, “I wouldn’t want to give you a pounding, but this is okay.”
Virgil agreed that it was okay, and she went back to what she was doing, and after a minute he picked up his cell phone and called Fred Masilla’s office, and when a secretary asked, “Who shall I say is calling?” he hung up.