“I’m okay.”
“That’s not what I asked. You need to come back here.”
“That’s not going to happen, Bob, at least not yet. Is Izzy with you by any chance?”
“He is.”
“Can I talk to him please?”
I hear Richmond mutter a curse and then some muffled sounds that make me suspect he has his hand over the phone so he can talk without me hearing him. A moment later, Izzy comes on the line.
“Mattie, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Izzy. I had a white knight ride in at the last minute to save me.” I see Hurley shoot me an amused look.
There’s a moment of silence on the phone and then Izzy says, “Hold on a sec.”
I wait, wondering what he’s doing. Is he helping Richmond trace the call?
“Okay,” Izzy says finally. “I wanted to step away from everyone else so I can talk to you without being overheard. Are you with Hurley?”
I hesitate, knowing the answer might seal my fate with regard to my job. “I am,” I admit. “But he didn’t do these killings, Izzy. There’s someone else involved and that someone tried to kidnap me. Hurley said the guy has been following me the past couple of days. He thinks they did it to get to him, to try to flush him out.”
“Why would they think that would work?”
“Because I’m the closest thing to family Hurley has.”
There is another pause and I hear Izzy sigh on the other end. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’m not totally convinced Hurley isn’t involved, but I did find something that points toward someone else being Callie Dunkirk’s killer.”
“What?”
“Well, when I looked at the X-rays again, I realized that the angle of the knife ran from left to right and more or less straight in, perpendicular to the body. So did the track for the other wound. That suggests both a left-handed killer and someone who is close to the victim in height, which is around five-foot-six. And if I remember correctly, Hurley is right-handed and about six-foot-four.”
“Yes, he is. That’s great news, Izzy.” The excited tone in my voice makes Hurley look over at me with a questioning expression. “Did you share that information with Richmond?”
“I did, but he isn’t completely swayed. He thinks the knife angle might have been affected by the positions of the people involved, or that Hurley could have hired someone to do the killings. He’s going to look into Hurley’s financial affairs next to see if there is any suspect activity. But I think the knife angles, along with that little speech you gave earlier, are enough to make both him and me want to dig a little deeper.”
“Good. At least he’s willing to give Hurley the benefit of a doubt.”
“What are you and Hurley going to do?”
“I don’t know. Hide out for now. Try to come up with something.”
“He needs to come in, Mattie. If he’s innocent, we’ll find a way to prove it.”
“But if he’s in jail he won’t be able to investigate things on his own. And whoever’s behind this seems to have a pretty extensive reach.”
Izzy sighs again. “Okay, but promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Based on your earlier reaction, I think I already have.”
“Yeah, about that . . . we’ll talk some more. If it turns out Hurley has nothing to do with this, I’ll find a way for you to keep your job.”
“Thank you, Izzy. I owe you big.”
“Yes, you do.”
“So I guess it’s rather presumptuous of me to ask you for one more favor?”
“What now?”
“I need someone to take care of Hoover and Rubbish for me until I can get back.”
Izzy chuckles. “No problem. Just know that if Dom spends too much time with Hoover you might not get him back.”
I hang up the phone, and while I’m turning it off I tell Hurley what Izzy told me about the angles of the knife wound and Richmond’s plan to look into Hurley’s finances. “It sounds like Richmond is at least keeping an open mind,” I conclude.
“It’s a start,” Hurley says, turning the car around and heading back the way we came. “But if I don’t come up with something else pretty soon, you and I may both end up behind bars.”
Chapter 36
The remainder of our drive is done by the light of a full moon, a good thing because after stopping at a twenty-four-hour gas mart to pick up some staples, Hurley drives us deep into the woods along a rutted, dirt road. I’m feeling like Hansel and Gretel when we arrive at our little hidey-hole, which turns out to be more a shack than a cabin. The scary thing is I suspect it looks better now than it really is and once daylight arrives, all its flaws will be clearly visible—assuming we survive the night. It’s basically a one-room, wooden structure with a front porch that’s falling off and a roof that looks like it’s sagging in the center and ready to cave in any moment.
“Is this place safe?” I ask Hurley, getting out of the car. The night air has turned bitterly cold and I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to get warm. I’m only feeling the cold because it’s so early in the season. Eventually we Wisconsinites adjust to the frigid temps of winter and by February, when any normal person would think Hell is frozen over, we might open our schools an hour or two late. “And does it have heat?”
“It’s a little rough,” Hurley admits, eyeing the place. “I haven’t been here for a while but it will have to do for now. Come on, where’s your camping spirit?”
“Camping spirit? You got the wrong girl. My idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service.”
Hurley grabs a flashlight from the car and uses it to examine some rocks beside the stairs. A moment later he lifts one of the rocks, produces a key, and unlocks the door.
From what I can see in the beam of the flashlight, the inside of the cabin isn’t much better than the outside. The place is primarily furnished with cobwebs and the few pieces of human furniture look like something I might see at the estate sale of someone’s great-grandmother. The air smells musty and damp, and I hear something scurrying about off in one corner.
“I think I should have let Parking Lot Guy grab me,” I say. “I’m betting his accommodations would have been better.”
“Assuming he let you live long enough to enjoy them,” Hurley fired back.
Well, yeah, there is that.
“I need to go outside and start up the generator.” He turns to leave, taking the only light source with him.
“I’m going with you,” I say, falling into step behind him.
I’m relieved to discover that the generator, which is at the back of the house beside a huge pile of chopped wood, has a large fuel tank attached to it. Hurley checks the gauge and says, “Good, there’s plenty.” As soon as he gets the generator started, he loads us both up with wood from the pile and we head back inside.
A short while later we have lights, our packages have been hauled in, and Hurley is stacking wood in the fireplace, which fortunately comes equipped with matches and a basket filled with packets of firelighter stuff.
“This should help brighten the place up,” Hurley says when he strikes a match and puts it to the firelighter. A few minutes later the kindling catches and the wood starts to crackle.
The fire is warm and reassuring, but a more pressing need comes to light. I turn around to look at the rest of the place and that’s when it hits me. “Hurley, where are the facilities?”
“Facilities?”
“You know, the bathroom?”
He picks up the flashlight and hands it to me. “Outside and around to the left,” he says.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Afraid not. There’s toilet paper on the shelf by the door over there. Want me to go with you and hold your hand?”