"What I want to do is to bring Barnum and Martindale up here and run Martindale through a lineup," Tony said. "If Barnum picks him, we're home free, aren't we?"
"Yeah, but what if he doesn't pick him, deputy?" the D.A. said. "Then, no matter what other evidence we were able to develop over time, the defense would always have the fact that Barnum couldn't identify the man. And it sounds like to me that the guy was just well enough disguised that Barnum couldn't nail him in a lineup of similar-sized men."
"How about his voice?"
The D.A. shook his head. "Sounds to me like Martindale, who's English, was faking an American accent. You're not going to be able to get him to do that at a lineup, and I'm not going to be able to get him to do it on the stand, in the unlikely event that his attorney was crazy enough to let him take the stand."
Tony sat and stared at the D.A.'s desktop. "How about if we brought him up here in handcuffs, throw what we've got at him, and see if he cracks?"
The D.A. shook his head again. "You're dealing with a pretty cool customer here, deputy, the kind who'd have the sense to clam up until his attorney arrived."
The sheriff tried to be helpful. "What if we subpoenaed his bank records. If there's a big enough withdrawal to account for the five thousand dollars he paid Barnum, that would help, wouldn't it?"
"It might help," the DA. said, "but it would hardly be conclusive. I mean, I might be willing to go with less than an airtight case, but I want more than this in a trial that's going to attract a lot of media attention to the county. Is there any physical evidence at all?"
Tony shook his head. "I dusted the likely spots at the Kinsolving place, but there was nothing usable."
"How about Barnum's airplane? He could have touched something there, couldn't he?"
Tony shook his head. "Barnum said the man wore gloves."
The D.A. shrugged. "Well, I'm always ready to listen, if you come up with something else."
The sheriff stood up. "Thanks, Dan, we appreciate your time." He looked at Tony and made a motion with his head toward the door.
Tony got up and trudged after him.
On the front steps of the courthouse, the sheriff stopped. "You got any other leads on this one? Anything at all?"
Tony shook his head. "I've wracked my brain; I don't know where to go from here."
"I've thought about it, too," the sheriff said, "and I agree; there isn't anywhere else to go, unless somebody comes to us with something else."
Tony nodded. "There's always that hope, I guess."
"Listen, son," the sheriff said, placing a fatherly hand on the younger man's shoulder, "there a great truth about law enforcement that may not have sunk in with you yet."
"What's that?"
"We don't solve ' em all. We do pretty good, I think, but sometimes we just don't have enough to go on, and this could turn out to be one of those times. At least nobody got seriously hurt."
"I hate to let it get away," Tony said, "when we've got so much already."
"Maybe it won't get away," the sheriff said. "Maybe you'll find another way."
"How 'bout if I took Shorty Barnum to San Francisco, to where he could get a look at Martindale? A kind of preview to a lineup?" Tony asked hopefully.
The sheriff shook his head. "That wouldn't be an ID that would stand up in court, son, and it's not the way I do business, either. You don't want to start shaving off corners at this stage of your career; it gets to be habit forming."
"You're right, Norm, and I'm sorry I brought it up."
"That's okay; we all need somebody to steer us around the rough spots at times. I just wish I could be of more help to you on this one. I'd like to see Martindale get locked up, myself. He's a smartass who thinks he's always a step ahead of us, and I'd love to tag him."
"So would I," Tony replied.
"Well," the sheriff said, squaring his hat, "let's get back to work. I've got a lot of paperwork looking at me, and you're due back riding the north end of the county."
Driving north, Tony Wheeler struck the steering wheel of his patrol car several times, venting his very considerable frustration.
CHAPTER 58
Tony Wheeler drove north more slowly than he usually did when he patrolled. The case was eating at him, and he tried to figure out why. It was more than that he had almost nailed Martin-dale; he might nail Martindale yet, after all. It was more than what bothered the sheriff-that Martindale was a smartass who thought the police couldn't nail him. What bothered him, Tony decided, was that Martindale was a cold, calculating potential murderer, and that, having failed once, he would almost certainly try again. At that moment, the radio came alive.
"Napa Four, this is base." It was the sheriff's voice.
Tony picked up the microphone. "Base, Napa Four."
"Tony, it's Norm."
"Yeah, Norm?"
"What's your position?"
"Two, two-and-a-half miles north of town."
"Good. The desk had a call from Mrs. Kinsolving a couple of minutes ago. She sounded upset, wanted to speak to somebody. I just got in, and I called her, but there's no answer. You wheel by there, and see if she's all right."
"Wilco," Tony said. "I'll be there in three minutes."
"Let me know if she's all right."
"Wilco. Out."
Tony made a U-turn and stepped on it. He turned into the driveway at what was now called the Kinsolving Vineyards and drove quickly up to the house. Mrs. Kinsolving, to his surprise, was on her hands and knees in a flower bed near the driveway, furiously pulling up weeds. He got out of the car. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Kinsolving," he said. "I'm Deputy Wheeler."
"Yes, I remember," she said. She was standing now, and both hands were filled with weeds.
"The sheriff said you called; is everything all right?"
Tears began to roll down her face. "No, everything is not all right. I'm out here pulling weeds, and I'm afraid Sandy's in terrible trouble."
It dawned on Tony that the woman was very nearly hysterical. "What kind of trouble, ma'am?"
"He's gone to meet Peter."
"Peter Martindale?"
She nodded. "I'm afraid of what might happen."
Tony was afraid, too. "Where is he meeting Martindale?"
"He called him and said they should meet at the first place they met."
"And where's that, ma'am?"
"I think at Alcatraz."
"Alcatraz?"
"Sandy told me that Peter had once insisted that they meet at Alcatraz."
"How long has your husband been gone?"
"I don't know, exactly. At least an hour, maybe two."
"Ma'am, thank you for telling me this; now you're going to have to excuse me, if I'm going to be able to do anything about it."
He ran for his patrol car, got it started, and pointed it toward town. He grabbed the microphone. "Base, Napa Four."
"Napa Four, base."
"The sheriff there?"
"No, Tony, he went off with the county manager in his car."
"Okay, listen carefully; I want you to call the airport and get hold of Bert, the pilot. Tell him I'm on my way out there right now, and I'll be there in about six or seven minutes. Tell him to have the police helicopter fueled and running when I get there, that we're going to San Francisco."
"Tony, you ought to talk to the sheriff about this."
"I don't have time to find the sheriff; you just call Bert and tell him that, and I'll take the responsibility, do you read me?"
"I read you, Tony, but remember, it's on your head."
"That's fine with me," Tony replied. He put the microphone back on its clip, flipped on the lights and siren, and stood on the accelerator.