With the murder weapons removed, tagged, bagged, and on their way to Augusta, the two CID teams moved in and began to search the area around the bodies, which still lay in their terminal embrace with the blood pooled between them now hardening to a substance like enamel.
When Ray Van Allen was finally allowed to load them into the Medical Assistance van, the scene was lit with police cruiser high beams and the orderlies first had to peel Wilma and Nettle apart.
During most of this, Castle Rock’s Finest stood around feeling like bumps on a log.
Henry Payton joined Alan on the sidelines during the conclusion of the oddly delicate ballet known as On-Scene Investigation.
“Lousy damned way to spend a Sunday afternoon,” he said.
Alan nodded.
“I’m sorry the head moved on you. That was bad luck.”
Alan nodded again.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to bother you about it, though.
You’ve got at least one good pic of the original position.” He looked toward Norris, who was talking with Clut and the newly arrived John LaPointe. “You’re just lucky that old boy there didn’t put his finger over the lens.”
“Aw, Norris is all right.”
“So’s K-Y jelly… in its place. Anyway, the whole thing looks pretty simple.”
Alan agreed. That was the trouble; he had known that long before he and Norris finished their Sunday tour of duty in an alley behind Kennebec Valley Hospital. The whole thing was too pretty simple, maybe.
“You planning to attend the cutting party?” Henry asked.
“Yes. Is Ryan going to do it?”
“That’s what I understand.”
“I thought I might take Norris with me. The bodies will go to Oxford first, won’t they?”
“Uh-huh. That’s where we log them in.”
“If Norris and I left now, we could be in Augusta before they get there.”
Henry Payton nodded. “Why not? I think it’s buttoned up here.”
“I’d like to send one of my men with each of your CID teams.
As observers. Do you have a problem with that?”
Payton thought it over. “Nope-but who’s going to keep the peace?
Ole Scat Thomas?”
Alan felt a sudden flash of something which was a little too hot to be dismissed as mere annoyance. It had been a long day, he’d listened to Henry rag on his deputies about as much as he wanted to… yet he needed to stay on Henry’s good side in order to hitch a ride on what was technically a State Police case, and so he held his tongue.
“Come on, Henry. It’s Sunday night. Even The Mellow Tiger’s closed.”
“Why are you so hot to stick with this, Alan? Is there something hinky about it? I understand there was bad feeling between the two women, and that the one on top already offed someone. Her husband, no less.”
Alan thought about it. “No-nothing hinky. Nothing that I know about, anyway. It’s just that…”
“It doesn’t quite jell in your head yet?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay. just as long as your men understand they’re there to listen and no more.”
Alan smiled a little. He thought of telling Payton that if he instructed Clut and John LaPointe to ask questions, they would probably run the other way, and decided not to. “They’ll keep their lips zipped,” he said. “You can count on it.”
3
And so here they were, he and Norris Ridgewick, after the longest Sunday in living memory. But the day had one thing in common with the lives of Nettle and Wilma: it was over.
“Were you thinking about checking into a motel room for the night?” Norris asked hesitantly. Alan didn’t have to be a mindreader to know what he was thinking about: the fishing he would miss tomorrow.
“Hell, no.” Alan bent and picked up the gown he had used to prop the door open. “Let’s beat feet.”
“Great idea,” Norris said, sounding happy for the first time since Alan had met him at the crime scene. Five minutes later they were headed toward Castle Rock along Route 43, the headlights of the County cruiser boring holes in the windy darkness. By the time they arrived, it had been Monday morning for almost three hours.
4
Alan pulled in behind the Municipal Building and got out of the cruiser. His station wagon was parked next to Norris’s dilapidated VW Beetle on the far side of the lot.
“You headed right home?” he asked Norris.
Norris offered a small, embarrassed grin and dropped his eyes.
“Soon’s I change into my civvies.”
“Norris, how many times have I told you about using the men’s room as a changing booth?”
“Come on, Alan-I don’t do it all the time.” They both knew, however, that Norris did just that.
Alan sighed. “Never mind-it’s been a hell of a long day for you.
I’m sorry.”
Norris shrugged. “It was murder. They don’t happen around here very often. When they do, I guess everybody pulls together.”
“Get Sandy or Sheila to write you up an overtime chit if either of them is still here.”
“And give Buster something else to bitch about?” Norris laughed with some bitterness. “I think I’ll pass. This one’s on me, Alan.”
“Has he been giving you shit?” Alan had forgotten all about the town’s Head Selectman these last couple of days.
“No-but he gives me a real hairy eyeball when we pass on the street. If looks could kill, I’d be as dead as Nettle and Wilma.”
“I’ll write up the chit myself tomorrow morning.”
“If your name’s on it, that’s okay,” Norris said, starting for the door marked TOWN EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Goodnight, Alan.”
“Good luck with the fishing.”
Norris brightened at once. “Thanks-you should see the rod I got down at the new store, Alan-it’s a dandy.”
Alan grinned. “I bet it is. I keep meaning to go see that fellow-he seems to have something for everyone else in town, so why not something for me?”
“Why not?” Norris agreed. “He’s got all kinds of stuff, all right.
You’d be surprised.”
“Goodnight, Norris. And thanks again.”
“Don’t mention it.” But Norris was clearly pleased.
Alan got into his car, backed out of the lot, and turned down Main Street. He checked the buildings on both sides automatically, not even registering his own examination… but storing the information just the same. One of the things he noticed was the fact that there was a light on in the living area above Needful Things.
It was mighty late for small-town folks to be up. He wondered if Mr. Leland Gaunt was an insomniac, and reminded himself again that he had that call to make-but it would keep, he reckoned, until he had the sad business of Nettle and Wilma sorted out to his satisfaction.
He reached the corner of Main and Laurel, signalled a left turn, then halted in the middle of the intersection and turned right instead.
To hell with going home. That was a cold and empty place with his remaining son living it up with his friend on Cape Cod.
There were too many closed doors with too many memories lurking behind them in that house. On the other side of town there was a live woman who might need someone quite badly just now. Almost as badly, perhaps, as this live man needed her.
Five minutes later Alan killed the headlights and rolled quietly up Polly’s driveway. The door would be locked, but he knew which corner of the porch steps to look under.
5
“What are you still doing here, Sandy?” Norris asked as he walked in, loosening his tie.
Sandra McMillan, a fading blonde who had been the county’s part-time dispatcher for almost twenty years, was slipping into her coat. She looked very tired.
“Sheila had tickets to see Bill Cosby in Portland,” she told Norris. “She said she’d stay here, but I made her go-practically pushed her out the door. I mean, how often does Bill Cosby come to Maine?”