The two hours also gave Stilwell time to get to the hotel and enlist the cooperation of the manager, Fred Nettles, in his plan. He needed to get into the bar before it opened and hide a directional microphone from the substation’s equipment room between the bottles of bourbon on the shelf opposite the barstool where Sneed would sit.
The message Stilwell composed and had Sneed send to Crane contained a clear threat: I know it was you. She told me about you two. Think the sheriff will change his mind about the killer when I tell him? There’s reward money, so make me a better offer. Bring a down payment on my silence to the Zane Grey at 5:30. Don’t be late. If I don’t see you, I call the cops.
By 5:15 Stilwell was positioned in the hotel’s office in front of a split screen showing two camera views of the lobby bar. Couples were sitting at two tables, and Leslie Sneed sat by herself at the bar opposite the line of bourbon bottles, a glass of sauvignon blanc in front of her. Five stools down from her sat Starkey, the writer who’d been involved in the eviction call the week before. He was now apparently back in the hotel’s good graces financially and still the writer in residence.
Stilwell rolled his chair away from the desk to a window that had a good view of Chimes Tower Road as it ascended from the harbor. It wasn’t the only way to the Zane Grey but was the likely route Crane would take from the Black Marlin Club — if he was coming.
The video feed was being recorded and so was the microphone hidden between bottles of Blanton’s and Pappy Van Winkle. Stilwell listened on headphones connected to a wireless recorder as Starkey attempted to engage Sneed in conversation. Stilwell had shown her a DMV photo of Charles Crane so she would know who she was meeting, and Starkey was clearly not him. She told Starkey that she was waiting for someone and he left her alone.
Stilwell checked the road again and saw no cart heading up. He was beginning to believe that Crane had not taken the bait after all and had simply ignored the text from Sneed. He started wondering if he was wrong about Crane. He thought about the bar manager, Buddy Callahan. He was one of the club employees Crane said had complained about Leigh-Anne flirting with members. Was he the one Sneed should have sent the text to?
Stilwell’s phone buzzed and he saw that it was Juarez. He answered.
“I’m in the middle of something,” he said quickly. “Can I call you in an hour or so?”
“Sure,” Juarez said. “I just wanted to let you know we’re on for tomorrow.”
“What do you mean? We’re on for what?”
“Oscar’s going before the sitting grand jury downtown.”
“That soon? Don’t we need time to prep? Do you know what he’s going to say?”
“I’ve been dealing with his attorney all afternoon. And the public integrity unit. Believe me, we’re set. We’ll go for a conspiracy-to-commit charge against Allen, and Oscar will be an unindicted coconspirator.”
“That’s it?”
“We’ll start with that. And down the line we’ll add solicitation of murder as well as charges in the Dano case.”
“What else does Terranova have in the way of evidence?”
“His lawyer played me another recording over the phone. It’s better than the first one Oscar played for us. It was about abducting Tash, and Oscar tells Allen that he crossed a line and that he wants no part of it. Allen makes an admission. He says he’s tired of cleaning up after Oscar’s mistakes and that the only way to get to you is through Tash. It’s gold, Stil. We got him.”
Stilwell nodded. While the killing of Henry Gaston was the bigger crime, he wanted someone to go down for Tash’s abduction. It sounded like Allen was going to be good for both.
“Unindicted coconspirator,” he said. “So Baby Head gets the golden parachute. Your bosses were okay with that?”
“He walks for now,” Juarez said. “Everyone here has signed off on it. He’ll have a formal deal before he testifies.”
“And no justice for a murdered buffalo.”
“Well, not today, at least. But the greater good is served. Or I should say the greater evil is taken down.”
Stilwell wasn’t so sure about that. He checked through the window again and saw a cart coming up the hill. It had a distinctive maroon-and-white-striped roof that matched the awning over the back deck of the Black Marlin Club. Crane was coming.
“I need to go,” he said.
“I need you here tomorrow to present to the grand jury,” Juarez said.
Stilwell thought about Tash camping by herself out near Two Harbors.
“What time?” he asked.
“First thing,” Juarez said. “They’ll be seated at ten.”
“Okay. Where is it?”
“Criminal Courts Building, room three-oh-eight. It’s unmarked, so just wait in the hall for me. It will be you and then Oscar, and that should be all we need.”
“What about Tash?”
“We talked about her and we don’t think we need her for tomorrow. But we’ll definitely need her if we go to trial. She’ll be the emotional core of the case, and a jury will love her.”
Stilwell understood that and knew it would fall to him to convince Tash to testify and then prep her for trial.
“Okay, and what about Corum?” he asked. “Has he been brought up to speed?”
“He’s my next call, unless you want to do it.”
“No, thanks. Like I said, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Okay, I’ll call him.”
“Is there a subpoena for me for tomorrow?”
“Uh... no. I was counting on you appearing voluntarily. Do I really need to subpoena you?”
“It will help with Corum, since I’m supposedly relieved of duty.”
“Got it. I’ll have one for you in the morning. I’m going to need you to walk the grand jury through the whole case, starting with you serving the search warrant on the cart barn.”
“The start was the beheading of the buffalo.”
“You know what I mean. So, are we good?”
“We’re good. I’ll see you at ten tomorrow.”
Stilwell disconnected and stood back from the window so he wouldn’t be seen as Crane parked the BMC cart and walked toward the lobby of the hotel. Stilwell returned to the seat in front of the video screen and put on the headphones. It was showtime.
The turnout for the midweek happy hour remained low, which was to Stilwell’s advantage. He could hear the banter between the bartender and Starkey even though they weren’t in the target range of the microphone. There was a familiarity between the two that told Stilwell that Starkey didn’t miss many happy hours at the hotel.
Nervous energy made Stilwell stand as he watched the screen. He had thought about asking one of the off-duty deputies to be at the bar as a precaution but dismissed it out of concern that Crane might know who the deputies assigned to the island were. There was no one but him, and though he was only one door away from the bar, he had to be ready to move should Crane choose to act out in any way with Leslie Sneed.
Right on time, Crane entered the bar through the lobby, looked around, and assessed the couples seated at the two tables and then the two people sitting three stools apart at the bar. He took a position between them and said something in a low voice to Starkey that Stilwell could not make out. But Starkey’s response was audible.
“Sorry, pal, I play for the other team.”