"Shaky. Edgy. Everyone's off balance."
Tucker dropped like a stone on the old horse blanket on the floor for her use."He'safraid. I smell it on him."
Harry interpreted the dog's talk as a request for a treat, so she gave Tucker a twisted rawhide chew, then sank into the director's chair opposite BoomBoom. "Another reason I know things aren't good is Coop's not around. She's working overtime and she's not saying much. I check in every day."
"Did she talk to Herb?"
Harry brightened. "She did. Forgot to tell you. He said fine. She'll move in as soon as she can get a day off. There's so much busy work to do—switch over the power, the Phones, all that diddlyshit."
"One of these days we won't need wires. We'll own one phone number and everything will be keyed to that," BoomBoom predicted.
"Think so?"
"I do." She suddenly broke into song. "I've got your number."
"You're as nuts as the rest of them." Harry laughed a true deep, dump-the-stress laugh.
"I'm not insane, honey, just unsane. I greatly recommend it during trying times."
32
"Right temple, neatly done. No note." Rick filled in Cooper when she reached Tinsley Crossroads three miles from White Vineyards.
She approached the truck. Hy sat upright behind the wheel, his head tilted all the way back, his Adam's apple prominent, the .22 pistol still in his right hand. The powder burns on his right temple left a smell of singed flesh and hair, but the entrance was relatively clean. The exit proved messier, with tiny bits of brain and pulverized bone on the seat. A few specks stuck to the passenger window, but the sight wasn't gross. Coop had seen some really grotesque corpses.
She walked around the truck. The bed contained a small box of twine and a small box of flypaper. A paperback book about insects had a page turned down. She flicked to the page using the blade of her penknife. It was a photograph of the sharpshooter. Then she knelt down, flipped over on her back, and crawled under the truck. When she slid out, the crushed stone from the road dotted her damp back. The roadbed remained moist from Sunday's hard storm.
"How long before the print boys get here?" She returned to Rick.
"Fifteen minutes. I called them a half hour ago. Traffic's bad right now." He brushed off her back.
"He hadn't driven in deep mud, but there's mud on the skid plate." She then asked, "Was the motor turned off?"
"Yes. Everything seems quite deliberate." Rick lit up, handing the fag to Coop so she could enjoy the first drag.
"Thanks." She inhaled, then handed the cigarette back to her boss. "Who found him?"
"Bo Newell. He was driving those Belgian people around. Guess they won't be buying here. I sent them on. I'll get back with Bo later."
"Body temperature?"
"He's around ninety-five degrees rightnow, give or take." Rick had put on latex gloves, checking for a pulse, the instant he arrived on the scene.
"Most folks will take this as proof he was guilty." Rick watched a blue plume of smoke rise slightly then flatten out, which meant pressure moving down, probably rain later.
"I try not to laugh when I hear the gossip. Ever notice how desperately people want to believe, want to have an answer, but don't want to work for it?"
"That's why we're on the county payroll. We have to work for it. In the meantime they can make up whatever they want to make up. They aren't held accountable."
"Think he was accountable?" Coop inclined her head toward Hy for a second.
"Suicide? He took care of it that way?" Rick crossed his arms over his chest. "It's logical."
"Are you going to treat this as a suicide?" Coop asked, her inflection rising.
He replied, eyebrows raised, "What do you think?"
She waited, looked at Hy, then back at Rick. "Nope."
"Damned straight. I'm treating this as a suspicious death."
"Too many, too close."
"I hear the wheels turning." Rick pointed his forefinger at her.
"They are, boss, but I need traction."
"What we know is, everyone who could have killed Professor Forland or Toby doesn't have an airtight alibi." He tapped his toe on the crushed-stone road surface. "Fair has an alibi for Forland. He was asleep in bed. Harry can testify to that. Toby and Arch have or had no one who could clear them about their whereabouts in the middle of the night. Rollie has Chauntal. Then, of course, wives can and do lie to protect husbands. For Toby's murder, while signs point to Hy, we can't completely rule out Fair."
"I think Fair was set up, because of Toby calling about Jed. We're missing a big chunk here."
"Yeah, I know. And now the bugs." He nodded in the direction of the truck.
"Flypaper?"
"Coop, we're close to this guy. Really close, if we can just find the right piece to the puzzle."
"In time," she grimly replied.
"Thought of that, too."
"Traction."
33
Fiona had borne up through her husband being accused of murder. Now she bent under the crushing weight of his death.
Rick carefully described the scene and the fact that the gunshot may have been self-inflicted.
Cooper, as was her habit, stood quietly beside Rick but made mental notes. Once back in the squad car she would write everything down. Usually she carried her pad with her, but under the circumstances that seemed cold.
"Hy would never kill himself. He's Catholic." Fiona sobbed, her embroidered handkerchief at her gushing eyes.
Plenty of Catholics had killed themselves over two millennia, but neither Rick nor Cooper thought it wise to mention this. Thefact that Fiona hadn't collapsed was impressive to the two enforcement officials. Events had leached pounds from her, but her haggard face retained vestiges of mature beauty.
"Did you notice anything out of line the last few days?" Rick sighed. "You and Hy have been under a punishing strain."
Her bloodshot eyes searched his. "Do you still think Hy killed Toby?"
"I have to stick to facts. Hy was our main suspect in the death of Toby Pittman."
Coop stepped in. "Something horrible is happening, and for whatever reason it's happening among those who possess highly specialized knowledge concerning disease in grapes and other crops."
Fiona wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. "Hy was passionate about making wine. He got into a big argument with Rollie Barnes yesterday at the co-op store about using machines to destem grapes. He ran into him at the cafe. People have been shunning us, Rollie included, so Hy's been extra sensitive. I don't even know how they started talking, but Hy lost his temper and declared the only way to make wine was to destem the grapes by hand. No bad grapeshould ever fall into the basket. With a machine they do. Hy came home livid, as it apparently turned into a real shouting match. He thinks everyone is against him." A long pause followed. "And they were."
Coop's voice soothed. "I'm terribly sorry, Fiona."
"Sheriff, Deputy, I know my husband did not kill Toby Pittman. Yes, a wife isn't considered a good judge in these circumstances, but the least I can do for Hy," she choked up, then gained control, "is to clear his name, and by God, I will."
"Why don't we wait with you until Alicia arrives?" Rick suggested, as he didn't want to leave her alone.
Knowing that the Maudants had no children and were fairly new to Crozet, Coop had taken the precaution of calling Alicia Palmer on the way to White Vineyards. Alicia and Fiona were pals. Alicia dropped everything, so Rick and Coop expected her at any moment.
The sound of the Land Cruiser on the drive sent a ripple of relief through Coop. Alicia would know what to do.
Before the beautiful woman camethrough the door, Fiona asked, "When can l have his body?"
"I'll get the autopsy performed today. I'll call you as soon as it's over. You understand this is necessary?" Rick spoke in a low tone.
"Yes, I understand." She sat upright, speaking deliberately. "I want you both to know that my husband did not commit suicide."