“Ken Solstad had taken Ecstasy the night before and all the friends agreed that it made him paranoid and angry. By morning he would’ve been coming down hard, which may have made his paranoia worse. Melissa said Aaron’s body was slumped over a table. She thought Ken had strangled Aaron. I could see Mark physically assaulting Aaron and accidentally beating him to death, which probably would’ve trashed the house, but not strangling him. On the other hand, I know now that Ken carved the word HOMO into Aaron’s chest earlier that evening, and then took the picture. That shows extreme contempt and the need to make a show of his contempt. I’d say choking Aaron might be consistent with that type of hatred and the need to demonstrate his contempt.”
Floyd thought for a second, and then added, “I might even hazard a guess that Ken acted this all out in the heat of the moment. With the Ecstasy metabolizing out of his system, he may have had an extreme fit of remorse and the Iowa car accident may have been his suicide. Either that, or his system just crashed when the Ecstasy was gone and he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.”
“I doubt that. People don’t have deep enough hatred to carve up a friend’s chest, and then have a change of conscience a few hours later. Anyway, the county attorney called and asked if this was important enough that he should ask the judge for a recess. Based on what you’re telling me, I don’t think we can yank him out of court. This is a fifteen year-old murder and waiting until next week to find the body isn’t going to make one iota of difference since the probable killer is dead anyway.”
“John,” Floyd said, his voice rising, “I’ve got Melissa in the middle of a confession. I don’t want to walk away and have her recant her statement. If I can offer her immunity I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll tell us where Aaron’s body is hidden this afternoon.”
“There is no way I’m pulling Tom out of the courtroom over this, and he won’t authorize immunity without a full briefing on the case. Get her to tell you where Aaron’s body is, or come back and talk to one of the attorneys next week.”
Floyd folded the cellphone and jammed it into his pocket. “I assume that you could hear the sheriff’s booming voice.” Floyd said. “Get a statement without immunity, or come back another day.” He paced for a second and then asked, “I wonder if they have a coffee machine around here somewhere?”
“Let me try something,” Pam said. “Stay here.” She walked to the consulting room and knocked gently on the door.
“Did you reach your attorney?” Pam asked.
Melissa was sitting next to the phone staring at her clasped hands. “The office is closed for lunch.”
“We’re having the same problem on our end,” Pam said, taking the chair next to Melissa. “I assume you had nothing to do with Aaron’s death.”
“Of course I didn’t kill Aaron!” Melissa said sharply. “I don’t know how you could even think that.”
“We don’t think that,” Pam said quietly, trying to defuse the situation. “I was stating the obvious. I understand that you want to protect Ken’s parents, but you’ve already told us he was the murderer. It’s time to do the right thing for Aaron’s family. They want to know what happened to Aaron and they deserve to have the closure they need, especially Aaron’s mom.”
Melissa shook her head. “You don’t understand. Karen Solstad and I were really close. She expected Kenny and me to get married. We talked all the time and made plans, especially when Kenny first went into the Army. We cried with each other and we shared the letters Kenny sent us. She was like a big sister and we got closer than I ever was to my own mother. I can’t do this to her.”
Pam reached out and patted Melissa’s hand. “The lawyer is just a diversion. You really aren’t going to tell us anything no matter what he says.”
Melissa wiped her eyes with a tissue. “No.”
“Go back to work,” Pam said as she stood. “Floyd and I have a long drive back to Pine City.”
CHAPTER 46
They drove in silence on the two-lane highways lined with the new corn crop. The only breaks were driveways leading to big farmhouses with metal barns, blue silos, and grain storage bins.
“Does this look like home?” Floyd asked, after a while.
“It’s pretty much like this. Blue Earth is a little further south and west, but every farm grows corn and they plow right to the driveway and the ditches. The fields turn into a beehive of activity in the fall when everyone is out combining their corn and rushing it into the dryers. Everyone in the family get involved. I drove a tractor hauling grain wagons as soon as I was tall enough to reach the pedals. Mom drove a semi and my dad and brothers would take four-hour shifts in the combine. Our combine even had headlights so the guys would work until midnight, then start up again at daylight.”
“You sound like you miss it.”
“Not really. It was an intense couple of weeks, and that was kind of fun. We had an uncle who’d come home for two weeks each fall to help, and it turned into a big family reunion. The rest of the year was pretty bleak and the winter months were pretty isolated in the middle of nowhere. You know, once the corn is down, there isn’t much to stop the wind so it’s like living on an island in a sea of snow. I like the trees in Pine County; they break the wind and it doesn’t seem so desolate in January and February. Pine County looks more like a Christmas card, with the snow hanging from the boughs of the pine trees.”
A billboard advertising “The Pie Lady” drew Floyd to a small restaurant in Winthrop. He pulled into the gravel parking lot and turned off the car.
“Are you sure you want to eat here?” Pam asked. “It looks like an old house with about five additions and four of them look like their roofs are sagging.”
“C’mon. If they’ve got good enough pie to brag about on a billboard it must be an okay place. Look,” Floyd said, pointing to a police cruiser parked in an alley, “the local cop is even eating here.”
“That might mean they have good doughnuts.”
“Right. Ha ha,” Floyd said sarcastically. “All cops eat doughnuts.”
They walked in and found the Winthrop cop eating a piece of pie, drinking coffee, and talking to the waitress who was leaning on the counter. Floyd took a stool next to him at the Formica counter, with Pam sitting at his other side.
“Well, Beth,” the local officer said, “it looks like we’re in deep trouble. There haven’t been three cops in this town at the same time since Elmer Quist shot his wife.” The officer put his hand out to Floyd and then to Pam, “Ray Brock. I’m the chief of police, day shift officer, and dispatcher for Winthrop.” Ray looked about sixty, and other than a slight paunch that fell over his belt, he appeared to be in good shape for his age. He wore a blue uniform and he had the ugliest comb-over Pam had ever seen, bringing blonde hair from just above one ear, over the top of his head, and touching the ear on the other side of his head.
“We figured the food must be good if the local cop is eating here,” Pam said after introducing herself.
“Well, it’s either that, or the cop’s cousin owns the place and he gets free coffee,” Ray replied. “And in this case, it’s the relationship that counts.”
“Hey,” the waitress, who’s nametag said “Beth” protested. “We make the best pies in the county, and anybody who wants more than the Dairy Queen offers has to eat here.” Beth was in her mid-fifties and her figure told a lot about her love for the food she prepared, or maybe the pies.