“And you buy that?”
Fukida stretched the thick rubber bands on his wrist. Gideon braced himself for the snap, but the sergeant just eased them back. “I think I do, yeah. I’d guess it didn’t cross their minds at the time.”
“Well, then, you have more faith in people than I do.”
“Not much. Because I would also guess it damn well did cross their minds later on, especially when they never heard anything from Torkel-and that it had a whole lot to do with why they stuck to their story. Right up until today.”
“Another reason being,” John said, “that it also occurred to them they’d committed all kinds of prosecutable offenses, jail-time offenses.”
“That, too.”
“What’s going to happen with the wills now?” Gideon asked.
“Not my worry. Question for the lawyers.”
“Are you going to reopen the criminal case?”
“Counsel’s checking the various statutes of limitation now. If there’s anything still actionable, you bet we are. I don’t like being jerked around like that.”
“They did come forward on their own,” Gideon pointed out, wondering why he was defending them.
“Yeah,” John said hotly, “but only because they were scared. And there’s something still actionable, all right. There’s no limitation on murder.”
Now rubber thwapped against flesh. “You see these people as accessories after the fact now?”
“Maybe before the fact.”
Fukida eyed him. “Now wait a minute. Are you saying you think they had something to do with the murder itself? I thought these were your buddies.”
John sighed. “Teddy, are you done? Can I tell you what I came here to tell you?”
Fukida crossed his arms, uncrossed them, turned his cap around backward, which made a boyish shock of black hair pop ridiculously out of the opening, and crossed his arms again. “I wish you would, already, instead of sitting there like the goddamn cat that ate the canary.”
“Okay, then, let me read what I was going to read before.”
“About the guy that got shot in the knee,” Fukida said with a sigh. “Sure, what else do I have to do today?”
“Just shut up and let me read.” He found his place in the book, cleared his throat, and began to read aloud, something he did clumsily.
… on surgical exploration there were found to be two bullets and a cartridge case in the knee joint. All three missiles entered through one entrance wound. The bullets were. 32 ACP and. 380 ACP caliber and the case was. 32 ACP.
He looked up, scowling. “You guys following?”
“No,” said Fukida through his sandwich. Gideon had never seen anyone take such small bites, or work his way around the edges the way he did. The thing looked as if it had been nibbled by a family of rabbits.
“I’m following,” Gideon said. “It’s pretty much the same situation described in the autopsy report.”
“It’s the exact same situation.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Two bullets through the knee is not the exact same situation as two bullets through the heart.”
John brushed this aside. “I’m talking about the situation with the bullets and the cartridge case. That’s the same.”
“Okay, so?”
“So this.” He went back to the book.
It was hypothesized that a. 32 ACP cartridge was inadvertently put in a. 380 automatic. The cartridge slipped forward, lodging in the barrel. A. 380 ACP cartridge was then chambered. On firing, the. 380 bullet struck the. 32 ACP primer, discharging the cartridge. The whole complex of two bullets and one case was swept down the barrel, emerged from the muzzle, and entered the victim.
He slapped the book closed, tossed it onto the files on the crowded desk, and loomed over Fukida. “In other words, piggyback bullets!” he yelled, arms spread. “Tandem bullets! You ever hear of those before?”
“ No! ” Fukida yelled back up at him.
“Me neither,” Gideon said slowly, as John’s point sank in, “but I see where you’re going with this. You’re saying-”
John dropped back into his chair. “Right!” he said, still shouting. “I’m saying that it’s all baloney, the whole cockamamie story. There weren’t any hitmen, there wasn’t any execution, there wasn’t any-”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Fukida interrupted. “Slow down, sport. Control yourself, breathe deeply.” He made calming motions with his hands. “Look, I’m just a simple island cop, I don’t know from piggyback bullets. You want to explain what the hell you’re talking about?”
John made a visible, not-altogether-successful effort to contain his agitation. “I am talking,” he said with excruciatingly precise diction, “about the old Walther semi-automatic that they had in the Big House back then. It was-”
“What big house?” Fukida asked.
“ The Big House. It’s where Inge’s dude ranch is now. Back then, it was where Torkel, Magnus, and Dagmar lived. They built it-”
“Wait, goddammit! They had a gun right in the house?” Fukida made a disgusted gesture at the files. “I was just looking at the early interrogations. Dagmar was asked if they had one.” He poked irritably among the folders, looking for the right one to prove his assertion, but gave it up and batted them aside. “She said no, definitely not, except for some old varmint rifles that the section managers had.”
John shrugged. “She lied. What else is new?”
Fukida slowly shook his head. “These people.”
“John,” Gideon said, “is this the pistol you and Felix were talking about in Waikiki? I thought it didn’t work.”
“They said it didn’t work. Obviously, it worked, all right, only not real well. That’s exactly my point.”
Fukida swiveled in his chair to look at Gideon. “That’s his point? What’s his point, do you know?”
“I think so, yes,” Gideon said, and to John: “You’re saying that both of the bullets found in Magnus may have come from one gun-just the way they did in the guy that was shot in the knee. Right?”
“Right.”
Fukida considered, energetically cracking his gum for a few seconds before arriving at his conclusion. “Nah, I don’t think so. That’s too crazy.”
John sighed. “Jeez, Teddy, and you used to be so sharp. Look, the Walther was an old World War II job chambered for 9mm. short bullets. Now, what do we call 9mm. shorts in the States, or wouldn’t a simple island cop know that?”
“We call them. 380 ACPs,” Fukida said slowly, and Gideon had the impression that he was starting to think that John just might be onto something after all.
“And what were the two bullets found in Magnus’s body?”
“Let’s see…” The tiny part of the tuna sandwich that was left was put aside again on its bed of waxed paper. “One of them was a. 380 ACP. I forget what the other one was, but I got this hunch you’re gonna tell me it was a. 32.”
John tossed the green folder he had with him-apparently the ballistics report-onto the desk. “I am. See for yourself.”
Fukida sat there. “Just like in your book.”
“Just like.” He patted the book.
“Okay,” Fukida said, “either I’m losing my mind, or you’re starting to make sense.” He paused and thought of something. “Or are you…?” He reached for the ballistics report after all. “Let me see that thing.”
There were three sheets in the folder. Fukida found what he was looking for on the second.
“Here, listen”:
Comparison microscopic examinations were made involving the submitted. 32 and. 380 ACP bullets. Based on the total dissimilarity of rifling class (the. 32 was free of rifling marks; the. 380 ACP was deeply and distinctively marked) and the absence of individual characteristics common to the two missiles, it is the conclusion of the examiner that the bullets were fired from different weapons.
In the case of the. 32, the absence of rifling marks suggests that the weapon was either a zip gun, a smooth-bore pistol or rifle, or a revolver, the barrel of which had been removed to prevent the imparting of such marks. In the case of the. 380, the weapon was most likely a semi-automatic pistol.
“The lab guys in Honolulu are good, Johnny,” he said, closing the folder. “You know that. If they say two different guns, I have to accept it. They don’t make that kind of mistake.”