“I agree.”
“Stability, continuity, and competence are the three keys to keeping external conditions from sinking the ship. But here’s the thing. These qualities by themselves are just words. They need life. And you’re a big part of that life.”
Kline was leaning forward now. He seemed to be drawing energy and conviction from his own statements. “David, you’ve been pursuing the truth from the start like a heat-seeking missile. And, because of you, we’re practically there. I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that this could be the single greatest triumph of your law-enforcement career. Best of all, it would be a triumph for law enforcement itself. For the rule of law. And that’s what it’s all about, right?”
The moment he fell silent, his attractive assistant entered the room carrying a black-lacquered tray with a silver coffeepot, two cups, and a china creamer and sugar bowl, and set it all down on the glass coffee table.
When she left, Gurney refocused. “What do you want from me, Sheridan?”
“I just want to know I can count on your continuing insights and advice to . . . to help bring this ship into port.”
Gurney pondered his apparent transformation from heat-seeking missile to harbor pilot, as well as Kline’s endless capacity for duplicity.
“You want me to stay involved in the investigation?”
“In wrapping up the loose ends. Pulling it all together. Continuity.” When Gurney didn’t respond, Kline added, “On your own terms.”
“Freedom to follow the loose ends wherever they lead, without interference?”
Kline bridled for a moment at that last word, but then emitted a sigh of resignation. “We need some clarity regarding the motivation for each of the four homicides. Plus Turlock’s. We need to know specifically who did what. And we need to find the Gorts. You can follow any of those trails however you want.”
“I’ll have full access to Torres, Felder, Thrasher, lab personnel, ballistics, et cetera?”
“No problem.” Kline eyed him anxiously. “So . . . you’ll do it?”
Gurney didn’t reply right away. He asked himself yet again why he was doing what he was doing. The virtuous answers, of course, were simple. He was seeing the case through to its conclusion because of his commitment to the wives of the murdered officers. And because the deaths of Jordan and Tooker deserved every bit as much of his attention as those of Steele and Loomis. And because the solution of these murders, along with Turlock’s, might lead to the exposure of underlying patterns of corruption. And because bringing closure to so many open wounds might bring a modicum of peace to White River.
These motives were real and they were powerful. But he knew there was also something driving him forward that was less altruistic, something in the wiring of his brain—a relentless desire to know, to figure things out. It had been his driving force throughout his career, perhaps throughout his life. He really had no choice.
“Have Mark Torres call me.”
Gurney wasn’t even a third of the way back to Walnut Crossing when he got Torres’s call.
“The DA asked me to provide you with any information you want, especially the stuff that came to light after you left the site yesterday. Is this a good time?”
Gurney saw that he was approaching Snook’s Nursery and figured it would be a convenient place to stop. “Yes, this is a good time.” He pulled into the long narrow parking lot in front of the greenhouses. “How late were you there?”
“All day, all night. Garrett and Shelby set up their halogens and worked until dawn.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, first Paul Aziz photographed the whole site, then Turlock’s body, then each piece of evidence before it was bagged and labeled. Most of the items were found in and around the shed where your guy Hardwick found the branding iron. There were two sets of clothes, buried behind the shed, with bloodstains that match the positions of abrasions on Jordan’s and Tooker’s bodies. Inside the shed there was a coil of rope that matches the rope segment recovered from the Gorts’ compound—which seems to link Beckert and Turlock to the playground murders as well as an attempt to frame the Gorts for it. There were bloodstains on the back seat of the UTV. Thrasher did a quick field test on the blood types, and they match those of Jordan and Tooker.”
“Any fingerprints on the UTV steering wheel?”
“Old, smudged, not useful.”
“How about on the handgrips of the Yamaha bike?”
“Same. But Beckert’s prints appear in various other places on the UTV, and Turlock’s appear on the bike’s gas cap, which you’d expect, with the UTV being registered to Beckert and the bike to Turlock. And speaking of prints, this morning we finally got a reply from AFIS on that pen you found in the yard behind the Poulter Street house. The print on it is definitely Turlock’s.”
“That’s quite a pile of evidence.”
“There’s more. In a fire pit in the woods in back of the shed we found burned pieces of a baseball bat and nightstick—the likely weapons used on Jordan and Tooker—plus two hypodermic needles of the preloaded type.”
“Used?”
“Used and tossed in the fire with the bat and nightstick. But the labeling on one needle didn’t burn completely. Enough was left for Thrasher to tell it was propofol.”
“So the evidence pile keeps growing.”
“And there’s more. Remember at your house the other night Garrett said your power line had been severed by some sort of cable cutter? We found one under loose floorboards in the shed.”
“Quite a productive evening.”
“And I haven’t even mentioned the most interesting find—a pair of pliers that prove you were right.” Torres inserted a dramatic pause.
Gurney hated dramatic pauses. “What are you talking about?”
“There was a small tool kit under the sink in the cabin. Garrett thinks the pliers in the kit made the marks on the switched toilet handles. He’s having the lab do a comparison to be sure, but he tends to be right about stuff like that.”
Gurney felt the satisfaction of being on the right track. “Anything else?”
“Maybe, maybe not. That notebook computer and the phone you found in the cabin loft—they were password-protected, but we sent them to the forensic computer lab in Albany, and we hope to hear something back from them later this week.”
“This all sounds like a prosecutor’s dream. Do we know yet why Turlock showed up at the cabin when he did?”
“We think so. There were two battery-operated silent alarm systems—motion-activated—one in the cabin, one in the shed. They were programmed to contact certain phone numbers, presumably Turlock’s being one of them, which would explain why he showed up. Garrett was having trouble with a privacy code protecting the numbers, so we sent the devices to Albany along with the phone and computer.”
“Any leads on locating Beckert?”
“Not yet. His cell phone’s apparently been turned off. His wife claims she has no idea where he is. The DA’s getting a search warrant for their house in case she refuses access. Beckert doesn’t seem to have any personal friends, so that’s not a useful avenue. We’ve put a watch on his credit cards. So far no activity. He was seen leaving headquarters around five thirty the night before last. But we haven’t found anyone who saw him after that. His wife was at some three-day spa getaway with a couple of friends and claims she has no idea what time he got home that night or whether he came home at all.”