Chat - Archer Mayor [105]
Joe was laughing. “Well, since you put it that way . . .”
But Willy was only half kidding. “Hey, the sins of the fathers . . . Maybe all of them were screwed before they drew their first breaths. God knows what E. T.’s old man was like.” His tone changed slightly as he asked, “Did you ever find out if Dan rigged Leo’s car?”
Joe had settled behind his desk and interrupted taking a sip of coffee to answer, “Yeah, threw it right at my mother. Said he was sorry things hadn’t worked out as planned. She was great—shot right back that she was happy they had. He got her point. Later, he told me he regretted he hadn’t just planted a bomb. Guy’s such a winner.”
The door opened, and both Les and Sam walked in, chatting.
“Hey, boss,” the latter said, shucking off her coat and hanging it in the corner. “Everybody okay at home? I heard your mom’s quite the shot.”
“Both of them are,” Joe conceded. “I asked Lyn afterward if she planned to shoot the gun out of the other guy’s hand. Her comeback was, ‘That’s where I aimed.’”
“Ouch,” Lester said. “Watch out for that one, boss.”
“Turns out she used to target shoot with her father and brothers when they were kids,” Joe explained. “Throw bottles into the ocean and blow them up. Not PC, but I guess a lot of fun.”
Sam was already typing at her computer, checking her morning e-mails. “Useful, too, as it turns out. I can’t believe the bastard attacked your house. It’s like a big-city war story from the flatlands.”
“Speaking of flatlanders,” Joe segued, “you and Les get anything on Leppman?”
Sam looked up from the screen. “Yeah. We just drove down from Burlington this morning.”
“Didn’t trust our own people?” he asked.
She pursed her lips, considering how to answer that. In fact, the VBI had five offices strategically located across the state, staffed with squads like their own. That was what he’d meant when he encouraged her to bring in extra help if needed.
He interrupted her with a raised hand. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. I know what it’s like to share. Tell me what you got so far, instead.”
She gave him a slightly embarrassed, rueful look. “Yeah, I’m a little possessive.” She then pointed at Lester. “He’s just as bad, though. Didn’t once suggest farming this out.”
“It was worth it,” Spinney said defensively. “Nobody knows the case like we do.” Not having all the years the other three had shared working for the Brattleboro PD, he was a little less sure of the limitations to this sort of banter.
Sam returned to the question. “It was good news, bad news, to be honest: the good part being that we got a solid picture of his activities and whereabouts; the bad being that, as a result, we couldn’t put him in Bratt on the dates of either killing.”
Joe scowled slightly. “No doubts?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “We got the right judge, which got us access to Leppman’s phone records and credit card receipts. We talked to neighbors, a package delivery driver who handed him something on one of the days, a few other people we found out about. All this was on the q.t.—not that he won’t find out eventually—but every time, we came up empty for both dates.”
“And it wasn’t just the timing,” Lester added. “We asked about his demeanor, too. I mean, I know he’s a shrink, but they all said he’s been fine—upbeat and cheery, just like he was when I was with him. No signs of stress at all.”
“What about the phone records?” Joe asked. “Anything stick out there?”
Sam shook her head. “Nope. And sure as hell nothing to Pennsylvania or Waterbury or anything as easy as that. It was like taking apart Mr. Average Joe Citizen.”
“You interview the vet?”
“Yup,” Spinney answered. “Followed up on that phone call I made back when. What the stable lady told me was right—Leppman does like to hang out and ask questions—but the vet said he never thought anything about it, that Leppman never asked him any leading questions about overdosing or lethal chemicals, or even anything about fentanyl or DMSO.”
“They