Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [132]
Volont was still talking, mostly to George and Hester. ‘‘I think that’s typical of him,’’ he said.
‘‘What?’’ I asked. ‘‘I was thinking of something else . . .’’
‘‘To tell you to charge the others in the cases.’’
‘‘Oh, yeah.’’ I looked at him for a second. ‘‘You know,’’ I said, ‘‘it occurs to me that, aside from Rumsford, Gabriel hadn’t actually committed a crime in my jurisdiction. Or in Iowa, for that matter.’’
‘‘As a conspirator,’’ said George.
‘‘But as a practical matter,’’ I said, ‘‘that would be much, much easier to charge federally.’’
‘‘That’s true,’’ said George.
‘‘The point?’’ said Volont.
‘‘The point is,’’ I said, very carefully, ‘‘that the error on his part was to go to Stritch’s farm.’’ I looked at all three of them. ‘‘Until that time, there was a tenuous federal case against him at best. Right?’’
George nodded.
‘‘For the expedition into the woods,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Yep,’’ I said. ‘‘Nothing else, except a likely financial scam, but we don’t know that, do we?’’
‘‘No,’’ said George. He looked at Volont, who was sitting quietly, with his arms folded. ‘‘Do we?’’
‘‘Immaterial,’’ said Volont. He looked at me. ‘‘Keep going.’’
‘‘Wittman tells us that Gabriel came to the Stritch residence when summoned, even though they were supposedly surrounded by cops, even though it was a murder scene, just to honor a prior sort of philosophical commitment, right?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Is that really true to form? For him?’’
‘‘It could be,’’ said Volont.
‘‘No, no,’’ I said. ‘‘Don’t hedge now, for Christ’s sake. Is it or isn’t it?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t have expected that,’’ said Volont. ‘‘No. I would have expected he’d send an emissary.’’
‘‘It would have been the logical thing to do, then?’’ I asked. ‘‘Send somebody else, and not go to Stritch’s place himself. Right?’’
There was general agreement.
‘‘Any idea why he’d do something so . . .’’ I hunted for the right word. ‘‘So . . . nonoperational? Not tactically correct? Not . . .’’
‘‘Professional,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Reasonable,’’ said George. ‘‘Not reasonable.’’
‘‘Completely out of character,’’ said Volont briskly. ‘‘Go on . . .’’
‘‘Right,’’ I said. ‘‘So . . . why?’’ I grinned at Volont. ‘‘To be fair, I think I’ve thought of something you haven’t,’’ I said. ‘‘I believe I know why.’’
Volont raised his eyebrows. Tough soul, there.
‘‘Nola Stritch,’’ I said.
To be fair, I had to fill Volont in on everything, and I mean everything. All that I said was either corroborated by Hester or, on safe occasions, George. When I was done, Volont sat in silence for a moment.
‘‘I’m not going to jump your asses yet,’’ he said, ‘‘because what you’ve done may just justify how you’ve gone about it.’’ He looked squarely at George. ‘‘In fact, I suppose there’s only one ass I can get on.’’
He wasn’t kidding, so we didn’t either. But Hester jumped right in.
‘‘All well and good, Houseman,’’ she said. ‘‘That’s good background. But what makes you think it’s her?’’
I shrugged. ‘‘Well, she’s not at all bad-looking,’’ I began. Hester made a face. ‘‘She’s in her, what, late forties? Very fit. Very bright. Dynamic, in a lot of ways. Great with computers. Dedicated to some cause or other. Altogether a very attractive, capable, interesting woman. Right?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said George, bless him.
‘‘On the other hand,’’ I said, ‘‘she sees Gabriel as sort of a hero. Everything she prizes in a man.’’ I looked at Hester. ‘‘Believable?’’
‘‘For her.’’
‘‘Well, sure. And,’’ I added, ‘‘she’s married for years and years to a loser who isn’t very bright at all.’’
‘‘Plus,’’ said George, ‘‘she may well have put him in this position with her able assistance. Right?’’ He looked at Volont. ‘‘Uh, a dispatcher named Sally pointed that out.’’
‘‘I’ll have to meet her,’’ said Volont dryly.
‘‘Evidence points to it . . . I mean,’’ I said, ‘‘here they are, practicing for a mission on the farm of a man that Gabriel has to know is not too bright. In an area that has no real facilities. I’ll bet he stayed close to the exercise area . . . if not at the Stritch house, then damned