Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [147]
Herman Stritch didn’t shoot Rumsford. We know that. The crime was cleared by saying it was an ‘‘unknown’’ assailant, and that it was ‘‘possibly inadvertent.’’ I think it was Wittman. He was in the house. We have that nailed down. Did he shoot, or did Gabe? Good question. The better question is how it could be ‘‘inadvertent,’’ especially since he ‘‘allegedly’’ shot him twice. I don’t know for sure who Wittman knows, or who he works for, but he isn’t in any prison as far as we have been able to tell.
Which leaves Gabriel, otherwise known as Jacob Henry Nieuhauser.
That name is never mentioned in any of the official reports, including mine. It’s that simple. He is referred to as an ‘‘unknown suspect.’’ That’s so the Feds’ investigation isn’t compromised. Yep. I think it’s also so Volont doesn’t have to admit that he outwitted himself. Is he dead? If he is, then Volont would have to have suppressed his fingerprint identification. The prints on both bodies were submitted to the FBI labs. Could Volont arrange that? Piece of cake. But with Volont, who knows. He could have planted that guess with the other agents, and have been sure George would tell me and Hester. I don’t know.
But if he is still alive, I’d like to meet him again sometime.
Lamar is back at work. He knows something is very, very wrong. I’ll tell him before I mail this in. I think he ‘‘needs to know.’’
If you enjoyed
Donald Harstad’s KNOWN DEAD,
you won’t want to miss any of his suspense novels!
Look for ELEVEN DAYS and THE BIG THAW
in paperback from Bantam Books at your favorite bookseller.
And turn the page for a sneak peek at his
next suspense novel featuring Deputy Sheriff Carl Houseman, coming soon.
Prologue
My name is Carl Houseman, and I’m a deputy sheriff in Nation County, Iowa. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now; long enough to be the Department’s Investigator, and senior officer, as well. Senior in every sense of the term, unfortunately. Somehow, when you pass fifty and realize a twenty-five-year-old fellow officer was born about the same time you took the oath, you start to wonder if you might not begin to feel old pretty soon. I mean, maybe in another ten years or so.
The case I’m going to tell about has to be about the most bizarre of all the cases in our files. I think you’ll see what I mean.
One
Saturday, October 7, 2000
0740
I was brushing my teeth in our upstairs bathroom when I thought I heard the phone ring. I turned off the water, and listened. Nothing. I turned the water back on, glad there hadn’t been a call, because my wife, Sue, was asleep. She is a middle-school teacher, and Saturday is about the only day she could sleep past six-thirty.
I was tapping the toothbrush on the side of the sink, and just reaching to turn off the water, when the bathroom door opened a few inches, and Sue’s hand and arm came through, holding out the portable phone. “Okay,” she said, her voice throaty with sleep, “he’s right here.” It would have been better if she’d said that into the phone, but I didn’t think it prudent to bring that up. I was going to hear about this. I took the phone, and the hand disappeared.
“Houseman . . .”
“Carl?” It was the voice of Norma, one of the newer dispatchers. Well, sure. Who else? “Yep.”
“Uh, we got a call, at, ummm . . . 0636 . . . and I sent Eight up on it. He got there, and thinks we should, uh, probably have you come up and take a look.” Her voice seemed to be about an octave higher than usual. Eight referred to Nation County Sheriff’s Car Eight, the radio call sign of Tom Borman, a newish deputy with about two years’ service. He seemed like a good sort, and pretty serious about his job.
“What’s he got?” I asked, as I walked down the hall to our bedroom, to