The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [27]
Oh. The marks that I had followed to the chair from the archway? The ones I thought were drag marks? They were fresh vacuum cleaner tracks.
“We’re taking the vacuum cleaner and bag back to the lab with us.” They did that, because sometimes the critical part of some evidence wouldn’t make it all the way into the bag. They disassembled the cleaners completely, down to slitting and opening the hoses.
Well. You just never know.
Art spoke up. “It looks pretty much like that’s all the physical evidence, then. Except the bag, and the bodies.”
We agreed.
“Anything anybody needs before we let these people go back to Des Moines?”
Lámar spoke up. “When can we expect your photos?”
Four days, max, as it turned out.
But that reminded me. I excused myself, and hurried out to my car, and got the film I’d used yesterday, and hustled it back to our new secretary, Judy. “Could you get these developed, today or tomorrow, rush job?”
“Sure, I think, I’ll check …”
“If you could take ’em down? I’m not going to have a chance for a while, and I don’t want ’em to be delayed.”
“What do you want, like, double prints?”
“Sure,” I said. “One for us, one for the DCI people. Maybe a third for the official file, so we have something to work with. Just keep it cheap, or Lamar will have a fit.” I hurried back into the kitchen, to catch the lab team.
I met the county attorney as I passed the dispatch center.
“I’m here to see what we can make of this.” He sounded burdened, as usual. Being county attorney in our county, as in most of the state, was a part-time job. A large case could really hurt his private practice, which is where most of his income came from.
“Oh, it’s a murder, all right,” I said.
“Damn,” he muttered, as we entered the kitchen.
“Our photos will be back in a couple of days, too,” I announced. The lab people said, “Fine,” but Art had a better idea.
“Why don’t you give your film to the lab, they can develop it for you?”
I’d experienced that before. The state then kept the negatives. We always wanted to keep our own negatives. “That’s okay,” I said. “They’ve already gone.”
“Where do you take them?” asked Art. “Dubuque?”
“No, right downtown here, to the local drugstore. They’ll be back in a couple of days.”
After the lab team left, Lamar, the county attorney, Art, and I conferred. Actually, we argued perspectives, as they say. Art, who had a reputation for preferring the quick and dirty approach, insisted that Fred had done the deed.
“No doubt,” he said. “Opportunity? You bet. I’m sure we can find a motive.”
I disagreed. “Nope. Look at the scene. This is about the tidiest crime scene I’ve ever seen. Fred’s not that careful. Not that patient.”
“I’m not ruling out his having help, here,” said Art. “An accomplice.”
“Who,” I asked, “Martha Stewart? Whoever cleaned up had lots of ‘Helpful Household Hints’ for the carpet.”
“But, Carl,” interjected the county’s finest, “didn’t you say that Fred had asked you if you’d charge him with murder if they were dead?”
“Yeah.” Hard to argue that one.
“Speaking as an attorney,” he said, grinning, “it certainly sounds to me like he had prior knowledge.”
“I really don’t think so,” I said, leaning forward. “I think Fred was really worried that they might be dead, but I got the impression he thought they might have frozen to death. Not been shot. Don’t forget, he was also worried that they were going to crap on him for missing his pickup assignment.” I leaned back in my chair. “He just didn’t want to be held responsible, that’s all.”
“Look,” said Art. “Give me another suspect … anybody else. Then I might be able to cut Fred some slack. But, Carl,” he said, leaning forward, “he was the only one who knew they’d fucking be at the Bergerman residence!”
“That’s Borglan,” I said. “The Borglan residence.” He just blinked. I shook my head. He’d just had to use “fucking,” to show he was one of the guys.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I hate the ‘gut feeling’ bullshit as much as you do, but I just don’t think that Fred did ’em. It doesn’t make any sense to do all the covering up,