The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [39]
Nancy half waved when she saw me. I waved back. Unfortunately, the reporter for KRNQ thought we were waving at her, and hustled over to us along with her camera person.
“Can you tell us what’s going on with the triple murder?” she asked, in her best “on” voice, pushing her epiglottis as hard as she could. “How many were officers?”
I don’t function at my best with a light in my eyes, a mike in my face, and no sleep. The best I was able to manage was “Huh?”
Art, on the other hand, excelled. While I started to duck inside, he began to speak blather about “investigative confidentiality,” “reasonable progress,” and things like that. He was good. As I moved away, he was beginning a statement for another camera unit.
“Three?” I said, mostly to myself. “Where in the hell did they get three?”
I headed for my office in the rear of the building. I opened my door, and was startled to find Iowa Assistant Attorney General Mark Davies seated at my desk. He’d been recognized, and was avoiding the fourth estate by hiding in my office.
“Hi, numbnuts,” he said, standing as we entered. “What took you so long?”
Every cop that ever worked with him liked Davies. He was intelligent, aggressive, energetic, and had a great conviction record. What more could you ask?
“I didn’t see an ambulance,” I said. “You must be chasing the media today, for a change.”
“No, they’re chasing me,” he said. “Art with you somewhere?”
“He’s out there.”
“Figures. I really think he wants to wear makeup someday. So,” he said, “Nation County has another murder.”
“Looks like,” I said. “Double.”
“Well, naturally. You guys don’t do anything simple up here. I’m surprised there weren’t little slimy space alien tracks around the scene.”
“Obviously,” I said, “you haven’t seen the latest report…”
He chuckled, reaching past a little plate of pastry to a steaming cup of coffee. I made a mental note that our secretary was overimpressed by attorneys. “So, what we got here?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Why don’t we start with leads? You do have lots of leads?”
“Well,” I said, thinking fast, “we have a possibility. Not much more right now.”
He took a sip of coffee. “You mean to say that you’ve been out flying all over the county at state expense, and you only have a possibility?” He chuckled. “The director ain’t gonna like that.”
“What we have,” I said, “is a fairly good circumstantial case. Unfortunately, it’s against somebody I don’t believe did it.”
Davies sat back, and put his penny-loafered feet on my desk. “Hey, I do circumstantial. When I have to. Tell me more.”
I did. Art came in about halfway through the briefing, and between the two of us, we gave Davies an accurate picture of the case to date. Just as we were through, Davies put his finger right on the thing that had been making me uneasy most of the day. I knew it as soon as he said it.
“You ever think,” he said, chewing part of a doughnut, “that there might have been a snowmobile at the Borglan place the killer could have used to make his getaway? Borglan’s got bucks. He could own a snowmobile or two.”
Well, hell. Wouldn’t have to drive in, just drive out. Placing Fred right back on the front burner.
“That way,” he continued, “all you have to do is make a stolen snowmobile case, and leave the rest to me.” He grinned. “Piece of cake.”
If Cletus Borglan had been a bit friendlier, I would have called him right away, and simply asked.