The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [48]
“All based on a conversation that we can’t prove ever occurred,” said Art.
“You gotta admit, though, it does cover the territory,” I said.
“So did the theory,” said Art, “that had the sun revolving around the earth.”
Well, he had me there.
“Tell you what,” said Art, finally. “Make you a deal. You do this lead, your lead, and we’ll do the straight-up case. If you score, fine. Okay?”
No way. If I did that, I’d take myself out of the mainstream investigation. Let him proceed, without me, the local yokel, getting in the way.
“Naw,” I said, in my best aw shucks voice. “The officer with primary jurisdiction makes the deals.” I said it very pleasantly. I couldn’t afford to be offended. “I’ll follow that lead, but not exclusively. I’ll still work on the main case. But I’ll go into my theory, at the same time.”
He thought a second. Legally, it was my case all the way, and he was assisting. He knew that. But he also knew that without DCI, we were going to be left high and dry. He had to know that. God knows, I did.
“Damn it, Carl. The last thing we need is for the defense to get hold of something like this. As far as I can see, it’s only going to be enough to confuse a jury. Which means that a killer walks.”
The bit about a killer walking sort of pissed me off. I hate that sort of melodramatic crap.
“Look at it like this: If it occurred to me, it can occur to the defense,” I said. “Even if my lead goes nowhere, we can at least be ready for the other side when they bring it up. Show ’em just why it doesn’t work.” I shrugged. “I don’t mind the extra work.” Top that.
“Okay. Fine. Fine with me.” He held up his hands. “But don’t come up with another theory. This is plenty.”
A peace offering. Tentatively accepted. “Promise,” I said. “What did you find out in Oelwein?”
Not a lot, as it turned out. Nora, the mother of the two victims, was distraught, but had no idea who might have done it. A female cousin of the victims thought it might have been “some farmer.” Oelwein PD had nothing on file indicating that there was a feud or any other sort of problem that had anybody mad enough at the brothers to kill them. One of the more remarkable things, apparently, was the tacit acknowledgment by just about everybody that the brothers were, in fact, thieves.
“Fred’s involvement in the burglaries or thefts never came up,” said Art. “They may be grief-stricken, but they aren’t stupid. Which means that we still have only his word that he drove for them.” He stood. “I have to be getting back to Cedar Falls. We’re going to be doing a polygraph on a suspect in a murder from Mason City. I have to be there.”
Understood.
“When will you be back up?”
“Tomorrow, I hope. Why don’t I just touch base with Davies, while I’m there?”
“Did you talk to Sergeant Thurman in Oelwein?” I asked, as Art was going out the door. He hadn’t. I put in a call to him. Phil Thurman was an excellent officer, and had originally worked for our department before transferring to Oelwein PD. More money, better hours. His first cop job had been with us, I’d been sort of his training officer, and he’d been a real breath of fresh air. We’d hated to see him go.
“Sergeant Thurman.”
“Phil, it’s Houseman. How are ya?”
“Dad! Hey, understand you had a cool double murder up there! You got all the luck …”
“Sorry you left?”
“Just about! What can I do for you guys?”
I asked him about the dead Colson brothers. He certainly knew them. “Yeah, those two been a pain in the ass for five years or more.”
I asked him about Fred. He knew him, too. “The quiet one. He was with those two a lot. Not a bad kid, you know? Just not too smart about who he hung with.”
I asked him about the impersonation of an