The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [72]
“Flaw in the film,” said Art, turning back to the other photos.
“Yard light,” said George. “You have a lot of shake here, but I’d say it was a yard light off in the distance.”
“Oh.” I placed the print back in the stack, and continued looking at the others. Yard light. I hadn’t noticed any yard light, but it sure looked like that’s what it was. That meant there could be a farmyard with a view of the machine shed. I shuffled back through the pack of photos. Yep. Judging from the thickness of the streak, it was quite a way off. But that’s what it looked like.
I noticed George kept looking at his watch. “When are the other agents coming up?” I asked.
“Well, hopefully before lunch. They did have a lot to do, though,” he said. “They may only send one, anyway.”
George and I sat in silence for a few moments. I looked out my window, and watched Delbert Jacobs unloading buckets full of sand for his driveway. He was one of the jail “neighbors,” and a pretty decent fellow. He would dip the bucket over the rear of his pickup, which was apparently filled with sand, and carry the bucket to his sand pile, which was hidden from my view by a small pine tree. I watched him make two trips with the bucket, when it came to me. Back and forth went Delbert. And, as he stooped to pick up another load, it occurred to me that, if you were to film him, and freeze frame several shots, it would be very difficult to tell if he were moving the buckets of sand to his house, or from his house. A frozen point of time wouldn’t necessarily yield much useful information at all. Just knowing his location at a precise moment wouldn’t be enough. Movements. You had to watch his movements.
“Hey, George, how do we know Cletus was coming back from Florida the day I discovered the bodies?”
“Your office, wasn’t it Lamar or Sally, were told it was Florida … Wasn’t that it?”
“No, not that part. Not how we were told … How do we know he was really in Florida? I mean, we were told he’d be at the farm shortly, and he was. That he was coming from ‘Florida,’ and that was all. But, how do we know he was really in Florida? How do we know he wasn’t back at his house several days before the killings? How do we know he wasn’t the killer, especially when he’s the first son of a bitch who says there are two dead ‘cops’?”
“Damn.”
“We’ve been assuming he was telling us the truth.” I reached for the phone. “He could be a prime suspect. Well, duh …”
I picked up the phone and dialed the intercom. “Lamar, you get a second, you want to come back here …”
Our first move was to set the machinery in motion to check with the airlines to see if Clete had ever, actually, flown in the last few weeks. He could have used a private plane. He may never have gone to Florida at all. It was the first place to start.
George initiated a discreet inquiry into Freeman Liberty Enterprises, Inc., Cletus’s corporation. It was probably an incorporation for tax advantage for his farming operation, but you never know. Regardless, it had to be registered with the Secretary of State of Iowa.
I checked with the county recorder’s office, for any documents on file for FLE, as we began to call it. Same with the county assessor’s office. He might own another farm, where he had access, that we knew nothing about.
I called Sally, and had her work on a list of members of the snowmobile club her sister, brother-in-law, and Cletus had belonged to. I wanted to talk to them about him ever running his sled with NVGs. Just a chance.
I love the feeling you get when you’re working a lead. Much better than sitting on your butt waiting for the FBI to show up and tell you that everything they have is “need to know.”
Just then, Art stuck his head in the door. “Just telling you, I gotta get back to Cedar Falls. Something’s come up. I’ll try to get back tomorrow.”
I believe both George and I understood that Art was ducking out. I thought it likely that he had just told his office about our arresting two FBI agents, and that they had, wisely, told him to come in for a conference.
“I understand,