The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [104]
Being back in a hospital reminded Roelke viscerally of his own recent visit to an emergency room—courtesy of this asshole. “Mr. Guest,” Roelke said. “We need to talk.”
“I want a deal.”
“Now Edwin,” Mr. Suit began. “Let me—”
Guest tried to hitch himself higher in bed, and winced in pain. “I want a deal!”
Roelke wanted to pummel the little man. “What makes you think we’ll make a deal with you? There’s no reason to give you anything.”
“Simon Sabatola abused his wife,” Guest said. “That’s what you wanted to confirm, right? I won’t tell what I know about that without a deal.”
Roelke looked at him with contempt. This coward had been ready to kill for his boss, but as soon as things went south, he wanted to flip and tell all. “There’s no reason to make a deal with you,” Roelke repeated. “We have evidence of the harm you did at the Frietag farm this evening. That’s going to carry your sorry ass to prison.” At least he hoped-to-God so.
Mr. Suit cleared his throat. “My client—”
“As for Sabatola,” Roelke continued, “his wife is dead and buried. You can talk yourself hoarse, but it won’t give me anything I can use to convict her husband of a crime. I’d need evidence.”
To Roelke’s astonishment, Edwin Guest smiled. “You want evidence?” he asked smugly. “I’ve got evidence.”
_____
For the second time, Roelke found himself fishing for coins at the pay phone in an ER lobby. And for much the same reason. Evidently the police gods thought that one helping of humble pie that night had not been enough for Officer Roelke McKenna.
Midnight had come and gone, but Skeet answered on the second ring. “It’s McKenna,” Roelke said. “Sorry to call so late, man, but I’ve got a situation here.” And I didn’t want to call one of the younger part-timers, he added silently. This expedition could end badly. Skeet might cut corners, but when shit hit the fan, he was steady.
“Sure thing,” Skeet said. “What and where?”
Roelke told him. By the time he’d driven back from Monroe, Skeet’s car was sitting in Edwin Guest’s driveway.
The home was not as palatial as Sabatola’s, but it was nice. More important, the house and yard were sheltered on all sides by woods. No nosy neighbors would see their bright flashlights, or hear noise and wonder.
“Thanks, man,” Roelke said. He gave Skeet a condensed version of what he’d learned from Guest that night. “No reason to think we’re walking into anything here. No reason to think Guest hasn’t been acting alone. But I need two hands to dig. Company seemed like a good idea.”
They played the beams from their strong lights around the yard. “OK,” Roelke said, when his light caught a doghouse and run, surrounded by a chain-link fence. “Here it is.” Since Ajax had been taken into custody by Green County’s animal control crew, the kennel area was empty.
Roelke kicked aside a large metal water bowl. Then he holstered his flashlight, grabbed the shovel he’d brought, and began to dig.
Six inches down the blade hit something solid. “Got it,” Roelke said. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. Ten minutes more and he had unearthed a hard-plastic cooler. He jerked off the lid. The two men stared at the cooler’s contents.
“Shit,” Skeet said.
Roelke felt a surge of fury and vindication so hot it almost scalded his throat. “I’ve got the bastard,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They stopped at the EPD long enough to process the evidence properly and package it for the state crime lab. Then they headed back to the squad car. “You don’t want to wait ’til dawn?” Skeet asked.
“No. No way.”
Skeet shrugged. “Your call.”
No lights and sirens, this time. Roelke didn’t want Sabatola to know he was coming. He slowed when they reached Sabatola’s long driveway, and parked in a way that blocked the garage.
The house was dark and silent. When no one answered Roelke’s bang on the door he knew a sick moment of fear. Had Sabatola somehow known he was coming, and fled? Roelke pounded again. Finally he heard the metallic click of a latch being thrown, and the outside light came on. The