The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [78]
“I didn’t get anything out of the mother on that subject,” Lester added. “I asked her flat out if her daughter fessed up to Newell going after her sexually, and she said it never came up. She wondered but didn’t ask. And Michelle never said.”
“I wouldn’t’ve told my mother,” Sam said sympathetically.
“I wouldn’t have told your mother if a truck was headed at her,” Willy cracked.
“Fuck you,” she said without much emphasis, and threw a pad at him, which he swatted away.
Lester was still speaking, as used to their antics as Joe was. “She did say one funny thing—that she thought Newell probably hated his own life and wished it was more like Archie’s.”
There was a sudden stillness in the room. For all their casual interactions, every person here was a trained investigator, and phrases like what Lester had just quoted carried a telling weight.
“More like Archie’s, how?” Willy asked just as Joe inquired, “How did she know that about Newell?”
Spinney answered his boss first. “From what I could tell, everything she knew came from her daughter. Michelle told her Newell was fueled by envy. According to Adele, that meant that while Michelle and Archie had each other, all Newell had was anger.”
Lester turned to Willy. “Which means ‘I don’t know.’ What Archie had, quote-unquote, might’ve just been old-fashioned peace and quiet. It might’ve also been his sexual relationship with Michelle.”
“That’s my bet,” Willy answered. “Screw peace and quiet.”
“Don’t we know it,” Sam murmured, smiling.
“Which brings us back to finding out if he was a regular visitor after Archie died,” Joe commented, adding, “and when we do that canvass, let’s avoid Linda Rubinstein. I’d like her put on the shelf for the time being. Let’s concentrate on less involved people first.”
He glanced down at his notes before resuming on a slightly different tack. “Sam and Willy, you dug the most into Newell. The crime lab established he couldn’t have done in Michelle, at least not alone—not according to my description of him. How can you make him the bad guy?”
“Mel Martin,” Willy said simply. “He’s on top of my list.”
Joe frowned. “Sam mentioned him in her report. He bought a car from Newell?”
“Truck. He’d be perfect for this.”
Joe shrugged. “Educate us.”
Willy crossed his feet, which were already resting on his desk, his chair leaning against the wall behind him. “Ever since the Bennington PD tipped him to us, kind of by accident, I’ve been checking him out. Took all the state CAD records apart, ran him through NCIC, finally called a buddy with the New York State Police, who then put me together with a guy on the Albany PD. Turns out there’s as much against Martin off the record as there is on. He’s suspected of a ton of bad stuff, including murder.”
He waved vaguely at the jumble of paperwork strewn across his desk. “I’ve got printouts if you’re interested, but my guess is, he and Newell got together on the truck deal, and then like birds of a feather, one thing led to another and Newell popped him the question.”
Joe paused a moment, waiting for more. Hearing nothing, he asked, “And you’ve got them meeting together, building this friendship? Maybe even some kind of financial exchange?”
“Not yet,” Willy admitted affably. “But I will.”
Joe nodded. In another context, with another cop, he might have at least questioned the foundation of what was sounding like a wild guess. But with Willy, he knew better. Willy was holding back. Possibly nothing of enormous obvious merit—certainly something that wouldn’t stand Joe’s scrutiny. But his ego was such that he wouldn’t have said what he had without some basis. Willy didn’t like being caught making mistakes, and he was flagrantly sticking his neck out here.
Joe glanced at Sam for some form of confirming body language, but she was sitting stolidly at her desk, fiddling with a bent paper clip, her eyes down. Apparently, Willy was on his own.
“Okay,” he said, “then let’s divide and conquer. Lester, I’d like you to take a crack at Michelle Fisher’s neighborhood.