Hell's Roundabout. Benjamin Vance

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СКАЧАТЬ God man, you don’t have to ever worry about Charley. You have six or seven brother officers who’ll watch Charley. He can stay with me and Allie if you want. We’ll be glad to have him. You’ll only be gone a few days and it’ll get your mind off things here. You’ll have plenty of time to think and maybe come up with something substantial before the DNA comes back. Work with me Army; we need to show folks we’re occupied with this day and night and what better way than to send an officer of the county to New York to work with investigators there.”

      “You make a great case Sheriff. I see where you’re coming from. Have you cleared it with New York yet?”

      “Hell no, but I will just as soon as you let me know you’ll go.”

      “Okay, sign me up, but you’ll have to advance me some money for a motel. I can handle the rest of it until I get reimbursed.”

      “Thanks Army, don’t take a uniform, just your badge and ID. I’ll get your papers from the county today. Leave as soon as you can, and fly from the Bishop Airport. They need the passengers.”

      ***

      We all know New York is butt-cold during December and Army took his winter clothes, but they weren’t nearly enough. It was four degrees Fahrenheit when he arrived in St. Lawrence County. He bought a parka and high over boots since the squeaking cold snow pack was already about 16 inches deep in drifts. He took the rental agency’s advice and rented a four-wheel drive vehicle and wished he had asked for an advance for that too. His motel was accommodating and warm, so it provided a nice attraction at the end of a day’s work. He checked in with the St. Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office and they allowed him unfettered access to Mrs. Peterson’s town and friends. They hadn’t seen the accident site; if they had, a deputy may have been assigned to accompany Army.

      He started his quest in Star Lake, a community not much more than a wide spot in the road. He sought out the church Mrs. Peterson belonged to and found the Lutheran pastor, Reverend Shells and his wife. He seemed like a very nice man, and his wife insisted Army have lunch with them, since they didn’t get many out of town visitors in the winter and she was hungry for conversation. The rectory was old, but solid, warm and inviting. Lunch was chicken sandwiches, potato chips and drinks. The sandwiches were delicious.

      Unhurried by the occupant’s demeanor or the outside weather, Army felt free and compelled to ask questions and explain why he was there, “I want to thank you for the delicious lunch and information about Mrs. Peterson, but I have to ask some more direct and perhaps personal questions regarding Mrs. Peterson, her life, friends and financial status. None of what you tell me will be made public, since I’ll be using the information to establish what Mrs. Peterson’s status is. However, if there is fowl play involved you may be called later to be deposed. Is that okay?”

      The pastor and his wife gave the go ahead and Army asked and recorded those questions he’d outlined on the plane. He found Mrs. Peterson had many good friends and she was a regular tither and church attender. They both assumed she had wealth since she’d tithed very well, lived in a very large home and was never seen without proper conservative clothing. The pastor visited when she was sick and knew the home was full of priceless relics as well. She had a little white poodle named “Barf” and treated him like family, of which she had almost none. She doted on her only nephew, who the Pastor obviously didn’t like but prayed for, and she hardly ever left St. Lawrence County in her little Prius.

      The Pastor and his wife both saw and greeted Mrs. Peterson during Bible study the night before she disappeared. Army asked if they noticed anything different about her that night and they both admitted she was her normal, quiet, kind self. That’s when Army asked the Pastor if he would accompany him to Mrs. Peterson’s home. Pastor Shells hesitated because he didn’t know who was sitting the house until Mrs. Peterson’s final disposition could be made. He asked to make a call and ended up making three, but finally decided that a local realtor could do more for Army than he could. He introduced Army over the phone and he made an appointment to see the realtor the next morning. The delay didn’t bother Army that much, because he was ready to get warm and shake the fatigue of jet lag.

      He inspected the small community from its roads and returned to the motel about 3:00 p.m., where he found a young lady waiting for him. She introduced herself in the lobby as Chiara Logan. She’d rented a small cottage and workshop from Mrs. Peterson and said she would like to talk to him about Mrs. Peterson. He was delighted and offered to buy her coffee or tea and chat. They both had coffee while they talked in the motel’s warm restaurant.

      “So you rented a place from Mrs. Peterson? Was she a good landlady?”

      “ Absolutely, she was never nosy and always asked if I needed anything from the store or drug store or wherever she went with her dog, Barf. Initially, I thought she was just being nosy, but eventually I realized she was just lonely. She had no kids, just a nephew that seldom came around in his big Mercedes. She said the only time he visited was when he wanted something.”

      “You mean money?”

      “No … apparently everything else, including assistance with things at the county level. I guess he thought because she knew some important people; she could get them to help her nephew with real-estate deals and zoning; stuff like that. Anyway, every time he left, she would come over and ask if his visit bothered me. What she really wanted to do was to talk about him and what he wanted.”

      “What do you do for a living Ms. Logan?”

      “Please call me Chiara if you can; I’m an artist. I do pottery, paint landscapes, create vine art and I write some. I work during the winter and sell the stuff like crazy in the summer. I do okay … hey I actually have a painting I did of Lois. You can have it if you like. I think it’s a great likeness of her if it would help. She was a great lady … or … is I hope. I still rent from her, you know.”

      “I’d love to take a photo of your painting, but can’t take the actual painting back on the plane unless it’s small. So tell me … what she liked to do with her time and tell me about other visitors and anything else you think might help.”

      “Well, she loved being involved in her church, she loved her flower garden, and she loved her poodles. Barf was her latest and he was only about a year old. She lost her last one about two years ago. She named him “Pete” after her late husband … that was his nickname. Back to the point, she was involved with a quilting group, and she loved to drive the back roads around the lake and the area around the mine and to the spot where her husband and father are buried; it’s the family plot.”

      Army broke into her concentration and asked, “Exactly where is this graveyard or family plot. I’d like to see it.”

      “Well, you’d never find it by yourself, I’m afraid. I can take you there if you’d like, if that’s not too forward.”

      “No mam, I’d love the company. Do you think we could go today or will it get dark too soon?”

      “It’s not that far. We could be back by six, easily.”

      “Okay, great, can I get my camera from the room? I’ll be right down.”

      Army also slipped his voice-actuated recorder into an inside pocket of his parka. Being alone in a car with an unfamiliar woman in an unfamiliar place was career suicide if one didn’t cover one’s ass. He and she were on the way within minutes amid a light dusting of new snow. He asked about the possibility of a storm and she said it was just a light dusting which happened constantly during the winter due to lake effects.

      Surprisingly, СКАЧАТЬ