A Blind Eye (14 page)

W
hat’s your brother doing here this time of year?” he wanted to know. “He don’t usually come till summer.”

“What’s the time of year matter?”

“Summers, at least I can take the girls camping and get away from him and that goddamn cigarette smoke of his.”

She looked away. “He had a little free time. He wanted to see me.”

“The girls don’t like him. They say he’s always putting his hands on them. They tell you that?”

“That’s that damn Sarah,” she said. “Girl’s an out-and-out liar.”

“That why you cut her hair off?”

“I cut her hair so’s she’d stop spending all her damn time fooling with it.”

She turned to face him now. “Why don’t you just let me worry about the ladies’ fashions around here. I’m thinking maybe somebody with as goddamn little hair as you got ought to keep his nose out of such things.”

“Coupla more days and then I want him out of here.”

“It’s my house too.”

“It’s my mother’s house,” he corrected.

“And don’t neither of you ever let anybody forget it, now do you?”

“Coupla more days,” he said again.

She walked across the room to the stove. “Maybe if you’d spend more time getting this new stove installed and less time worrying about my brother, I wouldn’t have to be cooking off a hot plate.”

He walked her way. She held her ground. Made him reach around her to grab the piece of pipe leaning against the wall. He pointed at one end. “Needs another reducing bushing right here. Ajax was out of them. Be a coupla days till they get one in. Soon as that happens, I’ll put it together.”

She walked away. Turned on the water in the sink. “None too damn soon either.”

“Coupla days and I want him gone,” he said.

W
e’re pursuing a number of other leads,” Sheriff Trask insisted. She went on about all the people who were in the hospital at the time of Officer Richardson’s murder. All the local and national media types, not to mention curiosity seekers and the hospital staff, each of whom had to be questioned and systematically eliminated as suspects. She nodded at Corso and Dougherty. “These two caused quite a stir around here,” she said finally. “We had a hell of a circus going on that morning.”

Molina nodded in all the right places, as if affirming his complete confidence in the integrity of her investigation. Truth was, she didn’t have a clue, and even if she did, she had neither the staff, the budget, nor the expertise to properly pursue the matter. Everybody in the room knew the investigation was going nowhere, but nobody was willing to say it out loud. Professional courtesy, you know.

“You get the slug?” Molina asked.

“Sure did,” the sheriff said. “Thirty-eight caliber. Lab says it came from a Smith and Wesson Model Ten with a four-inch barrel. Which just happens to be the same make and model as everybody in this department carries. The state police test-fired every piece from every officer in the department, including mine. No matches.” She shot Corso a look. “That’s why I figured it had to be Mr. Corso here.”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Molina said. “S and W Model Ten’s real common. Must be millions and millions of them around.”

The sheriff took a deep breath and finally made eye contact with Special Agent in Charge Molina. “So,” she began, “how do I rate a visit from the FBI? Especially a visit from the faraway New Jersey FBI.” She threw Molina a thin, insincere smile. “As you can probably tell, I’m stretched pretty thin around here.”

She sat behind her desk with her hands steepled in front of her. The three available chairs were occupied by Dougherty and Special Agents Fullmer and Dean. Molina and Corso had refused an offer to have more chairs brought in and instead stood along the wall, whose surface was covered with plaques, commendations, public service awards, and pictures of Sheriff Trask in the company of an assortment of local dignitaries.

Molina was all professional goodwill. “We’re pursuing an interstate matter, which we believe may have started in our jurisdiction and later lapped over into yours.”

“And what matter might that be?”

Hard to tell what she expected for an answer. Not what she got, though.

“Your old friend Sissy Warwick,” Corso said.

The sheriff rolled her eyes, as if to say she didn’t need to be reminded of another open case. “I’m focusing my limited resources on the present tense,” she said. “We’ve lost a brother officer, and until that matter is successfully resolved, I’m afraid I don’t have the staff or the inclination to spare on anything quite that old.” She held up a restraining hand. “We’re certainly not forgetting about it. Matter of fact, we’re expecting the final forensics reports from the state crime lab any day now. But like I said, for the time being anyway, I’ve got to husband my resources.”

“As well you should,” Molina agreed. “The death of any peace officer is an affront to the entire law enforcement community.”

Corso watched as the sheriff’s professional demeanor did battle with her personal curiosity. After an uncomfortable silence, the cat won. “And how would Sissy Warwick Holmes have lapped over into your jurisdiction?” she asked.

Molina told her. Chapter and verse. Took ten minutes. Maria Trask listened in silence as Molina related what they knew for sure. “You need to understand,” he said, “that the condition of the bodies precludes most of the normal avenues for ascertaining cause of death.” He held up a finger. “But as I’m sure you are aware, certain chemical compounds do not deteriorate over time. They remain in the body until the very end.”

“Word
has
reached us,” she said with a smile.

Molina went on. “Preliminary forensic analysis of the other four members of the Paul de Groot family reveals a substantial residue of an arsenic-based substance still present in the hair and nails of the remains. The residue is consistent with what used to be sold as rat poison, back in the sixties.” He spread his hands. “Of course, that type of product is no longer sold over the counter due to health and environmental concerns, but back then it was quite common.”

The sheriff laced her fingers together and leaned forward in her chair. “So…you’re saying this girl—what was she, fourteen or fifteen at the time?—poisoned her entire family, somehow or other managed to drag another girl into her bed, and then set the house on fire.”

“Except for her younger brother,” Corso amended. “He was in the hospital with food poisoning on the night of the fire.”

“That’s what it looks like at this time,” Molina said.

“You don’t mind me saying, it sounds pretty farfetched to me,” the sheriff said. “You’re assuming she killed this other girl?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Molina said. “The other girl went missing two days before the fire. They rode the same school bus together. Louise was questioned by state and local authorities. She claimed the other girl…” Molina looked to Fullmer for help.

“Velma,” Fullmer said.

“She claimed Velma said she’d be right back and walked off as they were waiting for the bus out in front of Mahwah High School. That’s the last she saw of her. Turned out later that Richard Leon Parker had kidnapped another girl from that same parking lot.” Molina shrugged. “The natural assumption was that the de Groot girl was one of his victims.”

“Until she turned up in another girl’s grave.”

Molina shot a quick look over at Corso. “Yes,” he said. “The advanced stage of decomposition precludes determining a cause of death. She wasn’t poisoned like the others, we know that for sure.”

“Also, we’ve got a few gaps,” Corso said. “We’ve got about two and a half years between when her house burns and when she shows up in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and the better part of a year between the time she leaves Allentown and when she shows up here. What she was doing during those time periods, we don’t know.”

“We’re working on that right now,” Molina assured her.

“What about the brother? The one who shot this Professor Rosen.”

“Mr. de Groot took a taxi from Newark Airport to the nearby town of Elizabeth, New Jersey, where he purchased an ’88 Chevy Cavalier for cash on the day after the murder. The plates registered to that vehicle were recovered during a routine traffic stop in Elgin, Illinois, yesterday morning. An elderly couple. Folks never even noticed they didn’t have Illinois tags anymore. It appears de Groot’s swapping off license plates as he goes along. Quite frankly, if he keeps it up, we’ll have to get real lucky to catch him.”

“What do you need from me?”

“We’re here mostly as a matter of courtesy,” Molina said. “We’ve been in contact with the Wisconsin State Patrol, and we have the full resources of the Bureau office in Madison at our disposal. One of their forensics teams will be going through the house this afternoon.” Molina looked to his left. “Mr. Corso tells me that a family album was found with the bodies.”

The sheriff nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“We’d like to borrow that, if we may.” Before she could respond, he went on. “Also, I understand that the Holmes boys had an accident in the family truck.”

“Drove it through the front window of the Dairy Queen,” she said.

“Well then, somewhere in your records you must have the license plate number and the VIN number. It would be a great help if we had those as well.”

“You’re going to try to find the truck? Fifteen years later?”

Molina gave her a thin smile. “We’re pursuing a number of other leads.”

If the sheriff got the joke, she didn’t let on. Instead she sighed and pushed the red button on her phone. “Barbara,” she said.

“Yes, Sheriff Trask” crackled over the speaker. The office door was open. Both the sheriff and her secretary could be heard in stereo, as both their real and electronic voices filled the air.

Fullmer opened his mouth for the first time. “And…uh…Sheriff…while you’re at it, could you get us the serial number of Officer Richardson’s revolver? We handed the weapon over to your state police”—he looked embarrassed—“and it seems we neglected to record the serial number.”

“For our records,” Molina added. “I’ve got to get back to New Jersey. I just want to make sure every-thing’s kosher before I leave.”

She almost smiled. “I didn’t think you boys made mistakes like that.”

Fullmer shrugged. “Everybody’s human,” he said. “Long as we catch it now, we’ll have all our i’s dotted and our t’s crossed.”

“I’ll be right back,” said the sheriff. The rubber soles of her shoes squeaked with every step. She stopped halfway to the door. “Anything else you boys forgot I can help you out with?” she asked. This time she managed a grin. “Always glad to help you boys out with your kosher record keeping, I am.”

They assured her that was it. She gave a curt little wave and went squeaking out into the hall. Molina grabbed his briefcase from the floor. Set it on the table in front of him. “Which one of you is taking me to the airport?” he asked Fullmer and Dean.

Dean said he’d be doing the driving. Molina opened his briefcase and pulled out a laundry list of things he wanted the forensics team to check. Fullmer took notes. Then another list of investigative avenues for Fullmer and Dean. They both took notes.

Molina turned to Corso and Dougherty. “This is where you came in,” he said. “From here on, the Leslie de Groot–Sissy Warwick story is the property of the Madison field office. I’m leaving Special Agents Dean and Fullmer here for a couple of days for liaison. You two can stick around for that, if you want. After Madison takes over, you’re history as far as the investigation is concerned. I went to the Academy with Paul Waymer. He’s the SAIC in Madison, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna let you two look over his shoulder while he investigates.” He snapped his case closed and spun the combination dials.

The sound of the sheriff’s shoes preceded her into the room. She carried the Holmes family album and two file folders, one yellow, one green. She was still smiling. “Color coded and all,” she said, dropping the album and the files on the table in front of Molina. “We may be rural, but we’ve got our stuff together, we surely do.”

Molina slid the album and folders over to Fullmer and Dean. They were busy jotting away as Molina and the sheriff shook hands and said their good-byes. Corso lingered, letting the FBI and Dougherty precede him out the door. When Dougherty looked back over her shoulder to see if he was there, he motioned for her to keep going and then held up an “I’ll just be a minute” finger. He turned back to the sheriff.

She gave him her stoniest gaze. “Yes, Mr. Corso?”

“That little deal you and I had.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

He ignored her. “Our arrangement was personal, and it’s going to stay that way.”

She got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m really swamped.” Again the black rubber soles of her shoes squeaked at every step as she crossed the room and disappeared.

Ten seconds later, she was back in the doorway. In the harsh overhead light she looked haggard and drawn. She checked the hall in both directions. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m under a lot of pressure here. I didn’t know what in heck I was going to do if you started telling people I let you go. I’ve got all the aggravation I can handle right now. Clint Richardson spends more time in my office than he does in his own.” She shook her head. “Two weeks ago I was worried about what I was going to do if I lost the election, and now I’d give you the damn job for a dollar.” She scooped the folders from the table. “Time for my morning media flogging,” she said with a wry smile. “You gonna be around for a while?” she asked.

“Coupla days maybe.”

“I’m asking because Clint Richardson’s taking his son’s death pretty hard. He’s got a wild hair that no matter what anybody says, you were responsible. He figures you just found some legal loophole. Clint’s a good man, but he’s not real rational right now. I was you, I’d keep an eye out for him.”

“Thanks,” Corso said. “We won’t be around very long. My guess is the Madison Bureau’s not going to put a whole lot of energy into something this cold. They’ll look for anything obvious. Something that points to where she might have gone from here. They find something right away, they’ll pursue it. The minute it looks like it’s going nowhere, they’ll kick it right back to the state, who’ll kick it right back to you, who’ll end up as the one who failed to solve the murders.”

“I see you’ve worked with the Bureau before.”

“Coupla times,” Corso said.

She ran a hand through her hair. “You really think all these girls—Sissy and…what were the little girls’ names?”

“Leslie Louise de Groot and Mary Anne Moody.”

“You really think they’re all the same person?” she asked.

“Yeah. I do.”

She shook her head. “This is like something out of science fiction.” She lifted her hands and then let them flop back against her sides. “All I wanted from you was some little tidbit I could feed to the press. I wasn’t looking for another mystery.”

“You need to be careful what you wish for,” Corso said.

She allowed as how that was true and then stepped back out into the hall. “Come on,” she said. “We don’t want to keep our federal friends waiting, now do we?”

They left the conference room together. Said “So long” at her office door.

In the lobby, Molina, Dean, and Fullmer stood in a tight circle. Dougherty was over by the door, squinting as she gazed out at the mounds of snow.

Molina stuck out his hand. Fullmer tore a page from his notebook and slapped it into Molina’s palm; Molina then separated himself from the others and walked Corso’s way. Molina handed the page to Corso. “Here’s what you wanted,” he said. His black eyes were as hard as rivets. “You think you know something, don’t you?”

Corso pocketed the piece of paper. “Maybe,” Corso said.