Dark of the Moon (29 page)

“Like they were planted?” Jensen asked.

“I don’t know,” Virgil said. “But when Jim saw them, he drew a line from anhydrous ammonia to ethanol to meth pretty goddamn quick. It like jumped up and bit you on the ass.”

“Williamson’s office has an internal connection with the Judds’,” Big Curly said. “There’re equipment and storage spaces behind all three offices, with connecting doors. He could have sat in there as long as he wanted, at night, working on the locks. Maybe they weren’t even locked—it was all behind the same security system. He used to work all night, sometimes. Nobody would have thought anything of it, seeing him come out of there in the middle of the night.”

“T
HE THING
about framing Feur is…it might still work,” Jensen said.

“It might,” Virgil agreed. “A decent defense attorney will put Judd and Feur on trial, tie them to the Gleasons and the Schmidts. The Gleasons and the Schmidts did help cover up a murder…”

Jensen:
“What?”

“I’m keeping some of it confidential,” Virgil said. “But I’ll fill you in later.”

The three deputies looked at each other. “What are you going to do?” Big Curly asked.

“Nothing, right now. Just keep your eyes open and your heads down.”

Little Curly stood up and said, “That’s it?”

Virgil nodded: “Yeah. I’m willing to hold this talk privately—I’m not required to file a public report. But I really do think you should drop any election plans. It might even be a good idea to show some public support for Jim Stryker for reelection.”

Big Curly said, “Shit.”

“Six people dead so far,” Virgil said. “Your relationship with Williamson would be a tough thing to come up, during an election year.”

Big Curly looked around the courtroom and said, “There are things that ain’t right about this place.”

Little Curly interrupted: “Shut up, Dad.” He said to Virgil, “It’s a deal. We’re backing Jim.” To his father: “Let’s go, Dad. C’mon. Let’s go.”

They trooped out, but a couple of seconds later, Big Curly stuck his head back inside the courtroom. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he was gone.

Jensen said, “Now what? I’m not sure that any of this will get a conviction…”

“I gotta run an errand,” Virgil said. “I’ll be back in the early afternoon.”

J
ESSE
L
AYMON
was sitting at the bar, eating a cheeseburger, talking to a guy with a flattop and a red face, whose arm was very close to hers. They both had beer glasses in front of them. Her ass looked terrific on a bar stool, Virgil thought, as he pulled up next to her and said, “Hello, darlin’. Am I late?”

The flattop guy gave him a drop-dead stare, and Jesse said, “Hey, Virgil.” She pointed to the beefy guy and said, “This is Chuck, uh…”

“Marker,” the beefy guy said.

“Marker, who is a deputy sheriff with Kandiyohi County,” she said. “We have some friends in common, in Willmar. And Chuck, this is Virgil Flowers, of the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, who is trying to keep me from being murdered.”

Marker straightened a little: “What?”

“She’s the center of a pretty big…Say, you guys known each other long?” Virgil asked, looking from one to the other.

Marker picked up his glass: “About ten minutes. I better get back to my meeting.”

When he was gone, Jesse smiled and patted Virgil on the arm and said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m here to bullshit you into doing something that you won’t want to do,” Virgil said.

“Do I get to wear a wire?”

“Well, they’re not actually wires anymore, but they’re sort of like that,” Virgil said. “Smaller. But I do want you to have a chat with Todd Williamson.”

“He’s called me on my cell a couple of times, but I haven’t answered,” she said.

“Eat your lunch: I’ll get a cheeseburger. Then we’ll give him a call back. I’ve got a script for you.”

“You think he’s the one?”

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “Evidence seems to be piling up.”

“You think he’ll admit it to me?”

“Hard to tell,” Virgil said. “Could be putty in the hands of a pretty woman…”

“Yeah, right.” She held up a finger to the bartender. “Bill, please. Give it to this guy.”

V
IRGIL GOT ON
the extension, listened through four rings, and then Williamson picked up.

Jesse said, “Todd—I’m sorry I’m late, but I conked out last night. You called me?”

“Just to tell you that I talked to Judge Solms last night and he said that we both ought to get started on DNA testing. We can get kits from the same lab that the sheriff’s office uses, and have them witnessed by a court clerk or a sheriff’s deputy, and send them off for testing. That’ll clear up our rights to the estate of the Judds. I’m still kind of uncertain—I know that you’ve pretty much got it nailed down.”

“Ah, you’re a Judd,” Jesse said. “You can see it in you, if you look. You can see it in me, too. So what do they do? Suck some blood or something?”

“No, no, it’s just a little kit with a Q-tip on the end of it, and then we scrub in the inside of our cheeks. No blood, nothing like that. Doesn’t hurt—it’s like brushing your teeth. Solms said the reason for using the same lab is, we can get a better price on comparing the DNA to the two Judds’.”

“All right,” Jesse said. She was interested. “What do I do, just call the sheriff’s department and make a date?”

“Call Solms’ clerk,” Williamson said. “She’ll set it up for you. They might have Margo Carr come over from the sheriff’s office to supervise, make sure we do it right. Okay?”

V
IRGIL THOUGHT
he was about to ring off, and made a rolling motion with his forefinger, and Jess nodded and jumped in: “I’d like to talk to you about Virgil Flowers. I’m really getting confused about this. You know, Mom and I visit Betsy Carlson over in Sioux Falls, at the rest home, every once in a while…Do you know Betsy?”

“I know who she is,” Williamson said. “Never met her.”

“Well, the last time we went over there…her mind wanders. We told her some of the things that were going on. We told her that Bill Judd died, we thought maybe she was in a will or something. Anyway, when we told her, she got all excited, and said she’d seen the man in the moon. She was really freaked out about it: she’d seen the man in the moon.”

“I’m sorry,” Williamson said. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I noticed, one time, you’ve got that man-in-the-moon tattoo on your arm. I thought maybe she was talking about
that
. And Virgil’s been asking me about the man in the moon because I’ve got man-in-the-moon earrings…and, well, what’s this man-in-the-moon stuff?”

Williamson said, “I don’t know. Betsy wasn’t talking about me. How could she be? We never met.”

“I thought, I don’t know,” Jesse said. “You look a little like Bill Judd, and if you’d interviewed her or something…”

“Nope. Never did,” Williamson said. “She was in the home long before I got here.”

“All right,” Jesse said. “Still. I’d like to talk about Virgil. I’m over in Worthington with my mom, I won’t be back until late, ’til the stores close. You think we could hook up somewhere in Bluestem? Like at the Dairy Queen? I’ll probably be back at nine-thirty or ten?”

“Let me think…What time do they close? The Dairy Queen?”

“Eleven.”

“Ah…tell you what. Let’s hook up at ten. I’m working late tonight, I could walk over.”

“See you then,” she said.

She rang off and Virgil flopped back on the bed. “Excellent,” he said.

“You
really
think he did it?” Margaret Laymon asked. She was sitting on the other bed, had been looking on in bemusement as Virgil and Jesse worked on the phone call.

“Yes. Probably. But not for sure,” Virgil said. “If he shows up tonight, he could dig his own grave. Or, he might clear himself. Either way, I get rid of a major suspect.”

Margaret looked at her daughter: “Told you. Pure cop.”

W
HEN THE OUT-OF-TOWN COPS
had been milling around the salad bar, Virgil had spotted a deputy from Dodge County that he’d done some work with a few months earlier. When they got off the phone with Williams, he took Jesse along and introduced her to the guy, whose name was Steve Jacobs. Jacobs was chatting with another cop, a deputy named Roger Clark from Goodhue County. Virgil told them about the killings in Bluestem and introduced Jesse as one of the people under threat.

“It’d be good if we could get her bodyguarded until this evening,” Virgil suggested.

“I’d guard her body as long as she wants,” Jacobs said.

“Me, too,” Clark said.

Jesse said, “Ha-ha,” but she liked the attention.

Virgil: “I’m a little serious, here, Jesse. I don’t want you running around outside. Todd’s a smart guy and until we figure out how to drag him down, you’ve got to be careful.”

“Mom and I were planning to go shopping, and then come back here and watch some movies,” she said.

“Don’t get alone,” Virgil said. “You should be okay—but just don’t get alone. I’ll be back by eight o’clock to get you wired up. If you get the smallest little crinkle of thought that something’s wrong, find Steve here, or Roger, or one of these other cops, and tell them.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said Jacobs said, “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Where are you going?” Jesse asked Virgil.

“I’ve got an appointment at the fire department to learn CPR, and then I’ll poke around, see if I can spot Todd without being too obvious about it.”

“CPR?”

“It’s a lifesaving technique,” Virgil said.

She frowned, then shook her head. “Whatever. Don’t get alone.”

Virgil left her with Jacobs and Clark, headed back to Bluestem, stopped at the fire department. A big man with a handlebar mustache met him, took him back to an equipment locker, opened a door: “There you go,” he said.

O
N THE WAY
back to Bluestem, Virgil called Joan: “Where are you?”

“At the post office,” she said.

“Then where’re you going?”

“Mmmm. Might go home and watch television,” she said. “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to contain my animal spirits.”

T
HE GREAT THING
about daytime sex, Virgil thought privately, is that you got to watch. Women didn’t like to watch so much, which was understandable, because they were watching men, and men having sex wasn’t that interesting. At least, not to Virgil. Women having sex was. Which was why he liked daytime sex.

And Joan said, “I gotta give this up and get something regular.”

“You had something regular,” Virgil said.

“You’re right,” she said. “Once a year is regular. Just not frequent. I need something regular and frequent. Not all over the goddamn place, morning, noon, and night.”

“That would be ‘nooner.’”

“You know, people haven’t used that term in fifty years,” she said. “You are such a small-town guy.”

“I’ve heard it four times since I’ve been here,” he said. “Tends to stick in your mind.”

“I’m not positive that you’ve got enough extra space, to collect small-town sayings,” Joan said.

Virgil said, “Bite me.”

S
HE ROLLED OVER
on her stomach: “So what’s the big mystery?”

“I’ve got it worked out that Todd Williamson is going to hang himself tonight. Or, clear himself. I’ll take either one.”

Her eyebrows went up. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“That’s complicated and confidential. However, I will take either one. If I clear him…Hmm. Never mind.”

On the way out to the truck, Virgil noticed a clump of multicolored paper sheets stacked on the kitchen table. “Crop insurance,” Joan said. “Everything the federal government touches, turns into quadruplicate or quintuplicate or something, and it takes
days
to fill it all out. And then, they do it all over next time.”

Virgil looked over the forms: “Christ, I don’t even understand the words.”

“I’m the party of the foreplay,” she said. “The government’s the party of the gang bang. See, it’s right there…”

V
IRGIL LEFT
J
OAN
’
S
and cruised the back of the newspaper building, in a mood, now.

A mood going sour.

He saw Williamson’s truck; so he was probably in. He parked in the Ace Hardware lot for twenty minutes, watched the front of the newspaper, two blocks away, saw nothing. Moved to the McDonald’s lot, parked behind the restaurant, and watched the newspaper by looking straight through the building’s windows, feeling somewhat invisible.

Forty-five minutes after he began watching, Williamson came out of the newspaper, walking fast, crossed the street in the middle of the block, and went into Johnnie’s Pizza. Five minutes later he came out with a pizza box and soft-drink cup, crossed the street back to his office.

So Williamson was working. Virgil called Stryker: “I need to get you and five deputies to work tonight. I’d like to get the Curlys, Jensen, Carr, couple more guys. Hook up tonight at eight o’clock. To whenever.”

“What are we doing?”

“Surveillance and maybe an arrest. I’ll brief everybody at eight, at the courthouse. Tell everybody to be on time and to keep their mouths shut—I don’t want any of the other deputies to know about it.”

“You think…”

“Something could happen. Or maybe not. Can’t take a chance.”

W
HEN HE GOT OFF
the phone, Virgil spent another ten minutes watching the news. Five o’clock. The rest of the day would drag. He’d deliberately set the meeting between Williamson and Jesse Laymon for after dark, because he thought the killer would feel safer. Fewer people around; and if he trailed Jesse afterward, he’d be easier to tag.

Still: a long time to wait. Maybe go back to Joan’s? Maybe not. He thought about it, fired up the truck, and headed back to Worthington.

M
ARGARET AND
J
ESSE
were in their room, watching a movie about languid Englishmen and-women who lived in London at the beginning of the twentieth century.

“We’re kinda into this movie. Could we do the planning thing afterward? There’s only twenty minutes left.”

“We got time,” Virgil said. He left his sound kit next to the bed, and went out to the lounge. Had a beer, watched the end of a Twins–White Sox game, and walked back to the room at seven o’clock.

T
O
J
ESSE:
“There is some small risk for you, but not as much as letting him go on. I don’t believe there’s any chance that he’ll attack you at the Dairy Queen. Just in case, we’re gonna have a deputy sitting outside eating an ice-cream cone. I’m thinking Margo Carr, with a gun.”

Margaret said, “If Todd is a lunatic, how do we know he won’t just explode and start killing people?”

“Because if he
is
a lunatic, he’s a special kind,” Virgil said. “He’s a planner. He’s meticulous. He’ll do it, but he’ll lower his odds of getting caught, however he can. He won’t just start blasting away.”

Jesse asked, “Then what do you think he’ll do?”

“He’ll meet you. He’ll bullshit you. He’ll find out what you’re planning to do. Then he’ll come after you. Might have a long gun, pull up beside you on the road home, after you get off the highway, take a shot. Might dump his car and walk to your house, and then come in after both of you. That’s what we’re hoping he’ll do…”

“You’re
hoping
he’ll do that?” Margaret asked.

“Jim Stryker and I and the Curlys and Larry Jensen will be staking him out. Margo will be at the Dairy Queen. Two more will actually be inside your house—we’ll drop them off early. I’ll need a key from you. So Jesse goes and talks to Todd, then she gets in her truck and she takes off—and when she gets out on the highway, she really rolls.” He looked at Jesse. “You move just as fast as you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m pretty comfortable with ninety,” she said.

“That’s good. You’ve only got a few miles down to your exit, if you get even a small jump on him, he won’t be able to catch you before you get home. We’ll have two guys on the highway in front of you. When you get home, you go in the back door and right down the basement. The two guys who are in front of you will keep going, two blocks down the way, and then out on their feet. Then we’ve got two guys inside if he goes in after Jesse, and two outside, and two more right behind him.”

“W
HAT AM
I doing during all this?” Margaret asked.

“I’d like you to stay here,” Virgil asked. “Or wait in my room down in Bluestem. We’ll keep you right up to date on what’s going on…”

V
IRGIL PICKED UP
his sound kit and unzipped it. The two microphones and transmitter together were no bigger than a matchbox, and the microphones themselves were as thin as pennies. “This is a radio,” Virgil said, showing it to them. “There are two microphones; they route separately through the transmitter. Like a cell phone, but the microphones are way better. We’ll tape the mikes to your chest—best if you wear a T-shirt—and clip the transmitter inside the waist of your jeans, at the small of your back. We’ll both be able to hear you, and record it at the same time.

“When you meet him, you push him about the moon tattoo, the man-in-the-moon thing,” Virgil continued. “You push him about how he must’ve known that Judd was his father—how could a Twin Cities newspaper reporter, with all that curiosity, and all those records right there in St. Paul, not know who his father was? And didn’t he have grandparents, and wouldn’t they know? He won’t want you to ask those questions—he’ll be pretty hot about keeping you from asking. I think he’ll be right after you.”

“What if he doesn’t do all that?” Jesse asked. “What if he goes home and goes to bed?”

Virgil said, “Well, shoot. Then we’d have to start over with something else. But he was calling you because he wants to make some kind of move. I think.”

“I’d like to get it over with,” Jesse said.

“We all would,” Virgil said. “So. You want to take your shirt off?”

W
HEN HE LEFT
Worthington the second time, at seven-thirty, Jesse was ready to roll, the wire tested both for recording fidelity and for direct sound.

At five after eight, Virgil was back at the courthouse. Daylight was beginning to fade, the shadows long across Main Street, red light reflecting off west-facing windows. Sundown would come a few minutes before nine o’clock.

Stryker was waiting, with the two Curlys, Jensen, Carr, and two guys named Padgett and Brooks.

Virgil leaned on the front edge of Stryker’s desk. “I’ve pulled together evidence that suggests that Todd Williamson might have been capable of doing the Gleason and Schmidt killings, and the two Judds, and might have been inclined to do them. I’m going to feed that evidence back to him, tonight, through Jesse Laymon, and hope that it forces him into an overt act. They’re going to meet at ten o’clock at the Dairy Queen. After the meeting, which I’m set up to record, and to monitor, Jesse is going to take off as fast as she can, for home. So fast that Williamson won’t be able to ambush her, or run her off the road, on the way.

“Deputies Padgett and Brooks”—he nodded at them—“will already be at her house, waiting. Jim and Larry will try to figure out where Williamson is, before he goes to the meeting, stake him out, and track him toward the Dairy Queen.

“The two Curlys will be down south of the Dairy Queen, in separate cars. Once Jesse takes off, I want you two
in front
of her, heading back to her place…The rest of us will follow behind, so we’ll have him boxed in if he goes after her.”

“What about me?” Carr asked.

“I’ve got something touchy, if you’re willing to do it,” Virgil said. “I want you in civvies. But with a gun: this guy is dangerous. You’ll be in your own car, and as soon as Larry sees Williamson walk into the Dairy Queen, I want you to pull in and order an ice-cream cone. Sit outside on one of those benches, and lick it down. One hand on your gun.”

She smiled: “Sounds good to me.”

“Where’ll you be?” Stryker asked Virgil.

“I’ll be in my truck, parked behind Jane’s Nails. I want to stay back in the dark, but I’ve got to be in radio range, too, so I can monitor the meeting.”

“I’ve got a couple of questions,” said Brooks.

“A
LL RIGHT,
” Virgil said. “Let’s do the details. But: we’ve got to be in place an hour before Williamson is due to meet Jesse, by nine o’clock. Williamson is at his office: we don’t want to lose him…” He stepped to a wall map of Bluestem, on the wall behind Stryker’s desk, touched street corners. “I figure Stryker and Jensen will be here and here, covering the front and back doors of the newspaper office.”

W
HEN HE WAS DONE,
Carr asked, “So if Todd doesn’t do anything, we just go home?”

“No. We’ll be giving him a serious push—he won’t want Jesse Laymon to talk to me. I think he’ll have to do something. If Jesse takes off, and Williamson goes home, or back to his office, or wherever, we’ll tag him. Overnight, anyway. And just in case he figures out a way to sneak off, I want Padgett and Brooks to hang at Jesse’s overnight.” He nodded at the two men: “If nothing happens, I’ll join you out there early tomorrow, and I’ll ship Jesse back to her hideout while I try to figure something else.”

“All seems a little shaky,” Brooks said.

“It’s a lot shaky,” Virgil said. “But to tell you the truth, with what I’ve got now, and what I’m likely to get, I don’t think we’ve got a conviction. He’ll get away with it, unless he kills somebody else, and trips up. We gotta take the shot.”

“Not against that,” Brooks said. “I’m just sayin’.”

“I hear you,” Virgil said. “I’m more worried than you are.”

“W
HAT IF
he really didn’t do it?” Jensen asked.