Desperate Measures (7 page)

He put his cap back on and turned away again. “Sure,” he said. “I'll do whatever you tell me. Call me Alex. No one's ever called me Mr. Feldman before. I keep thinking my father's lurking around somewhere.” Then in a more urgent voice he said, “Ms. Holloway, I don't want my identity discovered. I've been unkind, maybe cruel about my parents, and they don't know. But if they find out about
Xander
, they will know. There's no point in kicking them. They can't help who they are any more than I can.”

Before Barbara could respond to this, Dr. Minick came into the room, trailed by Shelley, who stopped in the middle. She looked like a schoolgirl called before the principal for atrocious behavior.

“Mr. Feldman,” Shelley said in a low voice, “please accept my apology. I am so sorry for my outburst. I'll go away now if you want me to.”

“Why?” Alex asked, not facing her directly. “And we're way past the ‘mister' business. I'm Alex. Who are you?”

“Shelley McGinnis,” she said in an even lower voice, her eyes downcast.

“Shelley,” he repeated. “That's nice. Sit down, Shelley. Ms. Holloway is about to start grilling me.”

“And I'm going to put on some coffee,” Dr. Minick said.

Barbara grilled them both for the next two hours, and she got more information from Minick than from Alex, who knew little about the neighbors, only what Minick had told him and what little he could observe from their property. Minick, however, walked to The Station nearly every day and chatted with everyone who dropped in, and most residents of the area dropped in sooner or later. The Station was the combination gas station, deli, picnic area, and grocery store a short distance from the school, on Opal Creek Road.

Alex had been at his computer, at his website, xandersrealm.com, from four until about six the day of the murder. Friday afternoon was chat day. After logging off, he had gone up the hill behind the house to stretch his legs, get some air, relax. He had heard a siren and come down a little after seven to see what was happening.

Alone. Out of sight. No way to verify it. Barbara didn't press him. If the story was short and simple, that was it. No way could she make it long and complex. She turned her attention to Dr. Minick.

“It was my day to cook,” he said. “I was thinking about starting when Hilde Franz arrived with some library books. We talked for a few minutes. Actually, I told her that if Gus intended to follow up with the ridiculous story his daughter had told about Alex, I would be a witness. I'd seen the girl painted like a movie star driving by with the boy. I didn't want to tell on her, and so far I hadn't, but if necessary, I was willing to do it. I was a children's advocate for many years and rarely revealed their secrets, but there comes a time when parents have to face the reality of their kids. I knew Gus was making things hard on Hilde, and she's a good woman, a fine principal; I thought it might comfort her to know she had an ally. Anyway, we talked for ten minutes or so, and she left. About six-thirty, I'd guess. I wasn't paying much attention to the time. I was starting to make dinner when Mike Bakken called and I went over to Gus's house.”

“Tell me about Hilde Franz,” Barbara said, seeing a glimmer of hope for Alex. “Why was she bringing library books here?”

He explained the arrangement with the librarian, Cloris Buchanan. “Hilde knows about the arrangement, and they are friends. She brought the books herself.” He paused and then said, “You understand that what I have to tell about Hilde's problem with Gus is gossip. I wasn't present. But what I've heard,” Dr. Minick said, choosing his words carefully, “goes like this.” He told her the story of the sex education book and Gus's reaction and his threat at the PTA meeting. “She was very upset both times. So I've been told.”

Barbara studied him for a moment. She suspected that he heard a lot; people would like and trust him, and as a doctor he, no doubt, had heard even more than the gossips at The Station knew.

“What are they saying about the day of the murder?” she asked.

“Too much,” he said with a frown. “But what I can piece together is something like this. Leona had been back and forth to the school all day. Preparing for the graduation kept her hopping. She left school at about five-thirty to make Gus some supper and take a bath and change her clothes. It looked like she had started to cook, a casserole in the oven, and pork chops on the stove. She had bathed and changed her clothes.

“Daniel, their son, was at a track party at the high school, and friends brought him home close to six-thirty. They stopped down by the orchard, and he took off on foot. He says he went around the house and in the front door. Gus was on the back porch nailing a loose rail or something, and he didn't want to run into him. Gus didn't allow him to ride around with kids his own age. Anyway, he saw his mother and carried a box out to her car. She called to Gus that the chops were done, just needed heating up, and they left at about the same time, six-thirty or a few minutes later. His friends say he was gone less than five minutes; he just had to pick up some money. He and his pals were on their way to The Station, and then to the graduation at the middle school.”

“What about the daughter, Rachel? Where was she during all that?”

“She went home with a girlfriend. They were going to do each other's hair and go on to the ceremony.”

“Where are the kids now?”

“At the house. Leona's sister Ruth Dufault was at the graduation, and she just took over things for now.”

Slowly Barbara said, “You realize you've provided at least three other suspects? There's Hilde Franz, who was in the area at the right time. Leona was in the house, and so was Daniel.”

“It's the pork chops,” he said. “How long does it take to burn them to a crisp, enough to set off a smoke alarm and fill a house with smoke? See, they figure that Gus finished the repair job he was doing, went inside, put the hammer down, and turned on the stove, and then someone came in, picked up the hammer, and hit him.”

Dr. Minick talked about other neighbors then, other people who had had trouble with Gus during the fourteen years Minick had been around.

And then she thought: No, not three suspects, four. How far would Graham Minick go to protect his ward, his friend, his student and near son?

It was after one when Dr. Minick said, “I think it's lunchtime. Barbara, Shelley, join us?”

Barbara shook her head. “Too much to do, I'm afraid. Thanks. Just a couple of things to cover, and then we'll be off.” She thought a moment, then said, “This is for both of you. A worst-case scenario. I'm the lead detective investigating Gus Marchand's murder. I narrow the field of suspects to one, Alex. I've heard that Alex is a psychopath, a mental case who can be dangerous. Alex may have a stack of kiddie porn stashed away, weapons, bombs, a manifesto, who knows what all? I get a search warrant and come with a bunch of guys and demand entrance. What will I find?”

Dr. Minick rubbed his eyes, then leaned back in his chair. “They'd take the computers away, wouldn't they?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Alex, perhaps it's time to buy a new computer.”

Alex nodded, slouched in his chair, his face turned away, a posture that seemed to cry out his desperation, his defeat. “They'd find
Xander
,” he said dully.

His real fear, Barbara realized, was of being revealed, being exposed. People sneaking around to get a glimpse of the freak, photographers with telephoto lenses, pictures on tabloid covers… She said, “What would you put on a new computer? You have to give this serious thought. You can't present them with a blank hard drive.”

“Most of my data is perfectly harmless,” Minick said after a moment. “Let them browse through it, I don't care. Some material I will print out and add to the briefcase I gave you. Then overwrite it.”

She nodded, but her attention was really focused on Alex. He had drawn himself upright again; one hand on the arm of his chair was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Still facing away, he said, “I can't just erase the material on my computer. There are hundreds of files that I can't afford to lose. Story ideas, cartoon ideas, sketches… xandersrealm.com material, games kids play in my website… Correspondence with people all over the world. I can't just erase it all. Take my computer away with you, Barbara. I'll come to your office and work there, if there's space for me.”

After a moment she nodded. That would do for now. “It would be too suspicious if you bought a new computer at this time,” she said then to Dr. Minick. “Do you have a laptop?” He said no.

“Have you considered getting one? You could copy files to it, then hand your old computer over to Alex. What would you put on it for them to find, Alex?”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. I can install the drawing programs and play around with them. Nothing too suspicious in that.”

“Do you have any games on your computer?” Shelley asked. It was the first time she had uttered a sound during the past two hours. She had made notes of everything and kept her head lowered, her gaze fastened on her notebook.

“No games,” Alex said.

“I could give you some,” Shelley said. “I have quite a few, and they are real memory hogs. You could pick up a game where I left off and save it under your own name, and it will look as if you've been playing off and on for months and months.” She said this swiftly, glanced at him, then back at her notebook. She was blushing; the tip of her nose glowed pink.

Dr. Minick chuckled. “That's good,” he said. “Let them think we use the same computer. That's why I want a new one. His blasted games are crowding me out. Good.”

Barbara stood up. “That's enough for now. Keep in touch. Let me know about the computer.”

“I'll get my computer,” Alex said. Then he asked, “Shelley, you want to see my studio?”

She followed him into his studio; her blush had drained away, leaving her very pale.

Barbara realized that Dr. Minick was watching them as closely as she was. Briskly she said, “It's not unheard of for phones to be tapped during an investigation. You know that, don't you?”

He nodded absently, then said, “Yes, I thought of that. We'll be careful.”

Alex came out carrying his computer, blue as a blueberry, and they all went out to the Porsche, where he stashed the computer; they shook hands all around, and Shelley started to drive.

“Barbara,” she said, “I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry—”

“Later,” Barbara said. She was half turned, watching out the rear window. As soon as the house was out of sight behind trees, she said, “Go another few feet and stop. I have a sudden hankering for a walk in the woods.”

When Shelley pulled to a stop, they both got out of the car and Barbara surveyed the woods. Dense, deeply shaded beneath the canopy with little understory in such dark shadows. Someone, Alex, she suspected, had kept the brambles cut down along the driveway. From here neither the house nor the road was visible. She started to walk toward Gus Marchand's property with Shelley following.

A few minutes later they came to the dirt track where the girl Rachel and her friend had parked, and then they reached the edge of the woods. Barbara looked at her watch, three and a half minutes. Before them lay the broad expanse of mown grass, and the Marchand house.

“Hilde Franz,” Shelley whispered. “She could have done it.” There were several cars in the Marchand driveway and as they watched, more cars drove in slowly. Barbara remembered reading that the funeral was today; they were coming now for the wake.

“Let's beat it,” she said.

6

They drove on
Old Opal Creek Road past the waterfall with a trickle of water sparkling in the sunshine, and the place where Leona's car had gone into the creek. A small white cross surrounded by flowers marked the spot. The road was steep here, the curves very sharp, without guardrails; mammoth boulders were spaced along the shoulder instead. Shelley crossed the old bridge and drove past the school.

They stopped at The Station. When they entered, a cluster of people at a table fell silent and didn't make a sound while they were there. The place looked like a hundred others that Barbara had seen with gas pumps out front and stocked with the same kinds of foodstuffs that convenience stores carried, as well as a small deli counter with prepackaged sandwiches and organic juices side by side with Dr Pepper and Coca-Cola. There was a grill, but no one manning it at that hour.

Barbara and Shelley bought sandwiches and juice and carried them out to a picnic table. “Flatland foreigners,” Barbara murmured.

Driving back to Eugene after their hurried lunch, Barbara said, “The first issue we have to deal with is to preserve his privacy, keep his anonymity. I want to talk to Dad. Drop me off in town.”

She had not been in her father's law offices for more than a year, yet the pretty receptionist knew her and smiled broadly when she approached the desk. To her shame, Barbara could not remember the young woman's name.

“Your father's in his office,” the receptionist said. “I'll give him a call.”

While she waited, Barbara gazed about. Sometimes she thought that her father and Sam Bixby had started this firm as soon as the Flood receded and had not changed a thing except to add space. They had started with two rooms and now had the whole floor. Barbara had started her career here and might still be here if Sam Bixby hadn't kicked her out. When she said something like that to Frank, he had snorted. “He didn't kick you out. You walked.”

“He was lacing up his kicking-out boots. I had a narrow escape.”

Sam Bixby did not like criminal cases, did not like the riffraff she and her father associated with. She was grinning at the thought of going to his office to say hi, and watch the worried frown cross his face.