The Blackbird Papers (22 page)

“How did he know you were also finding dead birds?”

“He didn't at first. One of our friends overheard him discussing blackbirds with a woman who lives near the river. He spent many hours walking along her property. First, he only noticed a couple of dead birds. Then the farther out he went, the more he found. They were stacked in groups of ten and twenty.”

“Was this woman Nel Potter?”

“You know her?”

“We've met.”

“I've never met the woman, but Askuwheteau was very fond of her. He told me she was quite generous with her land and allowed him access whenever he wanted.”

“Did he tell Mrs. Potter about the dead birds?”

“He didn't want to tell her something like that on account of her age. He was concerned that involving her in something like this would only worry her unnecessarily. That was his way, always thinking about others.”

Sterling thought a minute before speaking. “Who was this friend who brought Wilson to you?”

Kanti took a couple of more steps with his head down, then stopped. “A beautiful young woman whose passion for nature was as great as my people's. She was one of us born in their skin. We called her Wogan—someone who loves nature. They called her Heidi.”

“Heidi Vorscht!” Sterling exclaimed. His words hung in the open air until the wilderness swallowed them. “Dammit! Of course. That's the connection I couldn't make.”

“What connection?” It was now Kanti's turn to inquire.

“Heidi Vorscht's body was found a few days ago in a dumpster outside of the Grand Union in Hanover. Her killer had beheaded her.”

Kanti looked away, pained. “Yes, I was informed that her life had been taken with such indignity.” He shook his head. There were tears in his eyes. His voice was softer now, like that of a grieving father. “The evil forces that menace this great world are often beyond even my ability to comprehend.”

“I knew that her murder must've had something to do with Wilson's, but for the life of me I couldn't draw the connection,” Sterling said. “I only met her once, but she had asked me what would come of his blackbirds. She called him a crusader. She must've known something was going on.”

“Wogan knew everything,” Kanti said. “Like I said before, she brought Askuwheteau to us. Her dedication was like no other.”

“They brought some of the birds?”

“They brought a couple of them, but the pictures are really what got my attention.”

“Pictures?”

“He used a video camera to record the dead birds. There were hundreds of birds on the ground. It was the worst sight I'd ever seen. I was sick for days after watching that video.” Kanti turned to Bigfoot, who nodded in agreement.

“When did he last show you this video?”

“The same day he was killed. He came out the day of his celebration party. I remember him complaining about having to attend a party at the president's mansion. He was happy to win that prize, but he didn't want to make a big fuss over it. Forever modest.”

It hit Sterling then that the last tape Wilson had shown Kanti was the tape he had found in the camera, the tape the intruder had come back looking for. Sterling could barely keep up with the thoughts racing through his mind. He was sure now that he had his motive. Wilson and Heidi had been murdered because they knew about the blackbirds. But something didn't fit. Professor Yuri Mandryka and Kanti also knew about the blackbirds, but they hadn't been harmed. Either the murderer hadn't struck yet or he simply didn't know that the other two also knew about the birds. They desperately needed to find the man in that surveillance video before someone else died.

“Who do you live with?” Sterling asked.

“I live among my friends,” Kanti said, sweeping his arm in a wide gesture. “All of the animals you see and don't see are part of my life.”

Sterling turned to Bigfoot. “There have been two murders already, and we don't have any idea who's behind the killings. You need to protect Kanti.” Bigfoot nodded his head solemnly. “Around the clock. This killer can strike anytime.”

“Do you have any idea who might be behind all of this?” Kanti asked.

“Not right now. But I believe whoever's killing these birds has killed my brother and Heidi Vorscht.”

The three men began walking back toward the house. A light gust of wind rustled the trees and stretched the necks of the tall cattails. The land looked serene.

“Do you remember the last thing you discussed with Wilson?” Sterling asked.

Kanti closed his eyes in thought. “Askuwheteau said he had a good idea what was killing the birds and who was responsible. He was waiting for a response from an agency in Washington.”

The three approached the house. Kanti pointed to the bare feeding ground. “They've taken food back to feed their little nestlings. In the next few months, those nestlings will make their first trip here to my property, and I'll train them like I've trained thousands before them.”

“I'll be in touch,” Sterling said. Bigfoot turned to accompany him, but Sterling shook his head. “No, you stay here. I can find my way back to town.”

“May Glooskap guide your most noble mission,” Kanti said. “Glooskap is our spirit of good. He formed the sun and the moon, animals, fish, and the human race. His brother Malsum is the evil spirit, the one who made mountains, valleys, serpents, and every manner of things which he thought would provide an inconvenience to the race of men.”

“What does your name mean?” Sterling asked.

“Kanti is an Algonquin name. My grandfather gave it to me when I was a little boy. The first few years of my life, I didn't speak language like other children. Instead, I imitated the sounds that I had heard in the wild. Kanti means ‘sings.' My grandfather always said that I sang with the animals. That's how I learned the call of the blackbird.”

“If you eat off the land, be careful,” Sterling said. “Whatever's poisoning those birds could also be affecting the rest of the wildlife.”

Kanti nodded his head sternly and took Sterling's hand. He held it firmly for a few seconds and with his free hand made a small gesture, mouthing what seemed to be a prayer. “Go in peace and wisdom,” he said.

Sterling looked into the eyes of the small man, then up at Bigfoot, before quickly turning and disappearing down the narrow path that had delivered him.

34

T
he sharp ring of Sterling's cell phone snapped him awake. “Yeah,” he answered, too tired to say much of anything else.

“Wiley here. Did I wake you?”

Sterling looked at the clock on the nightstand. “That sounds about right.”

Wiley was unapologetic. “Well, I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. We just got another e-mail from your friends in Virginia.”

This made Sterling sit up. He wiped his eyes and took another look at the clock. “It's eleven o'clock.”

“Yup. The overnight desk commander called me at home.”

“There must be something in there Harry wants me to see right away.” Sterling slipped into his pants. “Otherwise he could've waited till morning.”

“That's my guess. Somebody there is burning the midnight oil.”

“Don't open it. Call Brusco and get him over there. I'll be there in fifteen.”

Sterling sped along River Road, wondering if Wilson was up in heaven sending down help to catch the killer. He crossed Ledyard Bridge, eerie- looking as thick layers of menacing fog hunched quietly over the dark water. By the time Sterling had reached Lyme Road, he didn't even notice the car was pinned over 100 miles per hour. He pulled into the police station before the sleep had cleared from his eyes. There were only two cruisers parked underneath the massive evergreens that towered over the squat building. That's strange, he thought to himself. There were usually ten or more lined up. Maybe they were getting serviced overnight. Sterling made his way through the side door and down the short hallway that led to the pit. The room was empty. The quietest it had ever been. It looked different without all the frenzied activity, more like a classroom than the nerve center of a major investigation. Wiley stood alone facing the big board. He wore a uniform even at this late hour. He didn't turn when Sterling came in.

“You know, Agent Bledsoe, I'm sitting here looking at this board trying to put these two murders together,” Wiley said. “But it's just not making a lot of sense. Where's the damn motive? The night of a big bash celebrating his award, the Professor is mysteriously murdered and no one sees or hears anything? Bullshit! It's not like he had death threats against him or some property feud with a neighbor.”

Sterling considered revealing the dead blackbirds in Mandryka's lab and the gunshots Carlos Sandoza heard after Wilson had left the party. He could also explain the meaning of Chogan. But his instincts kicked in. In cases like this, when it was unclear who knew what and what their potential connection was to the murder, it was always best to work a lead alone until there were concrete answers. It wasn't that he didn't like Wiley. The lieutenant was tough, determined, and proud as hell to be a police officer. In fact, he was one of the best local cops Sterling had come across in a long time. Lessons, however, often came hard, and Sterling had learned early in his career that solo work was especially needed in cases as sensitive as this one.

“The killer has struck twice, which doesn't necessarily make him a serial killer,” said Sterling, “but it does get me thinking. For the sake of argument, let's say we are dealing with a serial killer. The most important thing to nail down is the thread—the connection between the choice of victims. It can be easy at times, but it can also be the most difficult part of the investigation. I've found in previous cases that once you firm up that connection, the rest of the answers you've been searching like hell to find just jump out at you.”

“Maybe we're making too much of a possible connection,” Wiley said. “It could be a coincidence that the two murders happened so close together.”

Sterling looked up at the board. “Think about it, Lieutenant. Do you really believe it's a coincidence that a peaceful community like this that hasn't seen a murder in more than fifty years suddenly has two of them in the span of a week? And we're not talking about simple murders, a barroom brawl that turns deadly or a wife's jealous rage. These killings were gruesome. Evil. The killers weren't leaving any doubts that the victims were dead. And they did a helluva job covering their tracks.”

“What about the saw blade?”

“The only mistake we've seen and one they couldn't erase. I don't have to tell you, Lieutenant, that committing the perfect murder is a lot more difficult than most people think. A lot of nerves and adrenaline are involved.”

“I agree. It just doesn't make sense,” Wiley said, rubbing his temples in slow circular motions. “Something's missing.”

“Where's Brusco?”

“He called in while you were on your way. Said to go ahead without him. He'll catch up when he gets here.”

Sterling shrugged. It was unlike Brusco to be late, especially for something important like this. He went over to the computer. “For them to send this so late, Harry must've really wanted us to see something.” Sterling opened the e-mail and read Harry's message.

Sterle,

We worked with the colors and contrast. We also took the liberty of playing with the face a little. We've got a new kid down here from California who's a wiz at this stuff. It's not perfect, but it'll give you a little something to work with. I'll be out of town the next few days, but if you need me, I'll be up at the house in the Adirondacks. I hear the fish are biting like hell, and I could use the break. The number is the same.

Warmest,
Harry

A smile grew across Sterling's face. No one loved fishing more than Harry Frumpton. Sterling had gone on a weekend trip with him once a few years ago. A lover of cities and all their modern trappings, Sterling had been slow to adjust to the rural village of Tupper Lake. But by the second day of relaxing in the hypnotizing quiet of the wilderness, away from gridlock and honking horns, Sterling understood why Harry was always counting the days until his next outing.

Sterling clicked the download icon. Only one picture this time. Unlike the other images, this one began revealing from the bottom of the screen. It was immediately obvious that the clarity and resolution were much better than on the previous photos. What the video camera hadn't captured, the computer had generated and filled in with color. First his neck, long and caramel colored. His chin came to a handsome point with stubble sprouting sporadically, heavier on the sides of the face.

Then his lips, full and symmetric, a soft pink tinged with brown. The image pixels slowly revealed smooth skin with a faint hint of beard shadow. The nose was narrow, the bridge slender and straight.

“I'll be right back,” Wiley said abruptly.

Sterling waved his hand and kept his eyes glued to the screen. Not exactly the hard face of a murderer, he thought to himself. The image continued to crystallize, and Sterling got the strange feeling that he had seen the face before. It was a black man, light-skinned.

The complete image finally uploaded.

“What the hell is this?” Sterling shouted. He looked in amazement at the computer screen.

The image he saw was himself.

He stood there for a few seconds, his mind struggling with what his eyes clearly saw. A burning wave of pain exploded upward from the base of his skull. Confused, he turned to get Wiley. But Wiley was already there—pointing a service revolver inches from Sterling's face.

“We need to talk, Agent Bledsoe. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”

“What the hell are you doing, Lieutenant? Have you lost your goddamn mind? Get that gun out of my face!”

“Not until we reach an understanding,” Wiley returned. “Now don't do anything we'll both regret. Slowly open your coat and let it drop to the ground.”

Sterling complied, keeping his eyes on Wiley's finger hooked around the trigger. Just a slip and he was a dead man.

“Okay,” Wiley said. “Now take your gun out slowly. Put it on the floor and kick it over to me.”

Sterling followed Wiley's command. Once the gun had come to a stop across the linoleum, he raised his hands. “Do you really think I killed my own brother?” he asked.

“I'm not sure what to think,” Wiley said. “All I know is there are a lot of unanswered questions and your face is staring at me from that computer screen.”

Both men looked back at the computer. Sterling felt dizzy.

“That picture is bullshit,” Sterling said, “and you know it. There has to be an explanation for it.”

“I'm listening.”

“For God's sake, I was in New York at 5:00
AM
! You people called me there,” Sterling said incredulously. “How the hell could I be in two places at once?”

“According to the time line, you didn't have to be. Withcott put your brother's time of death at eleven o'clock. New York City is just a little more than a four-hour drive, and a lot less at that time of night for someone in a year-old Porsche with a twin turbo engine. Plenty of time for you to get back home and get that call.” Wiley looked hard into Sterling's eyes. “So maybe you might want to start by telling me where you were between the hours of eleven and five.”

Sterling felt trapped, especially since he knew his alibi couldn't be corroborated.

“I'm waiting for an answer, Agent Bledsoe,” Wiley said.

“Not that you'll believe it, but I was looking at student papers,” Sterling said. “And before you ask, no one was with me to confirm that.”

Wiley nodded slowly, his hand gripping the gun even tighter.

“Oh c'mon, Lieutenant. Someone is playing a sick joke on all of us. My image was electronically transported into that e-mail.” Sterling read the doubt on Wiley's face. “It's not the most difficult thing to do. With the right software any decent hack could've done it.”

“But why, Agent? Why would someone want to put your image in an incriminating e-mail directly implicating you in your brother's murder? Seems like a big effort to play a joke, never mind the risk of being caught interfering with the federal investigation of a murder. Just doesn't play for me.”

Sterling's head started aching as he raced through all the possibilities. It was a legitimate point and he didn't have an answer, at least not without having some real time to think everything through. He shook his head slowly. “I don't know why the hell someone is doing this. But look at what it's done, divided us once again on who the real suspects should be. It's another distraction, just like the WLA. Can't you see they're trying to turn us against each other?”

Wiley nodded but he kept the gun aimed at Sterling's chest. “I need something stronger than that, Agent. There are a lot of questions I still have that don't have answers. I need you to start filling in some of the blanks. In a hurry.”

“Like what?”

“Let's take it from the very beginning. You hated your brother. You have for years. Why would you want to lead this investigation? We didn't even have a chance to call the feds in before you were already up here running the show. You volunteered your services, and quite adamantly from what I've been told. And according to Bureau procedure, it's completely against policy to be involved in an investigation dealing with a family member. Even more of a violation to be the lead.”

Sterling was caught even more off guard. How did Wiley know about their troubled relationship? Sterling could count on one hand the number of people who had been aware of his strained history with Wilson. Two of them, his parents, were already dead.

Wiley was on a roll. “That's right, Agent, I know all about it. You might not expect much from a mountain cop, but I've been doing my homework too. I had a long conversation with Mrs. Bledsoe a few days after the Professor's murder and just before she left. Both times she raised some interesting points that I never would've known had I not spoken with her privately.”

“Like?”

“She distinctly remembers your relationship with your brother heating up right after he won the Nobel and all the money that came with it.”

Sterling alternated between dizziness and anger. Had Kay really said these things? Why hadn't she told him that she spoke with Wiley? He didn't know what to think, but he knew if he didn't start coming up with some answers, he'd be in the shitter for sure.

“Put the gun down, Lieutenant,” Sterling said. “My relationship with my brother is none of your goddamn business. We had our differences like most brothers do. But you can't believe that our not being close has anything to do with all of this. For Chrissake, sibling rivalry is not a motive for murder.”

“But there was a lot of money at stake, Agent. Close to $3 million. You had more than ample time to tell us you stood to inherit that much money.”

Sterling thought about explaining the word “Chogan” and telling Wiley about the mysterious deaths of the blackbirds that Wilson and Mandryka had been investigating. But Sterling knew he hadn't tied enough loose ends together to make a valid case. At this point, Wiley would discard it as conjecture, an elaborate theory Sterling had concocted to shift the blame away from himself.

“So why the insistence on investigating your own brother's murder?” Wiley pressed. “We both know it's not normal procedure for a family member to be involved in that kind of investigation. Conflict of interest.”

“I didn't know it was murder at the outset,” Sterling said. “All I was told was that he was missing. I knew right away that something wasn't right. Wilson wouldn't be away from Kay for an hour without telling her where he was going. Call it an investigator's intuition or whatever you want, but something deep down told me things were much worse than what I was hearing.”

“That's fair, but it doesn't explain everything else. Why the hell is your picture sitting in that e-mail?”

“Goddammit! Listen to yourself. If I were the murderer, do you think I'd send the video from the lab down to Quantico to have it analyzed, knowing that it would come back with my face on it? That would be pretty stupid.”

As they spoke, Sterling kept watching the door for Brusco to enter. It had been almost half an hour and he hadn't even called. That wasn't like him. Maybe he too believed that Sterling had been behind the murders and decided to sit on the sidelines while they apprehended him. Sterling knew there were few options left. With his picture in that e-mail, there was little he'd be able to do right now to prove his innocence, alibi or not. And he couldn't afford to lose time while they checked that out. He needed more time to work through everything. He looked down at his watch, and stayed in that position.