The Blackbird Papers (6 page)

“Well, I didn't think the cleaning people counted,” Carlton said, shrugging his shoulders.

Sterling shook his head. Hanlon had made his blood simmer, and now Carlton had brought it to a boil. Only hours into the investigation, and he had already counted at least five mistakes that could seriously taint the evidence and hinder their ability to find Wilson. “Did you at least get his name?”

Carlton twisted his mouth. “I don't remember. He said he was running late and forgot his ID in his locker.”

“How long was he in there for?”

“Not sure. He was coming out just as I arrived.”

Sterling looked at Wiley. “We need the records of who was doing the cleaning this morning,” he said firmly. “If this investigation is going to amount to anything, we've got to check on everything. Twice. This is the kind of shit that will blow the case before we even have a chance to get our hands around it.”

Lieutenant Wiley nodded. He was accustomed to giving orders rather than taking them, but in this matter it was hard to disagree.

“No one enters that lab unless I say so,” Wiley barked at Carlton. “No students, janitors, or police officers, not even President Mortimer himself.”

“Ten-four,” Carlton responded. This time, he did give a little salute.

Sterling looked down at Wiley. “If we come back, we're going to need one of Wilson's research assistants to take us through the lab. I just have a feeling that something in there isn't what it's supposed to be. Who knows what that janitor was cleaning.”

9

A
lone wooden stake leaning out of the ground marked the entrance to the Bledsoe property. The number 2 had been so inconspicuously hand painted that were one not looking for the address, it would completely escape detection. The modest entrance—a couple of tall trees interspersed with wild shrubbery—belied the expansiveness of the tract of land that Wilson called home. The Bledsoe house was one of only three on Deer Run Lane, and like the others, it hid in the dense woods, invisible from the small dirt road that joined the properties.

The beginning of the narrow gravel driveway was only large enough for one car, but after a couple of hundred yards, the trees and their bowing branches cleared into the open and the driveway circled in front of the massive house.

Sterling's reaction to his first glimpse of the imposing structure was shock. Wilson had described the house as comfortable; in fact, it was enormous. Like their father, Wilson lived a frugal and relatively simple life despite his hefty salary and lucrative awards. Sterling now realized that Wilson had saved all his money—and evidently a certain amount of flamboyance, too—and piled it into this colossal edifice. He had allowed the builders to clear only five acres surrounding the house, leaving the remaining acreage in its natural state. He was proud of it.
My own wildlife preserve. Full of enough animals for me to study for the rest of my life without setting a foot off my own property.

Sterling passed three cruisers in the driveway, one each from the Norwich and Hanover police departments and an unmarked car with tinted windows and several antennae planted on the hood. State trooper. He settled the Mustang close to the front of the house.

The massive oak front door was unlocked. The first thing that hit Sterling was the smell of hot tea, fresh and minty. Sterling hated tea and everything about it. He hated to see people drink it, pursing their lips as if whistling, then gently pressing them against the rim of the cup. He couldn't smell or see or think about tea without a painful memory resurfacing. It was his ninth birthday and his parents had promised he could have a party at the house and invite all his friends over for cake and ice cream and games. He had never had a real party before, but this was going to be his first and he had planned every detail down to the table seating. He could barely fall asleep the night before, thinking about how much fun they'd all have and the gifts his friends would bring.

Then Wilson called and plans changed. Instantly. Wilson said he'd be coming home that afternoon but would only be passing through, as he planned on visiting friends in Philadelphia. He was in graduate school in Chicago and had just begun his midyear break.

Sterling's party was postponed and instead of a house full of balloons and rambunctious boys, hordes of his parents' friends from work and church descended on their small house. There were plenty of gifts that night, but they were all for Wilson. Books, sweaters, fancy pens and pencils—everyone came to pay homage to the golden boy. Sterling spent most of the night in his room crying, but the one time he left it to go to the bathroom, he took a quick glance down the stairs. That's when he saw them all, smoking their long cigarettes and sipping tea from his mother's china that she kept locked away for important occasions. Everyone had a cup in their hand, even Wilson. They laughed and puffed and sipped, acting just like the rich people he had seen on television. A bunch of phonies, he told himself. It was his birthday and Wilson was getting the attention. All these years later and he could still smell the sharp minty aroma. He could still see them crammed into the small living room and front hall, chatting importantly and tipping back those goddamn cups with the gold trim. It damn near killed him.

Sterling fought off the memory as he stepped farther into the foyer and heard voices from the back of the house. He dropped his bag and followed the voices, walking through the large family room, then into a den that was almost as big as his entire apartment. Kay was reclining on a beige leather chaise lounge. Her hair had been tied back in a bun, and she hadn't bothered with makeup. Not that she needed it. Even in her late forties, with age beginning to touch the corner of her eyes, she still possessed the attractiveness that had drawn Wilson to her. What a waste that her genes wouldn't be passed on to children.

The three officers made an odd picture, lined up on the couch across from her, all wearing different uniforms, hands folded in their laps. Something out of a seventies sitcom.

“Kay,” Sterling said, walking into the open room. The ceilings were extraordinarily high, and his voice echoed for a while before the dark oak paneling swallowed it.

“Sterling!” she exclaimed, instantly rising to her feet. “Thank God you're here.” Her eyes were swollen. Her black skirt fell just above her knees, showing off a pair of toned legs that would make most women envious. Her many years of dance still served her well.

Sterling wrapped his sister-in-law in a bear hug, and he could tell by the firmness of her clasp that she was as scared as he was.

He released her. “I'm Agent Sterling Bledsoe,” he said to the cops, who had also gotten to their feet. He walked over and pumped their hands as they called out their names.

“I didn't know you were FBI,” the tall one with a heap of red hair said. Sterling read the name Hanlon embossed on his shield.

“Most of the time,” Sterling said, helping Kay to her chair, then claiming his own seat on an unoccupied sofa. It felt good to finally get off his feet. “Right now I'm teaching anatomy at Hunter College in the city.”

“When did you get in?” Kay asked. Her voice was strained, desperate.

“A few hours ago,” Sterling said. “Some of the officers have been showing me around.”

“And?” Kay asked, her back straightening at the possibilities.

“They found the car over in the medical school parking lot.”

“Yes, they called us here at the house.” The disappointment dropped her back into the chair.

Sterling looked at the three men. “Who's actually leading this investigation from the local side?”

They all looked at each other before Hanlon took a stab. “We haven't entirely worked out jurisdiction yet, because we don't know exactly where he was last seen. We're thinking that it's probably Vermont.”

Sterling was surprised no one had wrestled control yet. Local cops always fought for jurisdiction, sometimes harder than they did to find the perps.

The Norwich officer took his turn. “Professor Bledsoe lives here in Norwich, and Mrs. Bledsoe made her first call to us,” he said. “We're assuming that he was last seen or heard from down on River Road. But Professor Bledsoe does spend a good part of his time over at the college in Hanover, so it only makes sense that we combine forces until we figure out what's happened.” Diplomatic.

Sterling looked at the trooper. “They called us in for support,” the trooper said. He was tall and had a fresh crew cut that perfectly matched the square shape of his face. He was broad across the chest and younger than the others. State troopers always seemed to be either monstrously big or Napoleonic. “We got a team out there dusting prints and collecting evidence.”

Sterling directed his attention to Kay. “I know you're tired, but time is critical. Can you tell me a little about what happened last night?” He took out his black-leather book.

Kay looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. “Let me go back to yesterday morning,” she began. “Wilson left for the lab a little earlier than usual. He wasn't himself. Wally and Serena were throwing a party for him last night in celebration of the Devonshire, and he couldn't stop worrying over how many people would be there. You know your brother hated crowds. And it didn't make things any better that I've been fighting this nasty virus that's been going around. So I decided not to go, which was fine with Wilson, since the plan was for me to stay here and fix his favorite dinner.”

“Grilled salmon, mashed potatoes, and cucumbers,” Sterling said.

Kay nodded. “Wilson has never been one for parties, so the only way I got him to go was to bribe him with dinner.”

“What time did he arrive at the party?” Sterling asked.

“He called me from his office at about five thirty and said that he was heading over. The party was to start at six and I told him that he should get there a little early to greet the guests with the Mortimers. Even if he didn't want to be there, he still had responsibilities as the guest of honor.”

“When did he leave the party?”

“It must've been around seven o'clock.”

“Are you certain?” Sterling was back at work on the time line.

“I'm positive,” Kay said. It was obvious that she had gone over the last night's events several times. The officers looked on quietly. “The news had just ended and I was turning to watch
Jeopardy
. That's the only game show that Wilson will watch.” Kay cleared her throat and continued. “Alex was in the middle of announcing the contestants when Wilson called and said that he'd be home soon.”

“Did he say if anything strange happened at the party?” Sterling asked.

Kay thought for a minute. “No, the party went well. Wait. He did mention that one of the students parking cars had asked for his autograph. But that was it.”

“Was Wilson coming straight home?”

“For sure,” Kay said. “He told me to have the food ready. Then he called back a few minutes later. There were a couple of guys having trouble with their truck.” Kay stopped and closed her eyes. “If only he had never stopped,” she cried softly.

“Would you like some water, ma'am?” Hanlon asked.

“No, I'll be fine,” Kay said, waving him off. She took a deep breath. “I told him to be careful. It was dark and rainy and the wind was fierce.” Kay took another breath. “He told me that he would be home soon and to make sure the food was warm.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Was that it?” Sterling asked.

“That was the last I heard from him.”

“And about what time was that call?”

“Couldn't've been more than seven fifteen, seven thirty.”

“Did he say what type of truck it was—the color or make?”

“No, just that there were some guys who needed help, and he was going to lend a hand.”

“When did you start thinking something was wrong?”

“After about an hour I got a little worried. I called his cell phone to make sure everything was all right, but there was no answer. I figured he was still out of the car helping the men.”

Sterling nodded his head. His wheels spun. “When did you first place your call to the police?”

“At about nine, I think.” Kay looked in the direction of the officers.

“Eleven minutes after to be exact,” the Norwich officer confirmed. “Second call came in at twenty-three oh five.”

“Yes, but between the calls I drove down River Road to see if I could find him.”

“And?” Sterling asked.

“There was no sign of him or the two men he had mentioned. Nothing. It was pitch black, and the rain was coming down hard. I drove up and down the road three times, even went over to Hanover and traced the route that he would've taken from the Mortimers' house. Nothing.”

“What did you do when you got back home?”

“I searched the house, hoping that by some miracle he had made it home and was waiting to surprise me.” Her eyes started leaking again. “The house was empty, and I checked the answering machine to see if he had left a message.” She shook her head. “Nothing. That's when I placed the second call to the police.”

“And that's when we notified the guys in Hanover,” the Norwich officer interjected. “It was still too early to get up in arms. It's not uncommon to get calls from spouses saying their loved one hasn't made it home yet. The weather up here can be nasty, and the roads can get tricky.”

Sterling quickly reviewed his notes. Wilson was minutes away from home at approximately 7:15. He didn't answer his cell phone at about 8:15. Kay went looking for him at ten. So, between 7:15 and ten o'clock Wilson disappeared from River Road. Sterling stood up. He wanted to say something to the officers, but not in Kay's presence. “Kay looks beat, guys,” he announced. “Maybe we should give her some time and pick up a little later.”

The three men rose to their feet. “We'll be in touch,” Hanlon said to Kay before they left the den. Sterling followed them out the front door and closed it behind him.

“I know they're working on the record of Wilson's phone calls and the one that Kay made to him,” Sterling said. “But how long do you think that'll take?”

“All depends,” Hanlon said. “This isn't something they do every day. It might take several hours.”

“I'm getting beeped,” the Norwich officer said, looking down at his pager. “I'll be right back.”

Sterling took out his black book and asked some questions about procedure and the time line. He was also interested in the area's crime rate and any scandals that might have recently been exposed in the quiet college town. They were discussing the Mortimers' infamous parties at the president's mansion when the Norwich officer ran back to join them.

“They matched the tracks,” he announced breathlessly.

“Which tracks?” Sterling asked.

“Both sets. Professor Bledsoe's car and a truck. Both were at the medical school and down on River Road.”

“You guys have any dogs at the station?” Sterling asked.

“We don't have a canine unit,” Hanlon said.

“Neither do we,” the Norwich officer added before Sterling could ask.

“I think we sent some down,” the trooper said.

“Good. We're gonna need all the help we can get,” Sterling said.

A pain in Sterling's gut that had subsided to a dull ache now came roaring back. The more time that slipped away, the less chance they had of finding Wilson alive.