The Heirloom Murders (21 page)

“Not much. I tried to keep her on the line, but she wouldn’t talk.”

“Do you remember what she said?”

Marie frowned. “What’s this about?”

“Probably a wild goose chase,” he admitted. “But I just can’t put this one to rest until I’ve run every detail to ground.”

“I asked her to tell me how she was feeling. I told her it would help me understand.” Marie rubbed at a chip in the nail polish on one thumbnail. “Sometimes if people just have a chance to talk to someone, it can help. And Roelke, for a minute there, I thought I’d reached her.”

This was new information. “Yeah?”

“I said that I imagined she must feel exhausted. And she said, ‘I am. I’m just so, so tired.’” Marie looked at Roelke soberly. “And I thought, OK! We’ve actually made a connection!”

“What happened then?”

“Mrs. Sabatola said, ‘Oh Jesus.’ And then she hung up.”

Roelke grimly considered that tidbit. He should have talked with Marie about this days ago. For Bonnie’s sake, but also for Marie’s. Very little got to Marie. Her conversation with Bonnie Sabatola obviously did.

“Sometimes all we can do is try,” he told her.

“Yeah.” Marie straightened her shoulders, and swiveled her chair back to her typewriter. “Get out of here. I need to get some work done.”

Roelke collected some pamphlets from a file on the counter. Then he headed back out.

The village of Eagle had maintained a fire station since the fifties—decades longer than the police department had been in business—and an EMT squad since 1978. Other than the chief, all the responders were volunteers. And there was a long waiting list to get in. The cops and the firefighters often went out on calls together. Everyone pretty much got along and worked well together. It was another thing Roelke liked about working in Eagle.

Denise Miller wasn’t on call that morning, but Roelke had phoned her at home, and she’d agreed to meet him at the station. She was so short she needed to stand back from most of the men so she didn’t crick her neck making eye contact. But she was good at her job, and didn’t seem to have any trouble fitting into the mostly male world at the fire station.

Roelke found her in the break room. “Hey, Denise. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. The kids are at summer camp, so I’m fancy free. Whatcha need?”

Someone had left a bowl of pretzels on the table. Roelke took one and snapped off the tip. “You were on that suicide call in the state forest. I’m just trying to close the file on that one. I went over that scene with a flea comb, but …” He snapped off another piece. “Sometimes it helps to have another pair of eyes. Did anything strike you as odd there?”

Denise tipped her head, considering. “Odd? No.”

“Do you … that is, could you go over what you remember?”

“Well …” Denise thought a moment before cataloging what she’d found. Her memories of Bonnie’s body—its condition—meshed perfectly with Roelke’s.

No surprise there. That was good, actually, even if unhelpful. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s what I had down.”

“It’s sad,” Denise said slowly. “I mean, I learned a long time ago to leave stuff behind when I head home. But accidents—bad as they might be, they’re
accidents
, you know? I hate seeing someone waste their life like that.”

“Yeah.”

“It was hard to tell if she was pretty, if you know what I mean. But she struck me as someone who cared about her appearance. You don’t always see that in suicides. Those jeans were top dollar. And her sandals too. The heel on that one was cracked, but I don’t suppose whatever Italian designed them expected them to be worn on a forest trail … Hey, Roelke? You OK?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He blinked. “Thanks a million, Denise. I appreciate your help.”

“Any time.” She scooted her chair back and stood. “And Roelke? Don’t leave without cleaning that up.”

Startled, Roelke followed her pointing finger. The table in front of him was littered with bits of pretzel. “Will do,” he said. When this mess was done, he’d send Denise a case of pretzels.

Chloe had avoided Dellyn—and
Markus—at Old World the day before, because she needed some space. Chloe had tried without success that evening to reach Dellyn by phone. So on Wednesday afternoon, Chloe locked up the trailer and went on site to search for her friend. Almost an hour later, Chloe finally spotted her hoeing weeds in the garden at the Danish farm.

“Hey,” Chloe called.

“Hey.” Dellyn wiped sweat from her cheeks with a sleeve of her blouse. “Have you heard any news about Harriet?”

“No.” Chloe leaned against the fence. “I expect the police are keeping stuff quiet until they’re ready to make an arrest. So, how did the tour with Markus go?”

“OK.” Dellyn hacked at the soil again.

Chloe pinched her lips together. She felt a distance between them, and she had no idea what had caused it. “I wanted to fill you in on my trip to Madison on Monday. Long story short, Valerie’s article left out a couple of key details about the Eagle Diamond. Here’s the biggie: a German hired hand was working with Charles Wood that day. Much later, the German guy told a reporter that he’d found a gem, too. Get it? There might be a second Eagle Diamond!”

Dellyn went after a burdock plant. “I never heard that.”

“What if someone gave your parents the second stone? Something smaller? It would be an incredible bit of Eagle history.”

“Yeah,” Dellyn agreed. “It sure would.” But she didn’t meet Chloe’s gaze.

Something was definitely not right here. “So, what-say I stop by this evening?” Chloe asked. “We can work on the inventory.”

“Thanks,” Dellyn said. “But Valerie’s coming by to help me tonight.”

“Valerie
Bing?
” Chloe felt her eyebrows shoot skyward.

“Yeah. She called the other night, and said you’d told her about the inventory project. And she offered to help.”

I, Chloe thought, am a complete idiot. She’d said way too much to Valerie.

A tram rumbled up to the farm and stopped to let visitors off. Chloe watched a young dad struggle to extricate a stroller. Finally she said, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that? I mean … you were the one who started worrying about all the coincidences. You know, the missing Kunz file, and not being able to find your dad’s notes.”

Dellyn sighed. “I can’t imagine that Valerie had anything to do with any of that.”

“But—”

“Look, Valerie doesn’t have a job right now. What she does have is too much time on her hands. It’s making her squirrely. She said I’d be doing her a kindness to let her help.”

“Well, I’ll come too, then,” Chloe said brightly. “We’ll get more done with three of us.”

“Thank you, but no.” Dellyn finally met her gaze, and she put a hand on Chloe’s arm. “You’ve got your own stuff going on, and I’ve let you spend way too much time on mine. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” With that she got back to work, moving farther down the row.

Chloe chewed her lower lip. Valerie’s offer made her nervous. Dellyn’s politeness made her even more nervous. It might mean she’d crossed a dangerous line. In any case,
something
had changed.

“Dellyn, are you going to sell the farm to Simon?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Dellyn leaned on the hoe. “I need to be done with all this.”

Shit, Chloe thought. Valerie Bing and Simon Sabatola. All Dellyn needed to do was invite Alex Padopolous over for tea and she’d have the trifecta of worrisome people, all in one place.

_____

After talking to Peggy, Roelke drove to AgriFutures. Peggy’s discreet digging had turned up some interesting intel about the behind-the-scenes battle raging at the company. Time to make one last visit.

When he presented himself in the reception area on the 6th floor of the building, Edwin Guest frowned. “Mr. Sabatola is preparing for a presentation he needs to make tomorrow,” the secretary said. “This is quite a bad time.”

Roelke tried to project regret. “I just have one final bit of business I need to take up with Mr. Sabatola. Could you ask him if he could spare me a few minutes?” He carefully phrased his request as a question.

Guest didn’t answer. Roelke didn’t move. After a moment of silent stand-off the secretary sighed loudly and turned away. He knocked on the door to the inner sanctum, slipped inside, and closed it firmly behind him.

Roelke leaned over Guest’s desk. The daily calendar sat open, as it had before. Roelke quickly flipped back a few pages. And one more feeble ray of light shone on the enigma that was Bonnie Sabatola’s last morning.

When Guest emerged from Simon Sabatola’s office, Roelke was pretending to idly admire the man’s African violets. “I’m afraid Mr. Sabatola is too busy to see you today,” Guest said smoothly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, in that case … yes.” Roelke ignored the flash of triumph in Guest’s eyes. “Tell Mr. Sabatola that his wife’s case is officially closed. And give him this.” He held out a brochure labeled
Resources for the Bereaved
. “Please let him know that if he wants to talk with someone, if he
needs
to talk with someone, there are several good grief counselors in the area.”

Guest accepted the brochure with a smile that was almost pleasant. “I’ll let him know. Thank you.”

Stupid little shit. He’d just been played like a piano. Roelke gave Guest a somber nod, and headed for the elevator.

_____

After work, Chloe drove to Dellyn’s house. So what if Valerie Bing was helping with the inventory? So what if Dellyn had told her not to come? The work would go faster with three people. Besides, Chloe wanted to keep an eye on Ms. Bing.

When she got there, though, the only vehicle in the driveway was Simon’s luxury car. Shit. Now what? I should march right up there and bang on the door, Chloe thought. For all she knew, Simon Sabatola had arrived with legal papers all ready for Dellyn’s signature. Perhaps Dellyn, right this minute, was signing away the property.

Chloe sat for several minutes, almost quivering with indecision. She wanted badly to go make sure Dellyn was not doing something she might regret. But the truth was … she’d only known Dellyn for a couple of months. And Dellyn had every right to make decisions about her own house.

Finally Chloe put the Pinto in drive, and headed home.

_____

Roxie was wiping down the bar when Roelke walked into her Roost early that evening. He took a stool in front of her and tried unsuccessfully to catch her eye.

“You want a beer?” she asked, busily rubbing an invisible spot.

“No. I want some of your time.”

She slid a quick, sideways glance in his direction. “I’m working here. I’ve gotta tend bar.”

“I want to talk with you.” Roelke was dressed in jeans again, and spoke quietly, but he used his best cop voice. “Can’t Kiki cover the bar for a few minutes?”

Roxie sidled a little farther away.

Roelke moved to a closer stool. “We can talk here, or we can talk at the Elkhorn police station. What’s your choice?”

After an indecisive pause, Roxie called her young waitress over. “Cover me for a few,” she said. Kiki shrugged and sidled behind the bar.

Roxie headed toward a corner table. Roelke followed and settled into a chair across from her. “Kiki looks pretty comfortable behind the bar,” he said. “I’m guessing she’s been there before. Like, maybe last Thursday night?”

“Last Thursday night?”

“Yeah. Last Thursday night. You took a call. Then you left the tavern.”

“I …” Roxie wet her lips. “I didn’t take any call.”

“Think that through, Roxie. The telephone company keeps records.”

“Well … maybe I took a call, but that doesn’t prove anything!”

Roelke smiled at her. “What do you think I’m trying to prove?”

She shook her head, and started to stand. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Sit—
down
.”

Roxie dropped back into her chair.

“Someone ran me off the road last Thursday night,” Roelke said. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Right after I left this bar. And evidence left at the scene proves that two drivers were involved.” That was pure BS, but it might rattle her. “I think one of those drivers was Edwin Guest. I doubt if Sabatola was the second driver. For one thing, he was plastered. For another, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who likes to get his own hands dirty.”

Roxie folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t know about any second driver!” she hissed, staring at the wall.

“The timing is clear, Roxie. Guest and Sabatola left at ten
PM
. I was here for another forty, forty-five minutes. Guest had plenty of time to get Sabatola home, call you, and explain the plan. All you had to do was have Kiki cover the bar for twenty minutes so you could slip out, follow my truck, and help herd me off the road. Help try to kill me.”

“I—
no!
It wasn’t like that!”

Roelke forced down a flash of white-hot anger. I
knew
it, he thought. What he didn’t know was why.

“It was just supposed to be a prank!” Roxie was saying. “I didn’t know anything about running you off the road!”

“Who called you?”

“Edwin.”

“And why did Edwin Guest want to harm me?”

She shook her head violently. “He didn’t. He just said he wanted to rattle you.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. I swear to God. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

In Roelke’s experience, swearing on loved ones’ graves was a sure indication that the speaker was lying. “I know that AgriFutures is financially sound,” he said. “I also know that Simon Sabatola doesn’t get along with his brother Alan, and that board members are aligning themselves with one brother or the other. I know that Simon’s not a sure thing to take his father’s place, like he wants people to believe.”

Roxie looked bewildered by the change of topic. “I, um, don’t know anything about that.”

“Oh, I think you do. This is the one place Simon Sabatola feels safe drowning his sorrows. Although,” Roelke added conversationally, “I
also
know you two haven’t been getting along well lately.”

Roxie looked as if she was trying to figure out whether to agree with or deny that observation. Roelke let her stew. If he could just get this woman to flip, he might learn what he wanted to know.

He would not get anything that would lead to spouse abuse charges. A DA would howl with laughter at the notion that a statement made to an off-duty cop in a bar carried any weight when there was no actual evidence of any wrongdoing, criminal or otherwise.

But I want to know, Roelke thought. For Bonnie’s sake, and for his own. Roxie had just confirmed that Sabatola and Guest weren’t the pretty and well-behaved businessmen they pretended to be. Maybe they were sick SOBs who ran him off the road for the fun of it. Or maybe they were doing something illegal, most likely at AgriFutures, and were so paranoid about it that they felt compelled to strike at a cop just for hovering at the periphery of their lives.

Roelke smiled. If he couldn’t nail Sabatola’s ass for tormenting his wife, he’d be delighted to nail Sabatola’s ass for something else.

“OK, Roxie, here’s the deal,” he said finally. “I need some information. You can give it to me, or you can go to prison for trying to kill a cop. What’s it going to be?”