To Darkness and to Death (40 page)

Clare broke into a jog, catching up with Russ in time to round the corner and see him plunge through the door to Becky’s room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ed Castle snarled. She couldn’t see his expression, but he didn’t sound like a man ready to forgive and forget.

Clare hovered in the doorway. Russ filled the minuscule hallway between the toilet and the rest of the room, and she didn’t want to squeeze past him and stick her foot through the moment.

“Whyn’t you lower your voice, Ed.” Russ sounded like a twenty-year sergeant reining in a frightened PFC, simultaneously nerve-settling and authoritative. “I don’t think you want everyone in the hospital knowing your business.” He nodded in the direction of the far bed. “Becky, I’m glad to see you feeling better. Lyle.”

Clare edged along the wall behind Russ until she spotted Lyle MacAuley, propped up against the window.

“You’re not welcome here.” That was Ed. She still couldn’t see him, but she didn’t need to. The anger threading through his words spoke for itself.

“Ed, I’m sorry about what happened this afternoon. I truly regret it, and I wish I’d never been put in a position where I had to choose between a friendship and doing my job. But I wouldn’t be any kind of a cop, and I wouldn’t be keeping the people of this town safe, if I had done otherwise.”

“Safe? Safe?” Clare heard a footfall. “Look at my little girl! You call this keeping us safe? If there weren’t ladies present, I’d tell you where you can stick your apology.”

“Ed,” his wife soothed.

Russ stepped into the room, enabling Clare to see the Castles for the first time. Ed was standing pugnaciously beside the head of Becky’s bed; Suzanne was rising from a chair, her hands stretched toward him. When Russ took one more step toward his deputy chief, she finally saw Becky Castle.

And gasped.

Lyle’s gaze flicked toward her. His bushy brows raised, in surprise or salute, she couldn’t tell. Suzanne caught sight of her, too; the older woman wrenched her mouth into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. Ed kept his eyes on Russ.

“I’m not just here to apologize,” Russ said. “Lyle and I need to talk with Becky.”

“Talk with her? What’s wrong with you people? She’s told you who beat her up. I gave you his address! What else do we have to do, make the arrest?”

“We’ve been out to Randy Schoof’s place,” Lyle said. “He’s not home, but we have an officer staking out his drive. I’ve interviewed a friend he was with earlier. The friend alibis him, but he did give a list of places Schoof might be.”

“Fine. Get out there and find the little bastard.”

“We intend to, Ed. But we need to cover all the bases.” Lyle twisted so that he was facing Becky directly. He smiled at her as if she were still a pretty girl. “Becky, do you know a man named Shaun Reid?”

“Sure.” Her injured mouth slurred the word. “He owns Reid-Gruyn Pulp an’ Paper.”

“What’s your relationship with Shaun Reid?”

Despite her stitches, Becky frowned. “Wha’ d’ you mean?”

“Is it professional? Personal?”

“I don’ have a relationship with him. I know who he is, that’s all.”

Lyle glanced up at Ed and Suzanne, a protective wall of parenting. “Maybe we should talk about this without your mom and dad here.”

“The hell you say.” Ed bristled. “Anything you got to ask Becky, you can ask in front of us.”

Lyle’s cool gaze flickered toward Russ. Russ nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Becky,” Lyle said, “are you involved with Shaun Reid?”

“Wha’? No!”

“For chrissakes, Reid is married. And he’s practically my age! What does this have to do with Becky’s assault?”

Lyle ignored Ed. “Becky, we’ve heard there’s a rumor around town that you’ve been seeing Shaun Reid. We’d like to know if there’s any truth to it, and if there’s anything more you’d like to tell us about when you were attacked.”

“Randy Schoof attacked me.” Becky spoke slowly, enunciating the words carefully. “When I wouldn’ give him the camera. I don’ know Shaun Reid personally.”

“You heard her. Now get out and arrest this Schoof before I—”

Russ raised one hand. “Ed, you really, really don’t want to be making threats in front of two peace officers.”

Suzanne stepped forward for the first time, laying her hand lightly on her daughter’s shoulder. “Please. Find the man who did this.” She looked at Russ, then Lyle. “Please.”

Lyle glanced at Russ again and saw something there Clare wasn’t privy to. The deputy chief nodded. “We will, Suzanne. You all take care. I’ll let you know as soon as we have more information.” He slipped past Russ and vanished into the hall.

“Ed,” Russ said. The older man scowled at him. “I’m sorry.”

Ed waved him off. “Words are cheap. Show me by bringing in that punk Randy Schoof.”

She could hear Russ take a breath, as if he were going to say more. Instead, he nodded, as Lyle had done, and trudged out of the room. Clare stepped into the space he had vacated. “Hi.” She put on a cheery smile. “I thought I’d stop by and see how everybody was doing.”

6:25 P.M.

What do you think?” Lyle was leaning against the wall opposite the elevator bank.

“I think she’s either telling the truth, and it was Schoof, or she’s afraid to say anything in front of her parents, and Reid is somehow involved.” Russ removed his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his thermal shirt.

“You want me to clear the room? Question her again?”

“No. We’ve pissed off the family more than enough for now. Schoof is our main target. Shaun’s probably a dead end. Consider the source of the information. If we uncover anything to change that, then we’ll come in with the full court press.”

“We’ve got an APB out on Schoof, and Noble’s cruising the town, checking out places he’s been associated with. Relatives’ houses, places of employment, the works.” Lyle’s radio squawked for attention. He unhooked it from his belt and keyed the mike. “MacAuley here.”

“Lyle, it’s Noble.”

Lyle looked at Russ. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve found the Castle girl’s missing car.”

“Good work. Where is it?”

“In the office parking lot at the Reid-Gruyn mill.”

Russ rehooked his glasses over his ears and reached for the mike. “Noble? It’s Russ. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Hold down the fort.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Lyle turned off the radio and stowed it. “So. Maybe there is something to the Reid angle after all.”

“We’ll see. I want you to follow up with Schoof’s buddies. Lean on the guy he said he was hunting with. See if you can shake anything else loose.”

“Okay. Anything new on the van der Hoevens?”

“Eric and the state lab guys were on site when I left.” Russ glanced at his watch. “If Judge Ryswick has come through with a warrant, Eric should be searching the house right now. Mark’s running the black Mercedes angle with the DMV. Washington County first, then surrounding counties.”

“That’s going to be the proverbial needle in the haystack.”

“I know. I’d pay good money for a single other lead as to where Millie van der Hoeven has gone, but the Mercedes, right now, is our best bet. You wouldn’t believe how many Mercedes have been registered in the tri-county area in the past two years.”

“And you didn’t believe ’em when they said the economy was recovering.”

Russ snorted. “Wanna guess the most popular color for Mercedes sedans?”

Lyle rolled his eyes. “Black?”

“There you go. That’s why you get to be the deputy.”

Lyle shoved away from the wall and punched the elevator button. “Coming?”

Russ jerked his head toward the other end of the hall. “I want a word with Clare before I go.”

“We should have her pry the truth out of the Castle girl.”

“No lie.” The elevator dinged, and the doors whooshed open. Russ slapped his hand against the edge of the door. “You know, she told me something earlier. Thinking about Shaun Reid.”

“What?”

“Have you heard anything about this GWP buying the mill out from under him?”

Lyle shook his head. The door dinged impatiently.

“According to the new Mrs. Reid, it’s on the table—if the Haudenosaunee land sale goes through. The question is, does Reid want to sell the place? Or would he be willing to try to throw a spanner in the works?” He let go of the door and was rewarded by the sight of Lyle’s thoughtful expression as the doors slid closed.

6:40 P.M.

Russ had always liked the Reid-Gruyn mill. When he had been a high school student, he had occasionally met up with Shaun at his father’s office, which even back in the late sixties had the ossified feel of a memorial to an industrial age long passed. He swung by regularly on patrol, but he hadn’t been past the twin stone pillars in decades. Driving through the remains of the gates—the actual iron grills had been taken down before Russ was born—he was pleased to see nothing had changed.

The old mill, moldering into the river, was a half-hidden shadow, tucked behind the new mill and far removed from the parking lot’s faded white lights. The new mill, which hadn’t been new since Calvin Coolidge was president, loomed beside the black, glittering rush of water. Even from the edge of the gate, Russ could see the phosphorescent white of the dam spill and, fronting the mill, long and low, the offices. Russ wondered how many of them were still occupied in an age of downsizing and outsourcing.

Noble was parked in the row of reserved spaces in front of the offices. His squad car was angled so its headlights bounced off an apple green Prius. Russ pulled in alongside him and got out.

Noble got out of his car. “Hey, Chief.”

“You got a flashlight?”

Noble handed over his Maglite. Russ shone it through the windows. The light picked out an overnight bag, a pair of sneakers, and the usual junk that collects in busy people’s cars: CD cases, crumpled fast food wrappers, an empty soda bottle.

“No dress.” Russ looked up at Noble. “She was supposed to be going to the big shindig at the new resort. Where’s her dress?”

“In the bag?” Noble was a bachelor, which led him to misinterpret women once in a while. Like now.

Russ shook his head. “Women don’t roll long dresses up in little bags. It’s like a guy’s suit. It has to be on a hanger.”

He fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed 411 while handing the flashlight back to Noble.

“Millers Kill. New York,” he said. “Shaun Reid. Please connect me.”

His phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then a female voice: “Hello, Reid residence.”

“Hi. Could I speak to Shaun, please?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Russ Van Alstyne. From the Millers Kill police.”

There was a beat. “Has something happened to Jeremy?”

Jeremy? Was that Shaun’s kid’s name? “No, ma’am. Nothing like that.”

“Are you fund-raising?”

Russ felt his temper turn over, like a lazy engine on a cold morning. “Ma’am, it’s illegal for police to solicit funds. I need to speak to Shaun Reid on official business.”

“Well.” He could almost hear her unspoken rejoinder.
There’s no need to get huffy about it
. “I’ll get him for you.”

He stared at the finish of the gas-electric hybrid while waiting for Shaun to get to the phone. It was fresh and pretty and young. Like its owner. He was 95 percent sure that she had told them the truth, and Randy Schoof was their man. But Lyle had this story about Shaun’s involvement, and now here was the Castle girl’s car sitting smack-dab in front of his office. Two points of contact. Could be coincidental, but Russ didn’t like coincidences.

“Russ? Hey, long time no see. When was it, the Rotary Club meeting last year?” Shaun sounded upbeat, as if hearing from his old high school buddy were the highlight of his Saturday evening.

“Has it been that long? Time flies.”

“It sure does. How are you doing? How’s that beautiful wife of yours?”

“Linda’s great. Look, I have a little situation here at your mill, and I wonder if you could come over and take a look at it with me.”

The pause over the line was so long, Russ held the cell phone away from his ear to make sure he still had a signal. “Shaun?” he said.

“Sorry. A situation at the mill? What is it?”

“I’d rather explain it when you get here.”

“I’m, uh, due to be at the Algonquin Waters resort by seven-thirty tonight. Courtney and I are going to a dinner dance there. Business with some overseas guys. I really can’t miss it.”

“Don’t worry. I shouldn’t keep you too long. Linda and I are going, too, and she’ll have my head if I stand her up.”

“Ah. Yeah? Okay, then. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting right here in the parking lot.” He said good-bye and switched the phone off, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something to Lyle’s rumor after all. Shaun certainly sounded nervous about something.

7:00 P.M.

His palms were so damp the steering wheel slicked through his grip as he cornered the car. Shaun started to wipe his hands on his thighs and stopped himself at the last moment before making sweaty streaks on his tuxedo pants. Then he barked an unpleasant laugh. In a matter of minutes, he might be the best-dressed occupant of the Washington County jail.

He noticed the speedometer and eased up on the gas. He had taken Courtney’s Volvo wagon, since his Mercedes still had a small fan blowing across the driver’s seat. He knew his wife would want to appear at the dance in the sedan, and he had no way to explain the wet leather. It had, at the most, another thirty minutes to dry. That was if he made it to the dance, of course.

What had Russ found? What did he know? The list of possibilities was short and terrifying, so he refused to think about it. He breathed: in with the calm, out with the fear. He needed to be cool, collected, at the top of his game. Maybe this was just a fishing expedition. If it was, he had a chance to sail away unscathed—if he didn’t look like Richard Nixon proclaiming he wasn’t a crook. Russ had been a lifelong army guy. Narrow-minded. Unimaginative. Shaun had successfully gone toe to toe with CEOs and shareholders and bankers. He could handle Russ. Yes. In. Out.