Cold Black Earth (27 page)

“I know Roger. That’s funny, I was just talking about Marcia with him the other day. He told me about how she sold all the land he was supposed to get.”

“I recall hearing about that. And then she moved away.”

To Texas, Rachel thought. She said, “And she married somebody named McDonald?”

“Yes, I think so. But I doubt it’s the same one.”

“No, probably not. That would be a long shot.”

They sat without speaking for a time, not looking at each other. Helga said, “Are they sure it’s this Ryle who’s doing all the killing?”

Rachel roused herself. “I don’t know that they are. But when a homicidal maniac escapes and then people in the area start getting murdered, the maniac is a good first guess. How many madmen are there likely to be running around at any given time?”

The look Helga gave her was steady and grave, with no hint of irony. “More than we really want to know, honey. More than we could stand to know.”

27    

There was a missed call on Rachel’s cell phone; the number was Roger’s. Rachel brought up the voice mail.
“Hey, Rachel. It’s Roger. Just wanted to bring you up to date on things. I could have coffee again this afternoon if you want. Matt says there’s reporters looking for you, so keep your head down. He had to chase away a few today. Call me if you want to meet.”
Rachel thought about it for a second with the phone in her hand and then punched Call.

They went for the same place, at four o’clock this time. “But no pie,” Rachel said as she slid into the booth opposite him. “I’m having dinner at Susan’s in a couple of hours.” Something in Roger’s look froze her. “What?”

“You haven’t heard from Matt, huh?”

“What happened?”

Roger frowned at his coffee cup. “Nothing to panic about. But the investigators from the task force decided they needed to sit him down for a longer talk. He’s over at WPD right now.”

“They arrested him?”

“They brought him in for questioning. They haven’t charged him with anything, and I don’t think they’re going to, because they don’t really have anything. But they couldn’t really ignore the fact that he was on the scene for all three of the killings.”

Rachel sat with her eyes closed and a hand over her face until she felt Roger’s touch on her arm, gently. She looked him in the eye and said, “He didn’t have anything to do with it. That’s stupid, it’s ridiculous.”

Roger nodded, looking grave. “You don’t have to tell me. But they have to take a hard look at him. Just because of circumstances.”

Rachel inhaled sharply; suddenly queasy, she almost bolted for the bathroom. She managed to steady herself and said, “I know Matt. I know people we love aren’t perfect, but you know what they’re capable of. Matt’s not capable of anything like that.”

“I agree with you. I think they’ll put him through the wringer and cut him loose.”

“They’re going to railroad him, aren’t they? They’re already suspicious because of what happened to Margie. I know there was talk at the time. They’re already prejudiced against him.”

“Rachel.” Roger had raised his voice just enough to get her attention. “If Matt didn’t do it, they can’t charge him. They can’t charge him without evidence. And they can’t charge him if he’s got alibis. And it sounds like he’s got a good one for last night, anyway. There’s several people that can put him at the bar for a couple of hours before you found McDonald.”

A waitress appeared and Rachel managed to order coffee. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to act like a grown-up. So Matt’s got to be in the clear for last night, right?”

Roger cocked his head slightly, a gesture of reserve. “Probably. The forensic guys found tire tracks on the shoulder last night that matched the ones at Ed Thomas’s house. It looks like Ed’s truck was used to block the road to get McDonald to stop. But . . .”

“But what?”

“They don’t know when McDonald was killed. Apparently rigor mortis was starting to set in when the forensic guys looked at him, which means he’d been dead for a while when you found him. And since cold retards rigor, he could have been killed pretty much anytime yesterday afternoon or evening.”

“What, you mean he’d been sitting out there for hours?”

“Could have been. There’s not a lot of traffic on that road. Or he could have been killed earlier, stashed somewhere, then set up after dark.”

“So Matt’s not in the clear.”

“Rachel, I don’t think Matt did it any more than you did. But right now they have to look at anything that comes up. And Matt jumps up at them, big time.”

“I know. I can’t blame them.”

Roger’s look softened a little. “Anyway, with McDonald being the victim it’s looking more like a random thing again. Nothing to do with old Ryle grudges. I don’t know if that helps.”

“Not really.” She sighed and stared out the window at the leaden sky. Ask him, Rachel thought. Ask him if McDonald was his brother-in-law. Instead she said, “We’re in the danger zone, aren’t we? It’s all happening right out there where we live. Everyone I know is in danger.”

Roger nodded, his frown deepening. “North central Dearborn County is where it’s at, yeah. But we got more manpower from the state police, extra patrols. There’s still a lot of land out there, but he can’t hide forever. I think when we get a break it’ll be because somebody stumbles onto something. Some citizen, I mean. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. But that worries me because that immediately puts that citizen in danger. Whoever’s doing this, one more won’t bother them.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of Rachel’s coffee. When she had doctored it Rachel said, “Whoever. You don’t think it was Otis Ryle?”

Roger held his mug in both hands as if to warm them. He frowned into his coffee for a few seconds and said, “It could be. That’s been the most likely scenario ever since he went missing from the prison. But there’s some funny things about it, if it is him.”

“Like what?”

Roger set the mug down, clasped his hands and gave Rachel a piercing look. “Well, to start with, look at what he was in jail for.”

“For killing his wife and kids.”

Roger nodded. “For dismembering them and partially eating them. That’s the work of a very sick man.”

“I think we’re all on the same page there.”

“You know how he actually killed them?”

“No, Roger, I somehow missed that.”

“He strangled them. And then he dismembered them with a kitchen knife and a hacksaw.”

Rachel nodded. “And?”

“So look at what happened to our victims. One was killed with a sledge hammer. And then cut up with a saw.” He put a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m sorry to go through this.”

“That’s OK. Go on.”

“That was the only case of dismemberment. And there was no suggestion of cannibalism.”

“Thank God.”

“The other two, one had his throat cut and one was run through with a pitchfork. Three different methods, only one dismemberment, no strangulation. Now, it’s perfectly possible Ryle did them all. People can learn, people improvise. But serial killers usually have a preferred methodology. They like to do things the same way. And these three killings are all improvised, and every one’s different. And another thing.”

“What?”

“What’s his motive?”

“Does a sick person need a motive?”

“I think so. Even a sick person needs a motive. In Ryle’s case, whatever weird psychological kick he got out of cannibalism, along with whatever it is makes guys kill their wife and kids, which happens a lot. If it’s Ryle out there doing this, why’s he doing it? What kick’s he on now?”

Rachel sat looking Roger in the eye, the bottom of her stomach dropping out. “So what are you saying, Roger?”

“I’m just saying there’s no guarantee Otis Ryle did these murders, that’s all. He might have, but it’s not for sure.”

Outside, the light was going, traffic purring along the strip with the headlights on. Rachel heaved a great breath. “Have you talked with the detectives about this?”

“Oh, they’ve been thinking along these lines all along. But they’re happy to let the media play up Otis Ryle.”

“So if not him, who did them?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t know. Not yet.”

Rachel shoved her mug away from her. “But that’s even worse, if it isn’t Ryle. If somebody . . . somebody else is doing this.”

“Somebody sane, you mean?” Roger smiled, and there was nothing charming about the crooked grin. “Yeah, that’s a lot worse, isn’t it?”

“For God’s sake, stop,” said Greg Stevenson. “We don’t scour the stovetop more than once a month. Don’t go raising the standards around here or it’ll mean more work for me.”

Susan’s husband was a large hearty man whose hairline was creeping back as his waistline pushed outward; he had bright mischievous eyes and a chin that would be double in another year or two. He had confounded Rachel’s stereotype of mild-mannered accountants with his bluff humor and a steady stream of wicked local gossip over dinner. The act had distracted them all from thoughts of Matt in an interrogation room.

“Just trying to earn my keep.” Rachel replaced a burner grate and went to the sink to rinse out the sponge. “Besides, my mother drilled that one into me. ‘If I can see it, the mice can smell it,’ she used to say. She ran a tight ship.”

“So did my mother, but she’s not here.”

“Don’t bother,” said Susan, coming into the kitchen. “He can’t be taught. We’ve been fighting for twenty years about the right way to load a dishwasher.”

“What she means is, she’s been doing it the wrong way for twenty years.” He snapped the dishtowel at Susan’s rump.

“You can be replaced, you know,” she said, leveling an index at him.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” said Rachel, drying her hands. “I never saw my husband in the kitchen except to yell at the cook.” She hung up the towel and looked up to see her hosts waiting for more. “Different culture.”

“Sounds like my kind of household,” said Greg.

Susan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well. Rachel, I’d love to tell you we play intricate games of skill or read improving books after supper, but the truth is, we generally flop on the couch and watch TV. There’s plenty of room for three.”

“Sounds perfect. I just need to make a couple of phone calls.”

“OK. You’ll know where to find us.”

Rachel watched them go, suppressing a brutal pang of envy at the happy mediocrity of their domestic life, then sat at the kitchen table with her phone and punched in Matt’s number, without much hope of getting him. She wondered if he was in a jail cell. She got his voice mail and left a short message just touching base, then called Dan.

“Yeah,” he said after a couple of rings.

“It’s me.”

“Hey, how you doing?” Dan’s voice had everything she ought to want in it—concern and tenderness—but Rachel realized she had been longing for the usual jauntiness. She had been moving in a fog all day.

“I’m OK. Make me laugh, will you?”

“All right, I’ll show you my college transcript some time.”

“Nice try. Did you know the police took Matt in for questioning?”

“Yeah, he just told me all about it.”

“He’s with you?”

“He just left. The cops cut him loose about six and he came straight to the bar.”

“Thank God. I just tried to call him.”

“I think he turned his phone off. He just walked out of here, actually. You need to talk to him? I can run after him.”

“Not really. I just wanted to make sure he’s OK.”

“He’s fine. It was all bullshit, and they knew it. They just needed to look busy.”

“How did Matt take it?”

“Laughed about it. He’s OK. A little drunk, maybe.”

“Terrific. He’s going to wind up in a ditch again.”

“Hey, Matt’s the best drunk driver I know.”

“Seriously, Dan. I’m starting to worry a little about Matt’s drinking.”

“Ah, I’m just bullshitting. He had a couple of beers, that’s all. What are you up to?”

Rachel relaxed a little. “I’m hanging with Susan tonight. I need a nice quiet evening. I was thinking tomorrow might be a good night for a date, though. Dinner and a movie, an old-fashioned kind of date.”

“Where I get you home before midnight and kiss you on the doorstep, with Matt standing there in the doorway with a baseball bat, you mean?”

“Well, we can negotiate that part. But the dinner and the movie, that’s for real. You up for it?”

“Hell, yeah. I’ll give you a call when I get off work.”

“Sounds good. And listen.”

“What?”

“Be careful going home tonight. Be real careful.”

“Actually, I think we’re OK out here. You wouldn’t believe the number of cops out driving around this part of the county tonight. I think they got it covered. That son of a bitch comes out of his hole tonight, he’s gonna get stomped on.”

“That would be good. Be careful anyway.”

“Oh, I will. Tell Susan hi from me and I haven’t forgotten about that pencil she lent me in study hall back in 1981, will you? I know I owe her.”

He hung up before Rachel could come up with a wisecrack, and she sat staring at the phone in her hand for a few seconds. A lifeline, she thought. That’s all he is. In three months you might be ready to move on. But for the moment he’s a pretty good lifeline. I was due for something good to happen, and this is good. She put the phone away.