“The main house is about half a mile on the other side of the property,” Wiley said. “His wife is still knocking around up there. She must be damn near ninety, but she's as sharp as a tack. She's lived by herself all these years since Ezra's death, but someone told me she finally got some live-in help.”
“Has anyone gone up there yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then we need to pay Mrs. Potter a visit.”
13
T
he Potter farmhouse was a great, rambling, faded-red structure that stood alone in the middle of an open field. The weathered wood and drab color were clear indications that the house had seen much happier times. An antique maroon Porsche with a black soft top sat in front of the garage. The polished chrome shone in the sunlight like a mirror. Sterling made a mental note of the car before approaching the front door of the old farmhouse. The massive structure of ancient wood slats screamed out for a fresh coat of paint. Forget a modern contraption like a doorknob. A heavy rusted knocker hung in the middle of the door, looking like it was too tired to announce any more visitors. Wiley cleared away the cobwebs and reached up to give it several firm taps. A few seconds later the door creaked open.
A young woman stood in the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a pink blouse buttoned to her neck, and her blond hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. Sterling got the strange feeling that he had seen her before. He never forgot a pretty face.
“Officer Wiley, ma'am, and this here is Agent Sterling Bledsoe. We were hoping to get a word with you and Mrs. Potter.”
A look of concern spread across her face. “Is there a problem, Officer?” Her accent was hard, maybe German, Sterling thought. She couldn't have been more than twenty-four.
Wiley looked at Sterling before answering. “I'm afraid there is,” he said. “We've found a body on the edge of the property.”
The fair-skinned girl lost what little color she had, covering her mouth with her free hand. “A body? Here?”
“Yes, ma'am, we found it about an hour ago.” The girl shook her head until it settled into a tremble. Her eyes were fixed in disbelief. “May we come in?” Wiley asked.
“Oh yes, please do,” she said. “Mrs. Potter is in the living room. Wait here for a moment.” She disappeared before Wiley could ask her name.
Inside, the house looked much better than one might have expected from the poorly maintained surrounding property. Large oil canvases hung on dark walls, mixed with black-and-white still photographs, the oval kind where the faces had started to turn sepia from age. The backgrounds had completely faded to an ash gray. Two doorways flanked the room, one on the left, the other farther back along the right wall. Identical deer heads had been mounted above the entrances. In the far corner sat a dusty gun cabinet filled with an assortment of shotguns and rifles. A vast collection of plaid, wool, fur, and bright-orange hunting caps burdened a crooked hat pole. A serious hunter had once lived here.
The young woman returned. She looked much calmer now. “Mrs. Potter will see you.”
Sterling and Lieutenant Wiley followed her through a series of cluttered rooms and a sitting room big enough to seat a family of twenty. They walked down a short hallway and through a door that opened to a spacious living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave the otherwise dark room a jolt of life. An old woman sat propped in a chair, leaning over a small table. She was just finishing a sip of something hot. Her skin sagged in some places but was stretched tight in others. Her eyes were strong. Chestnut brown. The diamonds in her ears were big enough to comfortably send someone into retirement.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, placing the cup back on the tray. “What in God's name is going on?”
“I'm Lieutenant Wiley from the Hanover Police Department,” Wiley said, removing his cap. It was the first time that Sterling had seen him with it off. His dark hair was surprisingly wavy and youthful-looking. “This here is Agent Sterling Bledsoe.”
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” she said, waving her wrinkled fingers at an empty sofa. “You too, Heidi, for God's sake.” The young blonde followed the command. “This weather is a real treat, especially after the rain last night,” she said. Sterling had expected this would start the conversation.
“It's a fine one, Mrs. Potter,” Wiley said. “Probably still hovering somewhere in the sixties.” There was a brief pause, and then it was time for business. “Mrs. Potter, we found a body on the edge of your property about an hour ago.”
Mrs. Potter sat back from the table and rested her head against the chair. “I thought Heidi had been mistaken. What's a body doing on my property?” Her voice was still strong for a woman climbing into her nineties. Wiley's statement didn't scare her. Instead, it made her more indignant.
“That's what we're trying to figure out,” Wiley said. “One of our men found him by the old barn not far from the pond.”
“I haven't been down there since Ezra died.” She looked out the window and mumbled something. The sun on her face illuminated the web of tiny blue veins beneath her paper-thin skin. “Do you know who it is?”
“My brother, ma'am,” Sterling said, speaking for the first time. “Professor Wilson Bledsoe.”
Nel Potter let out a shriek, her face twisted in horror. She looked at Heidi, then at Sterling. “My God!” she exclaimed. “Did you say Professor Wilson Bledsoe? The one who lives just over on Deer Run Lane?”
“Yes, ma'am. That's my brother.”
“There must be some mistake,” she said, shaking her head as if someone had just slapped her. “I just saw him a couple of days ago.”
“You knew my brother, ma'am?”
“Did I? I saw him at least once a week. There must be some mistake.” She couldn't stop shaking her head. “No one would want to hurt that lovely man.” The room fell silent as Mrs. Potter struggled with the news. She turned to Heidi. “Child, get these men something cool to drink.” Wiley and Sterling waved away the offer, but it was of no use. Heidi was already through the door. Sterling caught her wiping her eyes. “Wilson was a prince of a man,” Mrs. Potter said. She stopped suddenly and closed her eyes. Her chin dropped to her chest. “I've already referred to him in the past tense.”
“It's tough for all of us,” Sterling said. “This has come as quite a shock. Now we're beginning a murder investigation.”
“It feels so strange even hearing the word murder,” she said. “That just doesn't happen around here. Why in God's name would someone murder Wilson?”
“We don't know who or why,” Sterling said, “but I'm not stopping till I have the answers.”
“And to think that he was killed on my property,” Mrs. Potter sighed.
Heidi returned to the living room carrying a tray of tall glasses and a large pitcher of lemonade. In just the short time since she had left, her eyes had already swollen and reddened. She had been crying hard. She poured drinks for everyone but herself, then took a seat. Sterling still couldn't place her face and it bothered him.
He looked at Mrs. Potter. “How did you come to know my brother?” he asked after a long pull on the sugary liquid. The sweetness followed by the sharp bitter aftertaste made his lips pucker.
“I met the Professor a few years ago, after he and his beautiful wife moved over to the Karlson property on Deer Run. That piece of land had been in the Karlson family for four generations, but the mother was the last one alive and didn't have anyone to leave it to. Poor woman. The Professor and his wife bought it, and there couldn't have been a more perfect couple for that property. They were young and Wilson was crazy about nature.”
Sterling noticed Heidi nodding in agreement. “Heidi, what's your last name?” Sterling asked.
Heidi turned to Mrs. Potter almost as if asking for permission to speak. “Vorscht,” she said. “I'm a graduate student at Thayer, the engineering school.”
“Do you live here?” Sterling asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“She's from Germany,” Mrs. Potter took over. “Just outside of Stuttgart. Every few years I get a new live-in student to help me around the house. I've been quite lucky with the German girls. They're hardworking and good around the house.” Mrs. Potter paused. “And they always do well in school.”
“Did either of you hear anything unusual last night?” Sterling asked.
Heidi and Mrs. Potter looked at each other. Mrs. Potter went first. “I had dinner at seven in the kitchen, as always. I watch
Jeopardy
every night. I get most of the answers right when these young people with all their fancy degrees can't even answer the easy ones. Just goes to show you the old way of schooling wasn't that bad after all. After the final
Jeopardy
question, Heidi sets me up in the family room for my dessert. That's where I watch
Wheel of Fortune
. That Vanna White is just the loveliest.” Sterling indulged the old woman's rambling. “When that's over, it's a little shot of whiskey for the heart, and then I'm off to bed.”
“Did you hear anything strange during that time?” Sterling asked.
“Nothing at all,” she said. “But that's not surprising, since I sleep like a log.”
“What time did you get up this morning?”
“I get up the same time every morning, five thirty.”
“What about you, Heidi?” Sterling asked.
“After I put Mrs. Potter to bed, I went downstairs in the den to study,” she said. Her English was perfect, but still weighed down by her heavy German accent. Sterling looked at her carefully. She was even prettier than he first thought—the way her eyes turned up at the corners, high cheekbones and long, slender nose. Her turtleneck sweater clung across her ample chest. She was in excellent shape. “I like the den, because at night the house gets cold and the fireplace in there works the best.”
“What time did you go to sleep last night?”
“About one o'clock this morning.”
“And when did you get up?”
“About eight.”
Sterling looked intently at Heidi's delicate hands. They were trembling. He couldn't help but think how ironic it was that Wilson's body was found on the property of friendly neighbors who would have done anything they could to help him. He motioned to Wiley, then stood up. Lieutenant Wiley grabbed his hat off the sofa and stood beside him.
“Thanks for all of your help, Mrs. Potter. You too, Heidi,” Sterling said. “Sorry we had to meet like this.”
“The Professor was a wonderful human being,” Mrs. Potter said. “I can't imagine why anyone with a sane mind would want to take his life.” She stood with great effort, ignoring Heidi's outstretched hand. She reached for an old wooden cane leaning against her chair and started walking slowly, but after a few warm-up strides she picked up her pace.
“We might come back for a few more questions, if that's all right,” Wiley informed the two women.
“I'm always here,” Mrs. Potter said. “I don't get out much. Come and have a cool drink anytime you'd like.”
Heidi opened the door for them to leave. “By the way, Mr. Bledsoe, what will ever come of his blackbirds?”
“Blackbirds?” Sterling asked.
“They were his passion,” she said. “That's how we first came to meet. I'd see him taking what he called his night scouts. He'd be out walking on the property before the sun was even awake, gathering information about all kinds of animals, didn't matter how small or how big. And he was such a . . . such a . . .” She struggled for the word. “Such a crusader for those blackbirds.”
He made a note in his black book. Why the hell was Wilson studying blackbirds so early in the morning, and where had Sterling seen this beautiful girl before?
K
ay stood at the counter putting away dishes when Sterling entered the kitchen. He watched her for a few moments, then looked over at the table. Wilson's plate of salmon was still there, covered in Saran Wrap. Seeing it only worsened the pain gnawing at his stomach. Sterling had never been a religious man, and the last twelve hours had done very little to put the Bible at the top of his reading list. At this moment he had a lot more questions than he did faith. He walked farther into the kitchen and hung his coat on the back of a chair. “Kay,” he finally said.
She turned and faced him. The stress of uncertainty had not been kind to her. Her mental fragility had unmasked age's creeping effects around her eyes. He looked at her desperately, then nodded and turned away.
Her woeful scream filled the air, a scream of bottomless anguish. She sagged to the ground and lay there in a fetal position, her sobs causing her to heave uncontrollably. She kept repeating Wilson's name and asking God for his mercy.
Sterling knelt beside her, pulling her to his chest and spilling his own tears into the flood pouring out of her eyes. “It's gonna be okay,” was all that he could say, trying to console himself as much as her. “Even if it takes me to my death, I'll find whoever has done this.”
“Where is he?” Kay sobbed.
“Over on the Potter farm. They found his body near an old barn.”
“Is he really dead?” she cried.
Sterling hugged her tighter. “They've taken him away.”
Kay hung her head and fell back into Sterling's chest. They remained in that position for a long time, begging for hope where there was only despair.
S
terling spent most of the night sitting in the darkness of Wilson's study, a tumbler of Jack Daniels within arm's reach on the desk. The whiskey slipped down his throat easily, warming his insides deep into the night. He looked out the window into the darkness. It all just seemed to be crashing down on him at once. He and Wilson had grown closer the last several years, but there was still work to be done. He needed to bury the demons forever and continue to open his mind. That was the conclusion he had come to during his last session with Dr. Lieteau. Therapy had been a painful process, and many times he had wanted to bolt out of the room and never go back. But she had kept him searching inward. He had planned a long weekend for just himself and Wilson, trying to repair some of the damage. Then this. Sterling couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt, remembering how he had refused to visit Wilson and Kay in Hanover, repeatedly pushing aside the olive branch that his brother extended.
He closed his eyes, then leaned his head back. But he stopped. Tapping. Was there someone at the door? “Hello?” he called out. No answer. More tap-ping, but it was faint. He rested the drink on the desk and opened the door slowly. The hallway was dark, except for the moonlight cutting through the windows. He eased down the hall, looking into the dark, empty rooms. The sound of metal on metal, but it was coming from outside. He grabbed his gun from the closet and snapped in a magazine. First he checked Kay's room upstairs, opening the door quietly. She was asleep. He took the back stairs down. One loud tap, then it stopped.