I was thinking specifically of the fact that Jared had been a sniper in Special Forces while in the military. I knew the police would add that to a list of circumstantial evidence, and while they very well might find out about it, they were just going to have to do it on their own.
Marty sighed. “Well, I wish I had a friend like you,” he said.
“You do,” I replied, and he grinned.
“Touché.”
Chapter 15
They left shortly thereafter, and I went downstairs to the coffee shop in the lobby for lunch, though after my talk with Marty and Carpenter I didn’t have much of an appetite. I sincerely hoped they were paying as much attention to the many other potential suspects as they were to Jake and Jared, but considering the issue of Jake’s missing gun, I tended to seriously doubt it.
*
That evening, just as I came out of the bathroom with a freshly scrubbed and pajamaed Joshua, headed for the bedroom and Story Time, the phone rang. Jonathan answered, talked quietly a moment then held the phone out to me.
“It’s Jared.”
“Start without me,” I said as he handed me the receiver and went off to collect Joshua, who’d run into the kitchen to say goodnight to his fish.
“So, what happened?” I asked without preamble.
“Thanks to the cops showing up here at Jake’s and asking eighteen thousand questions, I was nearly late for my first class. I didn’t have a chance to stop at the house. And when I drove into the parking lot at school, a squad car with two cops pulled up right behind me. One of them got out and asked if I was Jared Martinson. When I said yes, he handed me a search warrant and asked me to come with them to the house to let them in.
“I said I had a class from nine until nine fifty, but my second class wasn’t until eleven, so I asked if I could meet them at the house at a little after ten. He went back to the squad car to talk to his partner—it turned out I have the partner’s daughter in my nine o’clock. They talked a minute and then the first one came back and said okay, but he made it pretty clear they were going out of their way to oblige me.
“They were nice enough about it all, but I was pretty pissed, just on general principles. And of course, they didn’t find a damned thing, though there were a couple of raised eyebrows when they came across some of my leather gear and toys.
“Luckily, the warrant specified it was for a Winchester Model 94 Chief Crazy Horse Commemorative rifle ‘and/or any other firearms on the property, including outbuildings,’ so they went through the garage, too. They did a good job of rummaging through everything. But if I hear one word at school about any of my personal stuff, I swear I’ll sue their asses off! My private life is none of their fucking business!”
“Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t worry so much about that. They were just doing their job.”
“They’d asked us this morning where we were when Cal was killed, and we told him we were coming back from my cabin up in Fenton County. They wanted to know how long a drive it was. I told them.”
“Ah, yes, the cabin,” I said. “Did anybody see you up there?”
“Nobody that I can think of. It’s a pretty isolated area—that’s what I like about it. We left here just before dark Friday night, drove straight up and headed back home Monday morning around ten.”
“So, you don’t have any real proof you were there?” I asked.
“Well, we stopped for gas on the way home. I got a receipt.”
“What time was that?”
“Around ten forty-five, I think. I’m sure it’s on the receipt. I gave it to the cops.”
“And it’s how long a drive between the cabin and Jake’s?”
“Like I told the cops, it’s almost exactly three hours.”
“So, you were back in town around one o’clock.”
“No, we didn’t get in until two-thirty.”
I was puzzled. “How’s that? Did you stop somewhere between there and here? Somewhere you might have been seen?”
I heard a sigh, then, “No, like I said, we stopped for gas about forty-five minutes after we left the cabin, and we hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile from the station before I realized I hadn’t locked the shed where I keep the three-wheeler—we’d had it out for a ride after breakfast that morning. So, we had to turn around and drive back. That added an hour and a half.”
I instantly realized that, depending on when Cal was killed, that could be a problem. If the gas station receipt was stamped at ten forty-five, theoretically they should have been back in town by one o’clock—they had no proof of turning around and returning to the cabin.
“Did you stop for lunch? Maybe get a receipt there? Or talk to someone who would remember you?”
“No, we still had some stuff in the big cooler we’d taken up with us. We just finished that off on the way back.”
So, everything depended on when Cal was killed. Before one o’clock and the ticket exonerated them; between one and two thirty, it could be used against them. After two thirty, it was worthless. So, what time did Cal Hysong die? I was sure Tim would know, since he did the autopsy.
“This whole thing sucks!” Jared said, bringing me back to the moment. “Jake doesn’t need this hassle, though having that bastard Cal dead almost makes some of it worthwhile. I wish I did know who did it—I’d like to pin a medal on him.”
“Maybe they won’t bother with a search warrant for the cabin,” I said. “After all, the shooting took place after you left there.”
But I knew that wouldn’t stop them from looking. It was only a two-hour drive from Jared’s place in Carrington. They might figure he could have taken the rifle to the cabin after the shooting to hide it.
“Well, look,” I said, “I’ll give Tim a call right now and see if he can find out Hysong’s time of death. With the gas receipt, that could let you off the hook.”
“Thanks, Dick. We really appreciate it.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for,” I said. “All you can do right now is hang tight. The thing is, you didn’t do it, and that’s all that counts.”
“No,” he said, “proving it’s what counts.”
We said our good-byes and hung up with me thinking of all the innocent people rotting away in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.
*
I paused only long enough to fill Jonathan in on the conversation then dialed Tim and Phil’s number.
I recognized Tim’s “Hello.”
“Hi, handsome,” I said. “How are things going?”
“Pretty good,” he said. “I’m thinking of filing for divorce, but otherwise…”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “What’s Phil done now?’
“He’s going to Hawaii for three days,” he said, “which is bad enough, but he’s not taking me, which is worse.”
“Ah, a photo shoot?”
“Spartan is coming out with a line of swimsuits and he’s going to be on the cover of the catalog. You know—him striding out of the surf, hair matted back, buff and sexy as all hell, glistening drops of water coursing down his golden-brown body, Diamond Head in the background…
“Did I mention he’s not taking me along?”
“Uh, yeah, you did. But it’s a work trip, not a play trip.”
“It’s Hawaii!”
“Well, I’m sure it might be a little much to expect him to go up to his boss and say, ‘Oh, and my lover wants to come along—is that okay?’”
“You always did like him more than me.”
Luckily, I knew this was simply Tim being Tim and he didn’t mean a word of it.
“Okay,” I said. “You’re right. And if you get a divorce, you can have custody of the fish and Phil can move in with us. Three guys in one bed might be a little crowded, but it sure as hell would be fun.”
“Okay,” Tim said, laughing. “Cancel the divorce. So, what’s up with you guys?”
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” I said.
“If I can. What do you need?”
“I need to know the exact time Cal Hysong was shot off the I-beam. And I don’t imagine you would know where the shot came from?”
“I can check out the time for you first thing Monday,” he said, “but as to where the shot came from, my best guess would be from the roof of the parking garage across Evans. The angle of the entry wound indicated the shot most likely came from only slightly below. Hysong was on the twelfth floor, the parking garage is eight stories, and there’s a two-story service and equipment tower on top of that. Like I say, it’s just a guess, but I’ll check the notes that came in with him to see if there’s anything more specific.”
“I’d really appreciate that.”
“You’re not working on the case, are you?” he asked.
“Not officially, no,” I admitted. “But the cops did ask if I could keep my eyes and ears open in the community, and I said I would.”
Needless to say, I didn’t want to go anywhere near the issue of Jake and Jared’s suspected involvement.
“Who’s Uncle Dick talking to?” Joshua asked Jonathan.
“Uncle Tim,” Jonathan replied.
“I wanna say hi!” he declared, running over to me.
“Do you have a second to talk to Joshua?” I asked.
“Always,” Tim said. “Put him on.”
I handed the phone over.
“Hi, Uncle Tim! How’s Oscar? You got any more new fish?”
It took me a minute to remember he was referring to the new addition to Tim and Phil’s aquarium he’d seen when we were last there for dinner—a bright pink specimen with the word
oscar
in its species name.
Apparently, assured that Oscar and the other fish were fine, Joshua abruptly handed the phone to Jonathan.
“Here,” he said then dashed over to join me on the couch to watch TV.
“Be sure to wish Phil a good trip for me,” I called to Jonathan.
When he got off the phone, he had an oddly sad look on his face. He came over and sat on the other side of Joshua, putting his arm around the boy, who leaned into him. He didn’t say anything, but I knew it was the mention of Phil going to Hawaii that had triggered the memory of the death of his brother Samuel and sister-in-law Sheryl. Joshua’s parents had been killed in a head-on car crash while returning from a vacation in Hawaii. The anniversary of their death was coming up, and I knew not a day had gone by that Jonathan had not thought of them and grieved for their loss.
*
The weekend passed, as all weekends tend to pass, far too quickly. In addition to the endless weekend chores, we managed to take Joshua to a local park for a couple of hours, and on Sunday afternoon we went to a concert by the Gay Men’s Chorus at the MCC. I must admit, I was pretty impressed, and Jonathan, who had sung in his church choir back in Wisconsin, was so enthralled he announced he’d like to think about trying out for it. Where he’d find the time, I didn’t know, but I didn’t discourage him.
True to his word, Tim called during his coffee break Monday morning to report Hysong’s death had occurred at one thirty. Jared and Jake hadn’t gotten back to the city until after two-thirty. The question of whether the time-stamped gas receipt would help or hurt them was resolved—and not in their favor. If only they’d stopped for lunch, or…
Yeah, well, thinking about “if only” was a waste of time.
The missing gun, Jared’s past history with Hysong, Hysong’s having given Jake AIDS, Jared’s having been a sniper in the service, and now the gas receipt.
Jeezus!
I put in a call to Marty at the City Annex. I didn’t expect him to be in and he wasn’t, so I left a message asking him to call. Less than ten minutes later, he did.
“Meet me at the fountain in Warman Park around twelve fifteen,” he said. “We can grab something to eat from one of the carts, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.” It was obvious from traffic sounds in the background he was calling from a pay phone and that he didn’t have much time to talk.
“See you then,” he said and hung up.
*
I took the bus to Warman Park and got there shortly after noon. It was a nice day, and since school had started, the usual crowd of noisy kids racing around and either splashing around in or trying to climb into the fountain was absent. Just office workers and a few tourists milling about or seated on the benches by the fountain having lunch.
I waited until I saw Marty coming across the street from the direction of the City Annex then vectored in to meet him at one of the vendors’ carts. We each got a Polish dog with the works, a soda, and chips then found our way to an empty bench on one of the side paths.
“Dan had a dentist’s appointment,” he explained as we sat down. “Otherwise, I probably couldn’t have met you.”
“I gather I’ve slipped from grace with the department.”
He took a large bite, chewed and swallowed before answering.
“Not really, no. We all—well, Lieutenant Richman and I especially, since we’ve known you longer—understand your position, but admittedly it does create some problems for us as far as our being able to rely on you for information. I know that sounds harsh, and it is, but that’s just the way it is. It’s awkward for all of us that two friends of yours are involved in a murder investigation.”
I knew he was right.
“Yeah,” I said, “but God knows you shouldn’t have any lack of possible suspects. Every guy who knew what Hysong was doing had a damned good motive.”
“True,” Marty said. “But not all of them owns a commemorative issue Winchester Model 94, which just happens to have been ‘stolen.’ And the only person we’ve heard of to have taken Hysong on—twice—is Martinson. And if either he or Jacobson has AIDS and got it from Hysong, that amps up the motive aspect by a factor of ten. Plus, though they claim not to have been in town when Hysong was shot, we have a time-stamped gas receipt that all but proves they were.”