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Walt kept a straight face. “There’s the forensic evidence,” he reminded. “The pollen. He was on the Engleton property.”
“We all know juries love this shit. But judges take more convincing. And I don’t see anywhere in here a lab comparison of the flowers up at the Engletons’ to what was found on Gale. Do I?”
“That kind of lab work can take weeks.” In fact, Walt had been refused the collection of evidence by the Engletons.
“Not my problem.” Aanestead handed the folder back to Walt and eyed the thirteenth tee. “You play, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“We ought to knock it around together sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
Aanestead glanced at the thirteenth for a second time. His partner looked ready to explode as yet another party reached the twelfth green.
“What about Fancelli?” Walt asked. “I followed a pickup truck thinking it important to the Gale killing, only to have a deputy figure it differently. But I can use it. We can use this to our advantage.”
“You’d be going out on a limb. I would doubt that federal law’s been tested for some time.”
“There was that class-action suit against Northwest Generation in Wyoming.”
“That was birds frying on high-tension lines, not some bow hunter plucking roadkill. It’s federal law, not state.”
“But it’s on the books.”
“Yes, it is. But untested.”
“You see where I’m going with it.”
“I do. It’s creative, and I think important. A scumbag like that, you take him down however you can.”
“That’s the point.” Translation: the voters would approve.
“I’ll not only back you on this Fancelli thing,” Aanestead said, “I’ll hold a press conference and lay it out there and hope that helps us get a foot across the finish line.”
Surprise.
“I’ll want you by my side,” he said.
“Not a problem,” Walt said.
“You want my guys to leak it?”
If the press were notified, it might mean Fiona was sent to photograph the arrest. Walt shuddered at the thought.
“Probably better off not.”
“You sure? Hell of a card to play, a front-page piece showing a guy in cuffs. Talk about prejudicing the jury pool.” He punched Walt lightly in the shoulder. Things were getting too friendly for Walt.
“I’ll notify your office when we have him in custody. How’s that?”
“How soon are we talking about?” He didn’t want to be caught on the back nine by reporters. Wouldn’t look right.
“I can hold off for about an hour,” Walt said.
“You’re a good man, Walt,” Aanestead said, gri
“My guys’ll call your office once we’ve got him,” Walt repeated.
“I’ll want you by my side.”
“Understood.”
“You’re going to need a hell of a lot more before you’ll have me signing off on Tulivich. She’s a dead end, Walt. Nothing but trouble.”
“Okay.” He tried to sound disappointed, while inside he was celebrating the man’s predictability. It wouldn’t be the first time the evidence came up short despite having a suspect in the sights.
“I wouldn’t go there unless you have the dead guy sitting up and pointing a finger at her.” He smiled. Perfect teeth standing out against the wicked tan. Walt was looking at the next attorney general, and both men knew it.
“It may go unsolved,” Walt warned, again keeping the celebration out of his voice.
“Hell of a game,” Aanestead said, holding his club, but looking Walt in the eye somewhat suspiciously. He’d picked up on Walt’s relief.
“Hell of a game,” Walt echoed.
46
Walt focused intently on the small log cabin in front of him.
One of twelve homes in a subdivision dating from the 1980s, it was log with forest green trim and asphalt shingles. Two mountain bikes sagged next to the front door, along with a pair of work boots and a dog bowl. The F-150 was parked in the driveway. Lisa’s house was one to the left, a charming home with wooden flowers painted primary colors in a line across the lawn. Strung between two of the flowers was a small sailcloth ba
Walt didn’t see Lisa’s house. He barely saw the Fancelli place. Instead, as Brandon sat quietly in the seat beside him, his arm in a sling, Walt saw only the horror of what Lisa had witnessed; he heard the slapping of the bed frame against the wall as she had heard it; he felt sick, as she had felt.
“It’s not like he’s going to give us a hard time, you think?” Brandon ventured.
“We need him.”
“How’s that?”
“Our witness, Maggie Sharp, puts his truck there that night.”
“So this is or is not a take-down?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“What the hell, Sheriff?”
“We need to work it.”
“And I’m here because…?”
“You love this stuff.”
“True.”
“And I have a warrant, a search warrant to execute. But for now we have to execute it without his knowing what’s going on. Keep him thinking it’s about bird feathers.”
“So plain sight for now.”
“Exactly.”
“Which is where I come in.”
“Now you’ve got it,” Walt said.
“And you sweet-talk him.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And if it doesn’t get that far? If he bolts on us?”
“We can’t afford that,” Walt said. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why it’s you and me instead of anyone else. We can’t scare him. We can’t let him know the real reason we’re here, or the card we can play. It’s not an arrest. We’re lucky to have found him. You’re the only one I trust to understand how to play that. The other guys, knowing the crime, might allow that knowledge to get the best of them.”
“I understand.”
“So be cool in there.”
“Despite the fact this guy’s a bastard of the first order and I’d like nothing more than to make his arrest as uncomfortable as possible. Maybe dislocate a shoulder or two.”
Walt’s guys occasionally played the resisting arrest card, the same as in any other cop shop, took their frustrations with the system out on the suspect, made sure the arrest was as painful as possible, since the system tended to coddle suspects: jails with television and fresh food; an hour a day outside; gym equipment. A few of the suspects deserved the black hole and everyone knew it. Arresting deputies felt it their responsibility to punish the person right to the edge of what was tolerated, and sometimes a touch beyond.
“Not this time, Tommy.”
“Understood.”
“You’re the one guy I trust.”
“Got it.”
Brandon took the back side of the home, going around the far side, looking for windows without screens on his way to cover the back door. He stood at the corner with a view of a potential escape window, but within a few steps of the back door. He clicked his radio once.
Walt, waiting at the front door, heard the radio click and knocked and rang the bell within a second of each other. The Wood River Valley was not a place residents checked outside before opening their doors. A beautiful girl opened the door. She wore a loose shirt which obscured her figure.
“Your father here? Dominique Fancelli?”
Maybe it was Walt’s use of his formal name. She stood staring, clearly unable to speak. She nodded. “Stepfather,” she finally managed.
“Would you tell him the sheriff’s here, please? Sheriff Walt Fleming.”
“’Kay.” She filled her lungs. “D… a… d!!!” She then hesitated, swallowed, and added, “Sheriff ’s here to see you!”
Walt thought her face grew more ashen as the clomp of footfalls approached. More sullen. He understood the risks involved by his coming here. If there was any suggestion, any indication she had spoken to the police about her situation, it could mean a beating or even death. Walt’s mission was to get as much as he could from the man, and then to separate the two and make sure things remained that way. As Fancelli arrived at the other side of the screen door, Walt reached up and pushed the button on his radio mike twice. Brandon now knew Walt had made contact. Even so, his deputy would not leave his post until and unless a second signal was sent.