Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan) (33 page)

Olivia examined that possibility. “It’s true, Ernie was surprised to hear I was from the Sun-Dispatch.”

“We know Dale was under pressure from Felicia to get money,” Maggie said. “Maybe he figured he would keep quiet a while and collect from Ernie.”

“Blackmailing someone like Ernie? Someone who’d blow up a plane? Not very wise,” said Jerry.

“Dale did need money,” Olivia said. “But it doesn’t seem like a risk he’d take.”

“No.” Maggie combed her fingers through her curls. “And there are other problems. First, Ernie was at that counselor’s at the most likely time of death. And a brass lamp seems a strange choice of weapon for a guy who’s a walking arsenal.”

“Wonder who he went drinking with?” mused Nick.

“Dale?” suggested Jerry. “If Dale was blackmailing him—”

“Dale got out occasionally,” said Olivia dubiously. “But it was hard for him. He’d make the arrangements by phone, I think. Besides, the bartender didn’t recognize Dale’s photo.”

“Right,” Nick agreed.

“For that matter,” added Olivia, “I could have sworn Ernie didn’t recognize it either. But we know Dale found Mike’s photo, don’t we? Oh, God!” She halted in sudden disbelief.

“You’ve thought of something?” Maggie jumped up and ran to Olivia’s end of the sofa.

“But it can’t be! But he has a blue Ford—and he was first on the crash scene, he could have picked up the photo—see, Ernie didn’t say Dale found it, he said the reporter found it—oh, God!” Things were beginning to make horrible sense.

Maggie, perched eagerly on the sofa arm by Olivia, asked, “Who, Liv? Who?”

“It wasn’t Dale who found the photo. It wasn’t Dale blackmailing Ernie. See, when Ernie phoned to check on me, he called the person Rosie.” Olivia raised her astonished gaze to Maggie’s. “It was Nate,” she said with certainty. “Nate Rosen!”

20

Holly had deployed her forces. Winks had been sent to get a search warrant for Nate Rosen’s home, car and office at the Sun-Dispatch. Gabe was on his way to Bo Morgan’s to show the boy a set of photos, including Rosen’s, in the hopes that he’d recognize yesterday’s visitor. Afterwards, Gabe would visit the bartender at Donovan’s Bar with the same photos.

A couple of uniformed cops had accompanied Ernie Grant to surgery. They’d wait for him to wake up and let Holly know so she could get a statement. The next thing on her own agenda was to take Olivia, Maggie, Nick and Jerry to the station house for official statements. Right now the four were changing the tire of the van while Sarah napped in the car, so Holly decided to take a last look around Ernie’s house. She’d leave the place under the care of a couple of patrol officers and come back for a more thorough search tomorrow.

She started around for one last quick tour. This house was not really Ernie’s, it was his parents’ home still. Their bedroom sat untouched in the front corner of the house, their flowery curtains and bedspread still in place. Ernie’s own room was the only area that gave any sense of the man, and even there the message was split, a boy’s collection of model airplanes on one wall vying with a handsome display case of real firearms on the other. Nothing, unfortunately, that could fire through a keyhole, knock a lamp onto a guy’s head, and then disappear without leaving a trace. She stood looking at the well-oiled weapons for a moment. A lot of them. She could understand his obsession. Nam peeled off your youthful sense of invulnerability pretty damn quick. Left you always watching your back, building psychological bunkers, setting up defensive perimeters even in the so-called safety of home. All those rifles, shotguns, automatics. Attack dogs. She felt bad about the dog. The only creature in the world that Ernie trusted. She closed her eyes. She felt so bad about the dog.

Cut it out, Schreiner. Don’t get sentimental, this ain’t Benji we’re talking about.

“You okay?”

Maggie. Always hovering around like a goddamn guardian angel, equally ready to produce a lost child or a skillfully thrown boot. Holly swiped hastily at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah. Just sorry about the dog.”

Maggie mulled that over for a moment. “Yeah. Poor Sarge. Another brave and loyal soldier lost in the wrong cause.”

Was that it? Was that what choked her up about the dog? “He should have been a hero,” said Maggie gently, and added, “So should Ernie. And so should you. You should all have been heroes.”

Holly was trembling. When Maggie put her arms around her, she shoved back at her angrily. Be strong, Schreiner. But Maggie was stronger, would not be pushed away this time. She held Holly tight. “Let it out,” she murmured. “Please don’t let it kill you too. We need you.”

Holly was shaking uncontrollably. She fought it another moment but then the tears started and she had to give in. Locked in the safety of those arms, she rested her head on Maggie’s shoulder and let the shuddering sobs escape, let someone else be the strong one. Maggie held her a long time, stroking her hair, rocking her gently in her arms, until at last the weeping was spent and Holly stood exhausted. Maggie pulled a packet of tissues from her bedraggled blue dress and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Holly swabbed at her ravaged face. “Uh—”

“If you say you’re sorry I’ll kick you in the shin!” said Maggie fiercely.

“Yeah, okay.” Holly pulled herself together, managed a trembly grin. “God, with peaceniks like you, who needs wars?”

“Yeah,” said Maggie. Her grin was shaky too.

Holly looked down at Ernie’s braided rug, then up again into the blue eyes. “Maggie, can you tell me why?”

Maggie shook her head slowly. “We have to work out the meaning for ourselves.”

“And if there’s no meaning?”

“Then we have to bear witness to the waste.” Maggie shrugged. “All I know is it can’t be ignored. Can’t be forgotten.” She looked at the weapons display. “And there aren’t any shortcuts. Quitting before we’ve worked it out is dangerous. Revenge won’t cure grief.”

Holly nodded. Ernie had quit too soon. Mitch might have helped, all that talk about confronting pain, renewing life. Helping a guy do it for himself.

Maggie’s mind was running along the same track. She leaned back against the wall and said, “This counselor you called, Mitch. Ernie’s friend. He works with vets?”

“Vietnam vets. Yeah, a rap group.”

“Have you joined it?”

“It’s for men only.”

“Why? You’re a vet.”

“Hey, look, are you kidding? Nurses weren’t their buddies. If they got wounded, okay, we were their moms. Like Ernie just now. But if we went to a party we found out that off-duty we were nothing but round-eyed pussy.” Holly waved away Maggie’s indignation. “Guys we worked with were mostly okay, the doctors and corpsmen. They knew we were on the team. But guys like Mitch never saw us that way. Can’t expect miracles now.”

“Maybe not.” Maggie looked glum. “Especially since I bet half the rap group involves telling each other they were scared shitless. Can’t do that in front of some broad.”

“Yeah. John Wayne dies hard.”

“Maybe because there’s some truth in John Wayne amongst the lies.” Maggie studied Holly a moment, a tiny frown between her brows. “You’re a good detective. You like homicide work.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, really. It satisfies something.”

“Yeah, okay, I like to figure out why the poor suckers bought it. So what?”

“So maybe—well, it’s just that in Vietnam guys died and no one could tell you why. You don’t want that to happen to Dale Colby and the others.”

Nurse, tell me wh
y
. Holly said, “Maybe. Yeah, maybe so.” She did feel good when she managed to cut through the crap to a fact. To something real. Something authentic. “Sometimes,” she told Maggie, “when I’ve solved a case, they let me sleep for a few nights.”

“They?”

“The dreams. It’s as though for a little while—I don’t know.” She remembered Mitch’s words. “As though my survival means something.”

“Yeah. That’s good. You’re onto something,” Maggie said eagerly. “Look, Holly, we’ve got to find someone to work through this stuff with you.”

Holly felt suddenly betrayed. “You think I’m crazy too!”

“The hell I do!” Maggie shook her black curls fiercely. “You’re a normal, smart human being who had to go through something inhumanly horrible! Seems to me that hurting and grieving about it proves you’re not crazy. If it didn’t bother you—now, tha
t
woul
d
be sick.”

She was right, damn it. It wasn’t crazy to hurt. To hell with Alec. With Mitch. Though Mitch almost understood even if he wouldn’t help. He knew that the dead refused to go unremembered. Knew that trying to be numb wouldn’t work no matter how hard you wished it would. Holly pushed back her hair and looked at the woman who kept prodding her toward this necessary unwelcome knowledge. “You know,” she said acidly, “your brother is right. You are a maggot. Always gnawing away.”

Maggie grinned sadly. “Guilty as charged. Just trying to uncover what’s healthy and alive.”

Healthy and alive? That needed some thinking about. Holly said slowly, “There was this other nurse. Billie Ann. She wrote me a couple of times but I didn’t answer.”

“Call her,” Maggie urged. “You need each other.”

“Maybe so.” Holly looked around the room and returned to the immediate problem. “I just wish I could do something for Dale Colby.”

“You’ve got Nate Rosen, right?”

“No. I mean, even if everything works out, and we get proof that he was at Colby’s yesterday afternoon, and that he was worried that Dale would find out he was blackmailing Ernie, and so forth—even then, we don’t know how he got in and out of the room. And his attorney will hammer that home for the jury.”

“Yeah.”

“Except for that, it’d be a pretty case. No sweat.”

“Yeah. Oh, God!”

“What’s wrong?” Holly stepped toward Maggie, concerned. She was standing with one hand jabbed into the black curls over her forehead, her eyes closed. After a moment her hand dropped and she looked bleakly at Holly.

“Sorry. Just remembered a phone call I have to make. God, did you ever notice how life can be a shitheap?”

“That fact has come to my attention.” Holly put her arm around Maggie’s droopping shoulders. “Hey, buck up now, Maggot. Let’s go get this damn paperwork out of the way.”

Near midnight Holly sat across from Nate Rosen in the interrogation room, Gabe quiet with a notebook in the corner. Nate looked even more mournful than usual, worry written in his wrinkled forehead and the nervous motions of his long fingers.

“We’re not ready to charge you with anything yet,” Holly explained. “But we’d like some information.”

“Do I need a lawyer? I didn’t do anything.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, where his fingers twitched nervously.

“You’re not under arrest. But you could clear up some questions for us.”

“Arrest?” There was panic in his voice. His hands jerked out of his pockets and a note fluttered to the floor. Gabe picked it up and handed it back politely.

Holly repeated, “You’re not under arrest. We just have some questions.”

“Do I have to answer?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” She watched him alertly. “You want to help us find the guy who killed Dale, right?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah.” The implications of not answering were sinking in. “Yeah, let’s talk, then.”

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning, with Representative Knox’s plane. You went to the scene of the crash as a reporter, right?”

“Yeah, I was in my car. Heard someone talking about the crash on my CB. Drove right over.”

“You were first on the scene?”

“One of the first. The wreckage was spread out over the hillside.”

“Ernie Grant said you found a photograph in the wreckage.”

The name shocked him. He passed a hand over his face and apparently decided to brazen it out. “Yeah. The tail section was burning and a few people were there shouting. I noticed what looked like a hunk of the cockpit. The pilot’s, uh, body was nearby. I, uh, looked at his ID and stuff, and put it back. Then the emergency people started arriving so I ran back to the car and got to a phone.”

“A phone?”

“To call in the story.”

“Yes. Now, Ernie Grant mentioned a photograph he’d left with the pilot.”

“Yeah. I found it. Picture of Ernie’s Vietnam buddy pretending to be Elvis Presley. But I didn’t know that at first.” His brown eyes brimmed with worry.

“Nothing was printed in the Sun-Dispatch about the photograph.”

“No. I, uh, just took it to investigate. But I didn’t find out anything right away because there was so much else to do. The first thing I did was check the pilot’s name and the air charter company. They said it was a congressman’s plane so I knew it was a big story. Started working on the political side. Had to interview all those investigators, too.”

“Did you show the photo to the investigators?”

“Uh, no.” Nate studied his fingers and decided to add something. “I was so busy with the rest of the story.”

Just like Olivia Kerr. Holly sighed. Reporters were such very busy people. Weaselly people, valuable to cops but only when it suited them. Holly said, “Now, Mr. Edgerton said he’d assigned Dale Colby to the story too.”