Wild Fire (31 page)

If my other theory was correct, however, then time was all Madox wanted before he became a suspect. This bastard had already lit a fuse, and it was burning faster than it would take to find the bomb.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

W
e returned to Schaeffer’s car, turned around, and headed back down the trail. No one had much to say.

We were approaching the T-intersection where the undercover state troopers were still hacking away at the brush. Schaeffer stopped and asked them, “Anything to report?”

One of the guys replied, “The black Jeep did a recon ten minutes ago, and the driver asked us what we were doing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him we were clearing brush and leaves, which are potential fuel sources for forest fires started by careless motorists throwing lit smoking materials out the window.”

“Did he buy it?”

“He seemed skeptical. Said no one had done that before. I told him the risk of forest fires was very high this year.”

“Okay. Tell you what—call Captain Stoner and tell him I want two highway repair crews here filling potholes. Real highway workers, with two troopers along, dressed like road crew and leaning on their shovels like they do.”

The trooper smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you guys take off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Schaeffer continued toward Route 56 and said to us, “I think Madox is on to this surveillance by now.”

I replied, “He’s been on to the fact that he’s under surveillance since Harry Muller got caught on his property Saturday morning.”

Schaeffer pointed out, “We don’t know that Harry Muller got caught on his property.” He inquired, “Why was your friend sent here to gather information on Madox’s guests?”

“I don’t know, and neither did he.” I explained, “I spoke to him before he drove up here.”

Schaeffer probably thought he was going to get some information from us in exchange for saving us from Liam Griffith and taking us to the crime scene. So, to give him something that he should have had anyway, I said, “Harry was also supposed to check out the airport. Flight manifests and car rentals. The Feds will, or have already done that. You should do the same before that information disappears.”

He didn’t reply, so I added, “Kate and I happen to know that some VIPs from Washington arrived at the airport and may have gone to the Custer Hill Club.”

He glanced at me.

When you think you might be pulled from a case because you’re stepping on the wrong toes, you need to pass on the info to someone who might run with it—or at least hold it until they decide what to do with it.

I gave Schaeffer another tip. “You should keep the information about your Custer Hill surveillance to yourself for a while.”

Again, no reply. I think he’d be a little more chatty without an FBI agent in his backseat. But I’d said what I had to say, and I’d repaid him for his favors. What was written in Harry’s pocket was not information that Major Schaeffer needed to know.

Now it was my turn, so I asked Schaeffer, “Do you know this guy Carl? Sort of Madox’s right-hand man, or maybe bodyguard.”

Schaeffer shook his head. “I don’t know anyone at that lodge. As I said, his security people are not local. He has his barracks where he keeps them, and they probably do a week on, then go home, then back for another week or so of duty. As for the house staff, I have the impression they’re not from around here either.”

That was interesting.

“There’s more population north of here, outside the state park, starting with Potsdam, then Massena. In fact, the Canadian border is less than fifty miles from where we are right now, and I know that a lot of Canadians commute to work in the tourist industry here. So, if I was Madox and I wanted staff from out of the area, I’d go whole hog and get them from out of the
country
so that their gossip was not likely to travel back here.”

I hadn’t met any of the house staff, and I can’t tell an upstate accent from a Canadian accent, anyway. As for the security guys, whatever accent they’d been raised with had been replaced by an affected, clipped, military manner of speaking.

Schaeffer informed us, “I made a call this morning and checked that Enterprise plate number, and the car was rented to a guy named Mikhail Putyov.”

I didn’t reply, so Major Schaeffer said, “Sounds Russian.” He added, “And maybe he’s still at the lodge. No one has left the Custer Hill Club since last night.”

“Right. Aren’t you glad you did that surveillance?”

Major Schaeffer ignored that. “The guy I spoke to at Enterprise said two FBI agents, a man and a woman, came around yesterday and got copies of all his rental agreements. Do you know anything about that?”

I asked evasively, “How did he describe them?”

“He said the guy was hitting on Max, the Hertz lady, and the woman was very pretty.”

“Who could that be?” I wondered aloud, knowing I was in more trouble from the backseat than from Liam Griffith. Thanks, Major.

Kate spoke up. “I guess that was us.”

I asked Schaeffer, “Didn’t I mention that when we spoke?”

“No.”

“Well, I meant to.”

I looked at the dashboard clock and saw it was 10:15 A.M. I said to Major Schaeffer, “By the way, this guy Putyov is booked on the twelve forty-five P.M. flight to Boston. If he’s going to be at the airport one hour before departure, as required, he should be leaving the Custer Hill Club shortly—assuming he’s at the club.”

“How do you know Putyov is booked on the twelve forty-five flight?”

“Didn’t I mention that Kate and I did what Harry was supposed to do at the airport? Flight manifests and car rentals.”

“No, you didn’t.” He reached for his radio.

I said, “Madox’s security guys are certainly monitoring the police band. Use your cell phone.”

He glanced at me, and I couldn’t tell if he was impressed with my brilliance or worried about my paranoia. In any case, he used his cell-phone directory and called his surveillance team. “Anything to report?”

He had the speaker on and the trooper replied, “No, sir.”

“Well, there may be a vehicle coming from the subject property, heading for the airport. Advise our surveillance vehicle on Route 56.”

“Yes, sir.”

Schaeffer hung up and glanced at the dashboard clock, then did what I would have done first and called Continental Airlines at the airport. He got our friend Betty on the line and said, “Betty, this is Hank Schaeffer—”

“Well, how are you?”

“Just fine. And you?”

And so forth. I mean, pleasantries are nice, and it’s sweet that everyone in RFD land knows everyone else and that they’re all related by blood, marriage, or both, but let’s get down to business, folks.

Finally, Major Schaeffer asked her, “Could you do me a favor and see if you’ve got a guy named Putyov”—he spelled it—“on your twelve forty-five flight to Boston?”

Betty replied, “Well, I can tell you without looking it up that we did. But since then, I got a revised manifest out of the company reservations computer, and I saw that he canceled.”

“Did he rebook?”

“Nope.” Then it was Betty’s turn. “Any problem?”

“No, just routine. Call me at the office if this guy Putyov rebooks or shows up. Also, make copies for me of all your flight manifests and reservations for the last six days. I’ll pick them up later.”

“Okay. Hey, you want to hear something? Yesterday, a guy and a lady from the FBI come around, and
they
want copies of all my flight manifests and reservation sheets. They flew in on an FBI helicopter, so I knew they were for real and they had badges. So I gave them what they asked for.”

Betty went on awhile, then added editorially, “The guy had a real smart mouth, and I gave it right back to him.”

I didn’t recall that I was anything but polite, but even if I was a little smart with her, she hadn’t given it right back to me.
Liar.

Major Schaeffer glanced at me and said to Betty, “Well, thanks—”

She interrupted. “What’s happening? This guy said it had something to do with the Winter Olympics.” She laughed. “I told him that was in 1980.” She added, “The lady was nice, and you could see she was kind of fed up with this crackpot. So, what’s this all about?”

“I can’t say right now, but I want you to keep this to yourself.”

“That’s what they said. I would’ve called you, but I didn’t make too much of it at the time. Now, I’m thinking—”

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. Call me if this guy Putyov shows up or rebooks. I’ll see you later. Okay?”

“Okay. You have a good day.”

“You, too.” He hung up, glanced at me, and said, “Well, you heard all that.”

“I was very nice to her. Kate? Wasn’t I nice to Betty?”

No reply.

Schaeffer said, “I meant about Putyov canceling his flight.”

“Right. So, possibly he’s still at the lodge.”

“Yeah. He didn’t rebook.” He informed us, “These are small commuter airplanes, and the few flights we have are usually full. You can’t depend on running out to the airport and finding an empty seat.”

Schaeffer had a lot on his plate now, and a lot on his mind, but he had no idea what was going on beyond a homicide investigation. However, he knew something was going on at Custer Hill that interested the Feds and was not supposed to interest him.

We were approaching Route 56, and I said to Major Schaeffer, “Do us a favor and run us up to Potsdam.”

“Why?”

“We need to . . . actually, we’re trying to avoid Liam Griffith.”

“No kidding? What’s in it for me?”

“Well, then, just let us out on Route 56. We’ll hitchhike to Potsdam.”

“You might see a bear before you see a car.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m armed.”

“Don’t shoot the bears. I’ll take you.”

“Thanks.” I turned around to speak to Kate, but she looked a little frosty. I said to her, “I’ll buy you lunch in Potsdam.”

No reply.

Then, bigmouthed Schaeffer says, “Max is quite a looker. Funny, too.”

“Who? Oh, the Hertz person.” A little payback from the good major.

We were at the intersection of Route 56, and Schaeffer stopped the car, and asked, “Potsdam?”

I had a sense of déjá vu from when I was at this crossroads yesterday and made the decision to go see Harry at the Potsdam morgue rather than go as ordered to state police headquarters.

Now, we had to decide if we were going to face the music with Griffith before we got deeper into trouble, or go up to Potsdam and hide out.

Schaeffer asked again, “Which way?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Kate? Potsdam or Liam?”

She replied, “Potsdam.”

Schaeffer turned right and headed north to Potsdam.

It’s tough enough working a homicide investigation when you’re out of your jurisdiction. It’s even tougher when you’re on the lam from the people you’re working for, and your partner is pissed at you, and your prime suspect is a buddy of some guys who work for the president.

How do I get myself into shit like this?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

W
e chatted a bit about the case as we drove through the park preserve. When we got to South Colton, I asked Schaeffer, “Do you know Rudy who owns that gas station?”

“Yeah, I remember him from when I used to patrol this area. Why?”

“He’s Madox’s local rat.” I explained my brief association with Ratso Rudy.

Schaeffer nodded, and said, “This guy Madox has a lot more going on here than I realized. But as I said, he never caused us any trouble, and I don’t think he’s here that much. But from now on, I
will
keep closer tabs on him.”

I thought that there wasn’t going to be much more “from now on,” but I didn’t reply.

Schaeffer arrived at the same thought. “I guess he’s a murder suspect now.”

“Well, I think he is.”

“Do your colleagues in my headquarters think that?”

“I reported our suspicions to Tom Walsh in New York.”

“And what are you two doing in Potsdam?”

I replied, “Just taking a breather.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you go back to The Point?”

“Well, I think Mr. Griffith may be in our room using Kate’s makeup while he waits for us.”

“So, you’re on the run from your own people?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“No? How would you put it?”

“Let me think about that. Meanwhile, can we be assured that you won’t mention this to anyone?”

“Let me think about that.”

“Because, if we can’t count on your discretion, you may as well take us back to Ray Brook.”

“What’s in this for me?”

“You’d be doing the right thing.”

“When do I know that?”

“Oh . . . in about two days.”

“Yeah? So, you want me to commit a breach of professional responsibility and not mention to Griffith that I took you to the crime scene, and then to Potsdam?”

“Tell you what, Major. Ask him and the other FBI guys what this is all about. If they give you a straight answer, then send them to Potsdam to find us. Deal?”

“I think you’ll get the best of that deal. But okay. It’s a deal.”

“And I’m going to throw in the keys to my Hertz car, which you may want to move out of your parking lot on the off chance that the FBI practices good police procedure and goes through the lot looking for our rental car.” I gave him the keys and said, “There’s a picnic lunch from The Point in the backseat, and it’s yours.”

“This deal is getting better. What’s for lunch?”

“Probably snails. Also, if you want to cover your tracks a little with the FBI, you should call The Point and ask for us.”

Major Schaeffer observed, “You’d make a good fugitive.”

Actually, that’s what we were at the moment, but there was no reason to remind him of that.

We were on the outskirts of Potsdam now, and Schaeffer asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“Just drop us off at a subway station.”

I wasn’t sure if Major Schaeffer appreciated or got my humor, but he said, “I guess you need a car.”

“Good idea. Is there a rental place around here?”

“There’s an Enterprise.”

I waited for the rest of the list, but that seemed to be it.

We went through the center of town, then continued up Route 56, past the hospital where we’d seen Harry, and a few minutes later, we arrived at Enterprise Rent-A-Car.

Major Schaeffer parked near the rental office and said to us, “I don’t know why you want to avoid Griffith, or what kind of trouble you’re in. But if it wasn’t for the fact that you lost a friend and partner here, and that your colleagues are freezing me out, I wouldn’t be sticking my neck out for you.”

I replied, “We appreciate that. Your instincts are good.”

“Yeah? Well, I want you to prove to me that they are.”

“We’ll keep you informed.”

“That would be nice for a change.” He said to us, “Okay, I’m going to tell Griffith that I
met
you at the crime scene and that I delivered his message to you.”

I reminded him, “Get rid of our rental car.”

“Let me handle this, Detective.”

Kate said to Schaeffer, “Be assured, Major, that John and I will take responsibility for any problems this might cause you.”

“The only problem I have at the moment is hosting six Federal agents who are about to pull this case from me.”

I informed him, “There are more on the way.” Then I said, “Here’s the way I think Harry Muller was murdered.” I gave him my reconstruction of the murder as I thought it had probably happened. I concluded, “Look for signs that Harry may have been awake enough to kick the sides or roof of his camper.”

Major Schaeffer stayed silent awhile, then said, “It could have happened that way. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to finding the murderer or murderers.”

Actually, his prime suspect was still Bain Madox whether he wanted to believe that or not. I said, “Well, when you find a suspect, you can shake him up with that description of how it was done. It’s also good for your report.”

He nodded and said thanks, but didn’t offer me a job.

We shook hands all around, then Kate and I got out of the car and walked into the Enterprise office. I said to the lady behind the counter, “I’d like to rent a car.”

“You’re in the right place.”

“I thought so. How about an SUV?”

“Nope. I got a Hyundai Accent ready to go.”

“What kind of accent does it have?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll take it.”

I used my personal credit card since my employers had already paid for one rental car. Not to mention that I was on the run from them, and it would take them a while longer to trace my card than it would theirs.

Within fifteen minutes, I was behind the wheel of a little rice burner.

I drove back toward the center of town, and Kate observed, “It really doesn’t take that long to rent a car, does it?”

I thought I knew where this was going. “No, especially if I’m not asking for a copy of all their rental agreements for the last four days.”

“Not to mention the time you can save by not hitting on the rental lady.”

Jeez.
Here we were, up to our eyeballs in trouble, and some megalomaniac was about to start World War III or something, and she’s busting my balloons about a little kidding around at the Hertz counter a long time ago. Well, yesterday. I refused to play this game and remained silent.

She informed me, “You’re not single anymore, you know.”

And so forth.

We got into the center of town, and I pulled into a parking space near a coffee shop, and said, “I need coffee.”

“John, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah. I’m getting a coffee to go. What do you want?”

“Answer my question.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long are we going to be doing it?”

“Until we break this case or until our colleagues catch us, whichever comes first.”

“Well, I can tell you what’s going to come first.”

“Coffee?”

“Black.”

I got out of the car and went into the coffee shop, a local place, not a Starbucks, where I’d have to visit the ATM machine first.

I ordered two black from the spaced-out young lady behind the counter, and while she was mentally struggling with my request, I noticed a rack of pamphlets and free guides near the door. I plucked a bunch of them out of the rack and shoved them in my pockets.

The space cadet behind the counter was trying to figure out what size lid to use, and I said to her, “I need to make a local call. Can I use your cell phone?”

“Uh . . . ?”

The coffee came to a buck-fifty, and I gave her a five and said, “Keep the change for the phone call.”

She handed me her cell phone, and I dialed The Point.

Jim answered, “The Point. How can I help you?”

“This is Mr. Corey. Any messages for me or my wife?”

“Good morning, Mr. Corey. Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

“Hey, Jim, I have to tell you, this is the best twelve hundred bucks a night I ever spent, and that includes the showgirls in Vegas.”

Jim was momentarily speechless, then said, “I have two messages for you. Both from Mr. Griffith. He’d like you to call him.” He gave me Mr. Griffith’s number and asked, “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”

“Do you think I’d miss Henry’s woodcock? Do me a favor and call Sonny, and remind him that he was going to loan me a jacket and tie. Okay?”

“Yes, sir, that would be Mr. DeMott in the Lookout.”

“Right. Deliver the clothes to my room. Okay, see you at cocktails. Henry’s doing pigs-in-the-blanket.”

“I’ve heard.”

I hung up and handed the cell phone back to Ms. Spacey, who I think thought it was a gift. At least I didn’t have to worry about her remembering any of this if the Feds came around making inquiries.

I left the coffee shop, and out on the sidewalk, I had two thoughts. One was that I should stop being reckless and egotistical, and think of Kate’s career, and go see Griffith and spill everything to him, including “MAD,” “NUK,” and “ELF,” with the hope that the FBI could figure out what Madox was up to before it was too late.

The other was that I shouldn’t do any of those things. And the reason for that was that this case was very strange, and I didn’t trust anyone anymore. Except, of course, Kate, who was, in no particular order, my wife, my partner, my lawyer, my immediate supervisor, and an FBI agent.

And although I trusted her, with Kate, you never knew who was going to show up.

I was betting on wife and partner.