Casting a cautious
glance toward the rapt group at the soda fountain, Wise said in an undertone, “We’ve recovered some circumstantial evidence that warrants further investigation.”
The agent was beating around the familiar bush Dutch himself had beaten around many times while he was a homicide detective. It was what you said when you knew a suspect was guilty as sin and needed only one scrap of hard evidence to nail his ass.
He pointed his finger at Begley. “I don’t need further investigation to know that the bastard spent the night with my wife last night. If he’s touched a single hair on her head, you’d better hope to God you get to him before I do.”
Turning his back on them, he strode to the lunch counter, grabbed Cal Hawkins by the collar, and plucked him off the bar stool. “Showtime.”
• • •
“If that motherfucker’s jealous temper blows my case, I’ll wring his frigging neck.”
This from the FBI agent who’d told Dutch less than sixty seconds ago that he didn’t condone foul language.
As he and the younger agent approached the soda fountain counter, their expressions were so resolute, their bearings so intimidating, Marilee felt like backing away from them. The older one barked, “Any of you know where he’s going?”
“Up the mountain to rescue Lilly.” Wes stood up and extended his right hand. “Wes Hamer, chairman of the city council, head coach of the high school football team.”
He shook hands with them in turn as they introduced themselves. Wes waved away the small leather wallets they proffered. “No IDs necessary. We know you’re legit. I’ve seen you around town a time or two,” he said to Wise. Motioning toward her and William, who were behind the counter, he said, “William Ritt, and his sister, Marilee Ritt.”
“Can I get you anything?” William asked. “More coffee? Some breakfast?”
“No thanks.” Marilee could tell that the one named Begley had grown impatient with the pleasantries. “I understood that Burton and his wife were divorced, that she even goes by Lilly Martin now.”
“He’s had a hard time accepting it,” William said.
“They lost a child, a daughter, a few years ago,” Wes explained. “People react differently to tragedies like that.”
Begley looked over at his partner as though instructing him to make mental notes. Marilee figured he already was.
“What do you know about her being marooned with Ben Tierney?” Begley asked. “Did they plan on meeting up there?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I seriously doubt it was a rendezvous.” Wes told them about the cabin previously belonging to the Burtons and its recent sale. “They were up there yesterday afternoon clearing out the last of their stuff. Dutch left for town ahead of her. Apparently on her way down the mountain road, there was some sort of accident involving Tierney. She left a cryptic message on Dutch’s cell phone, said that Tierney was hurt but that they were in the cabin, and asked that Dutch send help ASAP.”
“Hurt how?”
“She didn’t say, or how badly. There’s been no further communication. The cabin’s phone line had already been disconnected, and the cell service in these mountains is for shit—sorry, Mr. Begley. On good days our cell service around here is crummy at best. In bad weather, you can forget it.”
Wes took Begley’s silence as a signal to continue. “Dutch called on me last night to help him find Cal Hawkins. The guy he just hauled out of here? He has the town’s only sanding truck.” He recounted the aborted attempt to drive up the mountain road. “Finally even Dutch had to concede it was impossible. He’s damned and determined to try again this morning. That’s where he’s off to now.”
Wise said, “I don’t hold out much hope for success this morning either.”
“Try telling him that.”
“I’d like to get to that cabin myself,” Begley said, pulling on his overcoat. “Last thing we need is Burton charging up there half-cocked.”
“Do you really think Ben Tierney is Blue?”
“Where’d you hear that?” The look Begley fixed on William, who had ill-advisedly asked the question, would have halted a charging rhino. It stopped the storekeeper from stating the obvious, that he would have to be deaf not to have overheard their conversation with Dutch.
Nervously he wet his lips, saying instead, “It just makes a weird kind of sense.”
“Oh? How’s that, Mr. Ritt?”
“Well, everyone else in town is well known. Mr. Tierney is a stranger. We know very little about him.”
“What do you know about him?” Special Agent Wise asked.