Archer Mayor - Bellows Falls

“Works for me,” Jonathon said after a short pause. “What did your toxicologist friend come up with?”

I’d told Jonathon of Padget’s theory about the aftershave, but I hadn’t heard back from Isador Gramm until early this morning. “Brian was right. It was laced with pure coke-a perfect match to what they found in his system, and nowhere close to the stuff in the toilet tank.”

“Which makes it ‘Good news, bad news’?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “A plausible scenario for how it got inside him, but not proof he didn’t spike the aftershave later and pretend he suddenly had a bright idea. Still, it doesn’t hurt him any.”

A woman poked her head through a doorway halfway down the hall. “Phone for you, Joe.”

I followed her into a large room with several desks scattered about. She ushered me into a glass-walled cubicle along the wall, told me to push the blinking button on the phone, and closed the door as she left.

I picked up the receiver. “Gunther.”

“It’s Kiley. We put feelers out as soon as you called last night. The only thing we got so far is some guy who sounds like he pulled the same stunt Bouch did. He dropped out of sight yesterday-totally. His name’s Peter Neal, works mostly out of the Montpelier/Barre area. There’s a chance he’s one of Bouch’s lieutenants. We heard he runs kids like the others did.”

“Could he have left the state to make a buy or something?”

“That’s what I asked, but disappearing without warning doesn’t fit his routine. There’s a buzz about it in his social circle.”

“You think he might’ve been hit?” I asked.

“Things’ve been peaceful in that area. I called the local PDs to see what they had. They confirmed Neal’s a probable dealer, but he’s known to keep his cards to himself-neat and tidy. All I got is the coincidence of Bouch and this guy pulling a vanishing act at the same time.”

I thought for a couple of seconds. It was interesting information-it was also payback in the subtlest of forms. In Steve Kiley’s eyes, we’d run roughshod over his task force. His revenge had been to deliver the goods in a timely, effective manner. “Point taken,” I thought.

Out loud, however, I said, “It can’t be coincidence. He must’ve cut and run.”

“From us?”

“From us, from Bouch. From what we’ve found out, you don’t want to be near Norm when things go sour. I don’t guess the local PDs have bothered finding out where Neal might be.”

“Nope.”

“Could I ask you a big favor, then?”

I could almost hear him smiling at the phone. “You can try.”

“If we’re right about Neal, then he’s probably run to neutral ground where he hopes nobody can find him-from either side. I’d love to get this one. You think you could squeeze his contacts till one of them fesses up? He has to have left a forwarding address somewhere.”

“I think we can do that.”

“Thanks Steve. I owe you a big one.”

“Yes, you do.”

I returned to join Jonathon on the bench, filling him in on Kiley’s discovery, including the latter’s satisfied sense of irony.

Twenty minutes later, the door to Judge Aumand’s office opened, and Kathy emerged with a tear-stained Jan Bouch. Kathy caught my eye from behind Jan’s back and gave me a thumbs-up.

I rose and took Jan’s hands in my own. “You feeling okay?”

Looking at the floor, she merely shook her head.

“You’ve done a harder thing than most people will ever have to do. We all appreciate it. It’ll get easier from here on. You’re with good people-they’ll see you and the kids get what you need.”

One of the Women For Women staffers appeared at the far end of the corridor to take Jan back to the shelter, apparently summoned by Kathy from inside the judge’s chambers. I released Jan’s hands and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call if you want, okay?”

She kept silent as the staffer gathered her up and escorted her back up the hallway. The three of us waited until she was gone.

“Arsene Gault. That name ring any bells?” Kathy asked immediately.

“It does with me,” Jonathon answered. “We’ve nailed him before for fraudulent business dealings. He’s a Realtor in Springfield.”

Kathy Bartlett explained. “Jan said his was the one name she heard time and again in connection to Norm, either when he’d mention it in passing, or when Gault would leave phone messages. As far as she knows, he never came by the house, and she never saw Norm meet him when they were out and about together. But the phone calls were frequent.”

“Money laundering?” I asked.

“It would fit,” Jonathon answered. “Gault deals mostly in dumps, selling to people with no sense and less money. He’s got the scruples of a cockroach.”

“Did Jan ever see Norm dealing drugs?” I asked Kathy.

She rolled her eyes. “Not that she told me. I must admit, I’ve had better witnesses. Most of the time, I was handing her Kleenexes. I didn’t get a hell of a lot more than what I just told you. The blanket was a home run, though. About the time Morgan disappeared, Norm dumped it in her lap and told her to wash and mend it. She said she didn’t notice any blood on it at the time and had no idea where it came from or ended up. Still, a jury loves that kind of thing.

“I think Gault’s the next domino to push over, in any case. I got the judge to grant an extension on this inquest, so the sooner you two can round him up-and all his paperwork-the better. My suggestion, Joe, since Jon and I do this all the time, is that he and I corral the legal forms and signatures, while you locate Gault so we can grab him when we want him. Is that agreeable?”

It was definitely that. With one amendment. “I think I might do more than just locate him,” I said.

Jonathon instantly took my meaning. “A surveillance?”

I shrugged. “Norm’s out there somewhere-maybe heading for Tijuana-but given what we think he did to Jasper, and how Lenny reacted to being exposed, chances are he’s nearby, sharpening his claws. If Gault’s as tied to Norm as we hope, he’s probably a walking target.”

Jonathon looked at me thoughtfully, too experienced to dismiss the idea. “Watch your back. We’ll be as fast as we can.”

Arsene Gault’s weather-beaten office was located on Wall Street in Springfield, a town three times the size of Bellows Falls, and a mere sixteen miles north of it. Once an industrial powerhouse, and birthplace of everything from steam shovels to gravel roofing to the jointed doll and the mop wringer, Springfield, despite harsh economic times, had managed to keep its head more successfully above water than Bellows Falls, if barely, and had certainly avoided its smaller rival’s bruised reputation.

Not that I could currently tell that I was in any kind of town. While Wall Street was fully within Springfield’s municipal embrace, this stretch of it was only sparsely inhabited and boxed in by a tree-choked embankment, making it look like a rural road.

It was the morning following the inquest, I was fighting the effects of too little sleep, and it was raining again. I stretched and looked across the street at Gault’s office. A product of the 1960s, it was one-storied, flat-roofed, clad in brick, and generally looked like a single floor of a New York tenement, except that it was much smaller.

I’d been parked here for three hours, having tailed Gault from his home that morning, and having babysat him most of the night. From what I could tell, he worked without associates or a secretary, and during the time I’d been watching, he hadn’t received a single customer. If he wasn’t wrapped up in crooked deals with Norm Bouch, I couldn’t imagine how he made ends meet.