Donald Harstad: Code 61

“And she's going to inherit the whole thing,” she said. “She seems nice, but there's something about her.”

“Really,” said Harry, “I think there's 'something about' everybody who has that much money, don't you?”

“Oh, yes. I've known her… well, known of her, since she was in high school. Always able to buy her way out of any sort of trouble.”

“Those rich kids always seem to get into their share of trouble, don't they?” said Harry, sounding bemused. He was really good at that.

“Yes, they do. Can I interest you in something else?”

“No, Royal Daulton is my thing, honey.”

“That's nice,” she said. “That Jessica, she does seem to have problems with her proteges, though. For some reason.”

“Oh, really?” said Harry, with more charm than I'd seen him display since his last murder trial. “Well, young people are a little different these days.”

“They just don't last,” said the clerk. “She has one now, with really horrible hair, who's been with her the longest of any of them. Must be all of three years. I don't give her much longer, and Jessica will be ready for a new one.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” said Harry.

“She really has bad luck with them. Some just leave, I guess, but one was drowned out there in the lake, and one was killed in a car crash just about four years ago.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. One ran off with a local insurance man. Ruined his family. I truly think,” she said, very seriously, “that it must be something with dancers.”

“Oh,” said Harry, cinffding in her, “I do agree. Yes I do.”

When we got in the car, Harry was smiling all over himself. “I still got, it, don't I? Don't I? Am I fuckin' charmin' or what?”

“Uhhuh.” I agreed. “Charm the birds from the trees.”

Hester was shaking her head. “I don't care what anybody says, Harry, you can be almost human if you really, really try.”

“You really think so? You ain't just being nice, Hester? Wasn't that great?” asked Harry, of either of us. “But, hey? Two deaders associated with Dirty Dan the Vampire Man? Nobody has to draw me a map of that one.”

As if to punctuate, Hester's phone rang. Hawkins. They'd checked out Hunley's home and studio. The silver 2000 Mercedes Benz SUV was nowhere to be found. Not conclusive, of course, but if Peale was in one of her two cars, and they had the BMW accounted for…

Hester thanked him, and then told him about Harry's conversation with the clerk. I couldn't hear what he said, but it took a few seconds. She said, “Right. Good. Thanks,” and broke the connection. She took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. “This damned case just keeps going, doesn't it?”

“Seems to.” “Well,” she said, “I hope Hawkins didn't have anything planned for the next month or so.”

“We gotta be careful,” I said when she was done with her call to Hawkins. “It gives good old Jessica a really sinister cast, here. Maybe more sinister than she would ever deserve.”

Hester gave a devilish smile. “Does, doesn't it?”

Our shopping spree over, we drove to Lake Geneva proper, parked, and went sight-seeing while looking for a place to have supper. On the way, we took a walk on the enclosed bricked dock and pier, called the “Rivera.” The Rivera had a ballroom on the second floor, and who knew what on the third. Turrets, as well. A thoroughly fascinating place. We could see Bridgett Hunley's enormous home from there, kind of a complementary balance to the Rivera. There were several inboard motorboats moving about, as well as a couple of late sailing boats. Nice scenery, and it gave a little insight into the young Jessica. And just how easy it would be for somebody to “drown” in that huge lake.

We stopped and looked over the pier rail. You could see fish swimming along the sandy bottom about ten feet down. Thinking of a body down there, the calming effect you normally associate with swimming fish was somewhat reduced.

The sky was clear, the sound of the water was soothing, and there was even some color still in the trees. It was gorgeous. I savored the thought that this was the first real perk I'd had in twenty years on the job.

We grabbed supper at a little place called Speedos Harbor Side Cafe, across the street from the Rivera. From our table, we had a fine view of the lake. While we watched, a rescue boat came gliding smoothly to the dock we'd just left. Brought the subject of drowning to my mind again. The coincidence of a drowning and a car crash taking her partners out was a little too much to buy. Maybe one had been an authentic accident, but both?

Hester was apparently thinking the same thing. “Car crash, especially fatal, is a lot harder to fake than a drowning,” she said.

“True.”

“The word 'true,' all by itself,” she said, “is absolutely no encouragement at all. Means you're humoring me.”

“True.”

Harry chuckled. “You're right, though, Hester. Odds are way against it.”

Car crashes really are a lot harder to fake. One of the reasons is that there's just such an enormous amount of data regarding wrecks that had been compiled over the last fifty years. That, coupled with the intense interest of insurance companies and courts regarding claimed damages, has produced entire fields of study that are related to car crashes. Every fatality is thoroughly studied, measured, photographed, analyzed, and subjected to reconstructive procedures that virtually ensure any foul play will stand out like a red flag. A good tiaffic investigator can tell you precisely what happened. Precisely. And if there are any inconsistencies, you'll hear about it.

Murder via car wreck is easy to accomplish, don't get me wrong. It's just virtually impossible to make it look accidental. Physics is physics.

“I wonder, though,” I said absently.

“What?” asked Harry, lowering his menu.

“Oh, I dunno. Just thinking. If you wanted to do somebody, it would be a lot easier to make a drowning look like an accident. Just for instance.”

“True.” That was from Hester.

I looked over at her. “You're right. No help at all.”

“Hey. I told you.” She looked out the window, toward the lake. “A little too much to drink, splash, gurgle. Nothing weird, just drowned.”

“Well, yeah. Bad swimmer… better if a nonswimmer. And, most of the time, people are murdered for mundane reasons like rage, for instance, or jealousy. Things like that. By people they know.” I looked expectantly at Hester.

“Jealousy is good,” she said. “Would lead to a more cold-blooded approach than the heat of anger. Just for example, you know? More of the 'gee look at the neat fish… splash… oops' kind of thing.” She pursed her lips. “Jessica ain't gettin' no younger, Pilgrim,” she said, sounding quite remarkably like John Wayne.

“True.”

That earned me a withering glance.

“Really, when you find somebody who seems to be just surrounded by, oh, certain events,” she said, avoiding the word murder in deference to a passing waitress, “there's just every indication that they may have something to do with causing those events. Like, if the drowning victim was messing with our vampire.” She half giggled. “Count boy-toy.”

I didn't say “true.” Harry did.

She drummed her fingers on the table. “Got to stop this speculation, Houseman. It's making it too easy to feel like there's some real evidence, here.”

“Sure makes the time pass, though,” I said.

She pulled her cell phone out and dialed.

“Can you get us copies of the investigations we just talked about? Both the car wreck and the drowning? Great. Great. Oh, and when did that drowning occur? Really? Well, that is interesting. Thanks.”