Ridley Pearson - In Harm's Way

“I called nine-one-one, if that’s what you’re after, yes. Or maybe you already know that.” She studied him thoughtfully and won nothing back. “It scared the devil out of me and Mark. The drinking. Gunshots. I mean, we’re not very far away.”

“The drug use.” Walt made it a statement.

Gwen Walters seemed ready to say something, but didn’t.

Walt fumbled with his shirt pocket and produced a photo of Gale and laid it on the table.

“Have you seen him before?”

She shook her head. “I have to say he looks vaguely familiar, but no, I can’t say I know him.”

“A guest of Mr. Wynn’s? Familiar from that?”

Another shake of the head. “I couldn’t say for sure. There are so many.”

“But recently?”

“No, not recently.”

“How about her?” Walt said, following this with a copy of a newspaper photograph of Caroline Vetta.

The woman had been mid-sip of some iced tea when she froze in that position, her eyes trained onto the photo. She placed the glass down, looked at Walt, and then back to the photograph. “I couldn’t say,” she repeated far less confidently.

“She visited Mr. Wynn?”

“I couldn’t say,” she said yet again. “There are… Vince has a lot of friends. Many of them are women.”

“But she looks familiar to you,” Walt said.

“Is it Caroline?” the woman asked.

“It is.” Walt worked to keep any reaction off his face, while inside he’d gone electric. First-name basis.

“Different hair when we knew her. It changes her face dramatically.”

“You knew her as an acquaintance of Mr. Wynn’s?”

“She came here often for a while. Last year, this was. Ended around Christmas, I think. We heard about what happened to her. Poor thing. She was a sweet girl. Pretty as a picture.”

“How would you define their relationship? Warm? Hostile?”

“Same as any other, I suppose. On again, off again.” A light filled her eyes. “You don’t think…?”

Walt kept any reaction off his face.

“Vince?” She bordered on outrage.

“What do you think? Is it possible?”

“We had them down to dinner. Barbecues. Vince was always so entertaining. The stories he has.”

“And Caroline?”

“Caroline was good with men. Flirtatious. Attractive.”

She appraised him and he thought he saw her nod faintly, though he may have imagined it. The veins in her neck rose.

“The question that needs to be asked,” Walt continued, “is whether Mr. Wynn ever displayed his temper in her company. Did the arguments you overheard ever involve Ms. Vetta?” The questioning was better left for Boldt but there was no turning back.

“Vince argues with everybody, Sheriff. He’s confrontational by nature.”

“Including Ms. Vetta.”

“Of course! Yes. Okay? They argued. Vince is never afraid to take a position. No shrinking violet, he.”

Walt heard the word wrong. Shrinking violence. He took a second to process it correctly. And another few to collect his thoughts. “Did he ever hit or threaten her in your presence? And I caution you to carefully consider your answer.”

“Vince threatens everyone,” she said matter-of-factly. “He swears, he boasts, and he takes on anyone he wants to take on. It’s who he is. He enters the room, you know it. Some people are just like that.”

“I need a straight answer,” Walt said. “Caroline Vetta was brutally beaten to death. I need you to keep that in mind.”

Gwen Walters, overcome, struggled to keep her lips from shaking. She hung her head, nodding. “I get it. Poor thing.” Then she shook her head. “But did I see Vince actually hit her? No. Nor did I see him hit anyone else. Not ever.”

“But you heard things,” Walt speculated.

“We’re neighbors. Neighbors know a lot more than they ought to.”

It struck Walt then, hit him in the chest. He’d played it wrong from the start. Wynn knew something about this family they didn’t want known. The kids? Bedroom secrets? Drug use on their part? Who knew? But she had something to hide, to keep hidden, the same as Lisa’s neighbor, the same as Wynn, and she wasn’t about to open that valve because the water could flow both directions.

She stood from her chair, suddenly a different woman. Extended her hand.

“Sheriff,” she said.

“She’s dead,” Walt said.

“I don’t envy you your job. If I think of something,” she said unconvincingly.

They shook hands; hers was bloodless and cold and she quickly withdrew it.

Not another word passed between them. As he reentered the cathedral of light and made his way to the front door, he marveled that people lived this way.

He stopped there at the threshold, turned, and met eyes with her. Said nothing, but also didn’t move. Time suspended.

“For what it’s worth, their relationship, Caroline and Vince, seemed more business than pleasure. My husband wondered aloud, more than once, if she wasn’t more mistress than girlfriend, if you know what I mean?”

“A call girl.”

“A paid companion. When they were together it felt different. That’s all. Like they shared a secret but not the kind of secret couples share. I can’t explain it.”

“I think you explained it very well,” he said. And he thanked her.

“I need you,” Boldt said, as he and Walt stood talking beneath Vince Wynn’s basketball hoop.

“It went that bad?” Walt asked. “You want to double-team him?”

“Dodge ball. There’s a lawyer named Evers. Real piece of work. Wynn wants to put the Vetta death on Gale. Keeps it neat and clean.”

“Does he know about Gale?”

“Not that I could tell, but he’s no one to play poker with.”

“Did he blame Gale outright?”

“His lawyer wouldn’t let him go that far, but he would have if he’d been left on his own. Gale’s identity as your John Doe is going to leak. If we’re going to go after Wynn before Evers circles the wagons, now’s the time.”

“How do you want to handle it?” Walt didn’t want to come off as naïve, but also wanted to show the man respect.

Boldt said, “They were very well rehearsed for Vetta. Not so sure that would prove to be the case with Gale. I’d hint at the evidence-ask to see his vehicles, a subscription to the local paper, hint at hairs and fibers evidence and work to confirm the last time the two met.”

“Get him back on his heels.”

“And then maybe I’ll interrupt and revisit Vetta. A guy like this, he’s a multi-tasker and his work is a constant pressure cooker. We’re never going to win anything close to a confession, but maybe he shows us a few cracks we can exploit later.”

“He agreed to meet you in the first place because he doesn’t want the publicity. That’s in our favor. I take it we have hairs and fibers from the Vetta scene?”

“I like the way you think,” Boldt said. “Feel free to play that if you need it.” Boldt slapped him on the back.

Wynn appeared surprised as he opened the door revealing the two. “Harris?” he called into the house.

Harris Evers was balding and was one of those city people who didn’t look comfortable when dressing down for the role of country folk. His jeans carried creases, his bare ankles were the color of copy paper, and his black leather belt with its industrial clasp was intended for a pair of fancy trousers.

“Sheriff?” Evers said.

“Wondered if I might have a few words with your client.”

“Concerning?”

“You might call it a follow-up on the shots fired the other night.”

“I think not,” Evers said.

“You are aware your client, Mr. Wynn, threatened an individual to my face, said he’d kill the man and take his chances with the courts.” Evers shot a furtive glance in Wynn’s direction, his disappointment impossible to disguise.