The wounds on the officers’ throats could either be explained away as bites by a dog or other animal who happened onto the murder scene before the cops secured it. The fact that the skin bruising showed that some of the bites had been inflicted while the officers were still alive meant something, but could still be explained by animal attack. A dog or bear drawn by the scent of blood, biting the officers while they lay dying—it was a stretch, sure, but it was a hell of a lot more plausible than what Weinstock was thinking, and he knew that’s where Bob Colbert would go. As would any medical professional, and Weinstock knew that if he made the case and was not believed then his reputation, his career, and his job would be shot to hell, along with any chance he had of ever convincing anyone of the truth.
If it was the truth, and the more he played devil’s advocate with it, trying to see it from the outside, the shakier his own assumptions were becoming. “If you assume…” he murmured. So, where did that leave him? If every bit of the evidence, separately, could be disproved or cast into doubt, then what did he really have to make his case?
“Crow will be here Saturday morning,” he said aloud. “He knows this stuff…he’ll know what to do.”
(4)
“You’re here early,” she said.
Crow smiled down at her from the porch. He leaned against one of the whitewashed wooden porch columns, arms folded, posture casual and relaxed, and mouth smiling as Val trudged toward him from where her father’s Bronco was parked in the big circular driveway. “I left Mike in charge of the shop and thought I’d surprise you,” he said simply.
“A nice surprise,” she said as she came up onto the porch. She took a handful of his plaid shirt and pulled him toward her, and he came willingly enough. Their lips met softly, but with heat. After a long and delicious moment, she murmured, “Maybe Connie or Mark can fix us all some supper.”
“Nope,” he said. “They’re not home. I convinced them to go to the movies.”
“To the movies?”
“Uh huh. A nice, quiet Bruce Willis picture just opened at the Webster.” He shrugged. “Hey, the guy’s trying romantic comedy. No guns. No murder, not a drop of blood. Just him and Michelle Pfeiffer. Placid.”
“They actually agreed to go? Alone? That must have taken some convincing.”
“You stand in the presence of a master of the art, my dear, but truth to tell I bribed Harry O’Donnell and his wife to go with them. You know Harry…he’s with Mark in the Rotary. I had coffee with him today and told him that I needed a couple of chaperones to make sure Mark and Connie actually have a good time together. Harry was actually happy to do it once I guilted him into it by explaining that it was good therapy for Mark and Connie.”
“Ah. So we have a couple hours to ourselves?”
“I made them swear that they wouldn’t come home until at least eleven.”
“Must be a long movie.”
“I made dinner reservations for the four of them, too.”
“Really? Where?”
“The Vineyard Room at the Dark Hollow Inn.”
“So, instead of taking your
“Ah, my duckie, you fail to grasp the subtlety of my scheme. With them out of the way, it leaves this big, old, comfy house to ourselves.”
“So?”
“So, it’s a chilly night, baby, and inside there is a warm fire and some other goodies, all laid out for my lady fair.”
Her smiled seemed a little forced. “Look, Crow…if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“And why not? We already know it’s not too soon.”
She wasn’t smiling. “It’s more than that.”
Crow kissed her forehead. “I know what it is, baby. You think I don’t feel the weight of all this stuff pressing down on me, too? I know what you’re feeling, and I know that living with Mark and Connie is wearing you thin.”
Val leaned against him, kissed his chest and then rested her head against his shoulder. “I know…it’s just that…”
“Besides, my dear,” he said lightly, “you are presuming that you know my plans. I might have in mind a quiet evening of reading the Bible, drinking whole milk, and watching educational television.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure,” she laughed.
“My sweet baby,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “What I have in mind is just a chance for you to turn off your brain and relax.”
She snorted. “Relax? Maybe if I was shot with a tranquillizer dart.”
“Just happen to have one inside. C’mon, it’s cold out here.” Taking her good hand, Crow led her inside and nudged the door shut with his foot. He touched her chin and kissed her once, very sweetly. The wind had blown and tangled her dark hair, but she looked wonderful to Crow. He helped her off with her coat and tossed it onto a chair. They stood together just inside the door, in the wide living room, which was lit only by the warm fire crackling in the fireplace. The room was sweet with incense and the darkness was soothing.
