White River Burning полностью

That way would definitely be easier. In fact, it would be so easy it obviated the need for two men—meaning that the double murder could have been carried out by either Beckert or Turlock. It was even possible one had acted without the other’s knowledge. If so, Gurney wondered if that might have had something to do with Turlock’s murder.

After a final look around the playground, as he turned to head back to the parking lot, he noticed he was being watched by one of the dog walkers—a short, muscular man with a gray buzz cut and two large Dobermans. He was standing in the middle of the path about fifty yards away. As Gurney got closer he could see anger in the man’s eyes. With little appetite for confrontation, Gurney stayed toward the edge of the path. “Good-looking dogs,” he said pleasantly as he was passing.

The man ignored the compliment and gestured toward the playground. “You one of the cops looking into this thing?”

Gurney stopped. “That’s right. Do you have any information about it?”

“Couple of the brothahs got what they deserved.”

“How do you figure that?”

“White River used to be a nice place to live. Great place to bring up kids. Safe little town. Look at it now. Street I live on used to be beautiful. You should see it today. Section Eight housing. Free rent for freeloaders. Next door I got a crazy son of a bitch in a dashiki. Like he’s actually from Africa. Lives with his two baby mamas. You and I pay for that! And here’s the thing. He’s got this black rooster. And white hens. That’s a hostile message. Every year he slaughters the white hens. In his backyard. Where I can see it. Chops their heads off. But never the black rooster. What do you call that?”

“What do you call it?”

“What it is. A terroristic threat. That’s what you should be worried about.”

“Do you want to make a complaint?”

“That’s what I’m doing. Right here. Right now.”

“To make a formal complaint, you need to visit police headquarters and fill out—”

The man interrupted with a disgusted wave of his hand. “Waste of time. Everybody knows that.” He turned away abruptly, gave a tug on the dogs’ leashes, and strode out into the field, muttering obscenities.

Gurney proceeded along the path to his car, reminded once more of the fear and loathing in the melting pot of America.

Once he was sitting in the Outback, it occurred to him that he should pass along to Mark Torres the fact that the murders of Jordan and Tooker could have been managed by one person. He placed the call. As usual, Torres picked up quickly and sounded eager to hear whatever Gurney had to say.

He explained his one-man theory.

Torres was quiet for a moment. “Do you think this should change our focus?”

“For now we just need to keep the possibility in mind and see how it fits with whatever else we learn. Speaking of which, have we found out if Beckert and Turlock have alibis for the night of the Jordan-Tooker murders or the night of the sniper shootings?”

“So far, no one we’ve spoken to recalls being with them on those occasions. But that’s not surprising. They didn’t exactly hang out with the troops. Turlock reported only to Beckert, and Beckert reports only to the mayor. You met Dwayne Shucker, so you can imagine there wasn’t much actual reporting going on there. Beckert’s wife’s been no help. Apparently has a busy social life, isn’t home much, and doesn’t keep tabs on her husband. As for Turlock, he lives alone. Nearest neighbor is a mile away and claims to know nothing about him.”

The Outback was getting hot in the afternoon sun in the unshaded parking area, and Gurney opened the windows. “The Jordan-Tooker file shows no real interviews after the murders, other than a couple of cryptic notations about tips from unnamed informants and a brief statement from the guy who found the bodies. Am I missing something?”

“Not as far as I know. Remember, I had the case for less than a day. Once Turlock took it over, it was all about the Gorts.”

“None of Jordan’s or Tooker’s associates were interviewed?”

“The only associates either of them seemed to have were the BDA members who were arrested in the raid on their headquarters. With charges pending, they were advised by counsel not to make any statements at all to the police.”

“What about Jordan’s wife?”

“She refused to talk to Turlock.” Torres paused. “Some people here see us as an occupying army.”

“Actually, I spoke to her today.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I told her I thought that someone in law enforcement might go down for the killing. She liked that idea.”

“I bet. Did she say anything useful?”

“She made it pretty clear that Marcel had gotten sexually involved with Blaze Jackson. And that Blaze is a nasty piece of work.”

“Wait, hold on a second.”

Gurney could hear an indistinct conversation in the background. When Torres got back on the line he sounded upbeat. “That was Shelby Towns. She said that a pair of boots found in the cabin are a perfect tread match for the boot prints found on the stairs in the Poulter Street house.”