“Kline is not a credit sharer. He did it because he was trapped. Kronck was poking at the weakness of his resources and implying that he ought to bring in an outside agency, which Kline absolutely doesn’t want to do. He’s afraid it would be portrayed as a surrender on his part, and he wants to come out of this with a personal victory. Bragging about my background was a way to beat back Kronck’s suggestion that his department couldn’t handle the challenge.”
“I bet that Kilbrick woman tries to get you on her program.”
“It’ll be a snowy day in hell when I say yes to that.” He glanced at the time in the corner of the screen. “It’s twenty past six. You have any ideas about dinner?”
She frowned. “Tonight is my dinner meeting with the town political action group. You remember I told you about this, right?”
“I forgot it was tonight.”
“I may be late. Our discussions have a way of going on and on. There’s all sorts of stuff in the fridge. And pasta in the yellow cabinet.”
An hour later—as he was finishing the plate of spaghetti, diced tomatoes, zucchini, and Parmesan cheese he’d prepared for himself—he got a call from Cory Payne. There was a level of excitement in the young man’s voice that Gurney hadn’t heard before.
“Dave! Are you seeing the news stories on the internet?”
“About what?”
“The case! It started with RAM News announcing that you guys are focused on my father—who’s disappeared. The DA gave an interview about it, and all the other news sites are picking it up. Wild headlines are popping up. ‘Son Innocent, Father Guilty’—stuff like that. It’s all turned around. I’m not the target anymore. You must know all this, right?”
“I know some significant discoveries have been made.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it. I feel like I owe you my life!”
“It’s not over yet.”
“But it sounds like everything’s finally going in the right direction. Jesus, God, what a relief!” He paused. “Is this because of stuff you found at his cabin?”
“I can’t talk about that. Evidence disclosures would need to come from the DA. But that reminds me—why didn’t you tell me about the second key?”
“What?”
“You told me about the key for the cabin, but not the other one for the shed.”
“You just lost me.”
“The shed behind the cabin.”
“I don’t know anything about a shed. I’ve only been to his cabin.” Payne sounded mystified.
“Did he show you the cabin basement?”
“No. I didn’t realize it had one.”
“Where did he set up his reloading equipment?”
“On a dinner table in the middle of the room.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Maybe a flannel shirt. I don’t know about his pants. Maybe chinos? He never wore jeans. Oh, and some kind of disposable gloves, like doctors wear. I think to keep the gunpowder off his hands.”
“Since you came to live in White River, how much contact have you had with Judd Turlock?”
“I’ve seen him with my father. He wasn’t the sort of person you’d want to get to know. Even making eye contact with him was scary. One of the news stories said that he was found murdered at the gun club. Are you the one who found him?”
“I was there.”
“How was he killed?”
“Sorry, that’s another one for the DA to answer.”
“I understand.” He paused. “Well, the main reason I called was to thank you. Thank you for giving me back my life.”
Now Gurney paused. “I have another question. When you were a kid, before you got sent to that boarding school, did your father try to interest you in guns or hunting or anything like that?”
There was a long silence. When Payne finally replied, the excitement had drained from his voice.
“My father never tried to interest me in anything. The only concern he had was that I never do anything that might embarrass him.”
Gurney felt an unpleasant tremor of recognition. There was a time when he had a similar resentment toward his own father.
He wasn’t sure what to do next. He had the feeling that things were coming to a head and he needed to press forward. While the next step was eluding him, he decided to check his phone to make sure he was up to date with his messages.
There was just one, the call from Thrasher that had come in while he was watching
“Detective Gurney, Walter Thrasher here. No doubt the nonstop horrors of White River are absorbing your attention. But I feel the need to fill you in on the even more gruesome history of your own idyllic hillside. Call when you can. In the meantime, I’d strongly advise you not to do any more excavating—not until I prepare you for what you’re likely to find.”
Gurney felt a surge of curiosity and alarm.
He called Thrasher back immediately, got his voicemail, and left a message.
Then he forced his attention back to the White River affair and what unresolved aspect he should address first. The ice-pick murder of Rick Loomis came to mind, which in turn reminded him of the hospital personnel list and the fact that he still hadn’t examined the section covering employees who had resigned or been terminated.
