Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 10 (27 page)

The door opened. I steeled myself for another malodorous encounter with Raz, and therefore was surprised (okay, delighted) when the process server came into the PD. He was dressed as he had been the previous day, which meant he could attend the Voice of the Almighty Lord service on his way back to Farberville. If he wanted to, that is; I never recommend it for recreational purposes.

“Looking for the Flamingo Motel?” I asked. “It’s down that way, behind Ruby Bee’s Bar and Grill. There’s a sheriff ‘s deputy in the lot, so this might be a good time to serve the papers.”

“I’m not a process server,” he said as he sat down across from me and put a briefcase on the floor.

“You’re not?”

“That was your idea, not mine. It seemed easier not to contradict you.”

“Then who the hell are you?” I demanded, rising out of my chair.

“My name is Tonnato, and I’m in charge of the FBI office in Farberville. Your calls to the Little Rock office and to the bureau headquarters in Washington created quite a stir. I was ordered to cut short a visit to my daughter’s house and come back to Farberville.”

I stared at him for a moment, then swallowed and said, “Let me see some identification, please.”

He took a leather wallet from his pocket and tossed it on the desk. I gingerly opened it, as if it might explode, and found myself looking at a shiny badge and an ID card with Tonnato’s somber face.

“Okay,” I said, “you’re an FBI agent. Does this so-called stir I created have to do with Dylan Gilbert? Was he an agent?”

“No, but we were aware of his activities and to some extent, cooperated with him.”

“Well, you sure didn’t cooperate with me,” I said testily. “If he wasn’t an agent, who was he and why did he have the serial number of a weapon used in a homicide?”

“The young man, whose name was not Dylan Gilbert, was the son of the radio talk show host who was killed by a member of a Missouri-based militia. We were indirectly involved, since we monitor these groups in the hope we can catch them in a federal offense and come down hard on them. The killer was apprehended, but the victim’s son was convinced there was a conspiracy that stretched into Arkansas. We suggested he assume the identity of Dylan Gilbert, a sociopath who’d blown off several of his fingers making pipe bombs in his basement and then decided to squeal on his buddies from the sanctuary of the witness protection program.”

“You can do that?” I asked.

“Oh, Chief Hanks, we can do all sorts of things. We’re the FBI, not the DAR. The real Dylan Gilbert has been providing us with a great deal of useful information, including how to access the top-secret electronic boards. We allowed Sterling Pitts to get a limited confirmation of Dylan’s participation in the Colorado militia, then intercepted all his messages.”

I thought all this over for a minute. “Are you saying that the group in the motel is a part of this conspiracy? They don’t really seem”-I struggled for a word-” capable of anything more sophisticated than shooting paint pellets at each other.”

Tonnato shook his head. “I agree with you, Chief Hanks. I’ve been keeping an eye on them for several years. They share the same beliefs as other extremist groups, but they appear to be ineffective. This morning they were bickering among themselves with such fervor that two of them were on the verge of a fistfight. I was disappointed when it failed to take place.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, frowning at him. “How do you know what they were doing this morning? I would have known if you were skulking around the motel units.”

“I don’t skulk,” he said primly, as if I’d compared him to a coyote. “I merely listened in on the conversation that took place in unit Number Five. Would you like to hear a tape of it?”

“How did you get into the room to plant a bug?” I asked, thoroughly stunned by now and in danger of falling out of my chair.

“I had no need to get into the room, Chief Hanks. Over twenty years ago the technology existed to overhear any conversation held in the proximity of a particular telephone. All you had to do was dial the number and sit back. It was called an ‘Infinity Transmitter’ and was available to the public for less than a thousand dollars. Just imagine what government agents have these days.”

“But … how did you get the number?”

“I have resources,” said Tonnato as he took a midget-sized cassette and recorder out of his briefcase. “Since this was obtained without a warrant, it’s not admissible in court. I am not involved in your investigation and, even under oath, will deny the agency’s relationship with the victim’s son. Once you’ve listened to the tape, I’ll need to take it with me.”

His tone was affable and his smile back in place, but I had a prickly feeling that his eyes were warning me: “Don’t mess with the feds.”

“Okay,” I said meekly. “Let me listen to it.”

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Ruby Bee carried the sheets as she and Estelle walked up the muddy logging trail. Lightning flickered every few minutes, and the thunder followed within a matter of seconds. Although it was late morning, the clouds were heavy enough to block out most of the light, giving the woods an eerie feeling of twilight.

“I’m beginning to regret this,” Estelle said as she picked her way through a puddle. “The hissy birds could be in Mexico, like you said, or in the bottom of a ravine with their necks broke. Diesel could have caught ‘em and be roasting them over a campfire. How in heaven’s name are we gonna find them?”

“I don’t know,” said Ruby Bee, “but I don’t aim to be in your station wagon when the creekbed floods and washes it down the mountain. We’ll sit out the storm in Robin Buchanon’s shack. After that, we can see if your engine will start.”

“How far is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ruby Bee repeated, this time with an edge to her voice. “I’m pretty sure we’re headed in the right direction, but-” She broke off and cupped a hand to her ear.

Estelle glanced at her. “But what?”

“I heard it again. It wasn’t a gun being fired, but more of a hollow sound. If I didn’t know those militia folks were at the Flamingo, I’d have thought they might be firing some kind of artillery weapon. Step lively, Estelle!”

They stepped as lively as they could up the road, saving their breath, and exchanged pinched smiles when they saw the lopsided roof beyond some trees. It wasn’t much in the way of shelter, not by a long shot, but they scurried inside and closed the door.

Estelle was about to ask about the mysterious noise when they heard the floor creak in what had once been Robin’s bedroom. “Oh dear,” she mouthed, jabbing her finger at the closed door.

“A bear?” whispered Ruby Bee.

Clutching each other, they inched backward toward the front door. A second creak was accompanied by a groan, and a third by a string of pants.

Estelle stopped. “That’s no bear. I’ll bet it’s an escaped convict that holed up here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I’ve never been an escaped convict, so I really couldn’t say. I do know bears don’t pant, though.”

Ruby Bee looked at her. “Why not? Remember when we went to the zoo in Little Rock in August and that polar bear was lying on the concrete, his tongue hanging out?”

“Are you saying you think there’s a polar bear in there?” said Estelle. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

The door opened and Dahlia came into the front room. “You got to help me,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Kevin junior is coming.”

Ruby Bee’s jaw fell. “What are you doing here, Dahlia?”

“I was lookin’ for Kevvie, but now I’m having a baby. I jest don’t know how to do it. The doctor said to time the contractions, so I’ve been counting oneMississippi, twoMississippi. As far as I can tell, they’re around two hundred and fifty Mississippis apart.”

After a moment of silence, Estelle said, “Maybe four minutes. What’ll we do, Ruby Bee?”

Ruby Bee stared at her. “How should I know? When I had Arly, I was in a hospital with nurses milling around like hens. When the pain got real bad, they gave me a shot, and when I woke up, they gave me a baby in a pink blanket. I think it’d be best to take Dahlia back to town.”

Dahlia’s face crumpled like a wet washrag. “I don’t reckon I’ve got time to walk all that way to the county road. Besides, I ain’t about to give birth under a bush in the middle of a storm.”

“Then I guess we’re going to find out what happened after they gave me the shot,” said Ruby Bee as she set the sheets on a crudely hewn table. “Is there a bed in the back, Dahlia?”

“Yeah,” Dahlia said, “but the rope rotted and the mattress is on the floor and pretty much gnawed up.

Ruby Bee thought for a moment. “Estelle, let’s drag the mattress in here and cover it with the sheets. It won’t be real comfortable, but it’s bound to be better than the floor. Once Dahlia’s settled, we can try to find some dry wood and get a fire going in the stove so we can boil water.”

“And do what with it?” asked Estelle. “Have a cup of tea?”

“That’s what they say to do,” Ruby Bee said grimly as she headed for the back room.

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I scanned the notes I’d taken while listening to the tape. Agent Tonnato, who didn’t seem tremendously interested, was finishing a cup of coffee and tapping his foot as if waiting for an overdue train. I’d heard the tape three times, but the sound of my own voice asking Sterling to step outside startled me each time. It was just as well I’d been in the parking lot during the taping and missed Reed’s crude remarks about my anatomy.

Tonnato set down the mug. “I need to go to the office and call in a report, Chief Hanks. I don’t know if anything said has relevance to your investigation, but I hope it did. I doubt we can make the homicide into a federal crime, so you’re on your own.” He put the tape player into his briefcase and stood up. “If you come across anything that might concern us, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed me a business card. “This has my home number.”

I got to the door before he could leave. “The homicide of someone you encouraged to infiltrate a militia doesn’t concern you?”

“Not especially,” he said, “and we didn’t encourage him. Once he made it clear that he wanted to do it, we assisted him in a limited manner-just as I’ve assisted you.”

“And he died,” I said bluntly.

“Yes, he did. I took the liberty of requesting that the state lab expedite the tox screen. Your county coroner should hear something by mid-afternoon.”

I held my position. “About this surveillance, Tonnato. Are you saying you can hear anything that’s said in this room from the comfort of your office? You can tape the conversation without a warrant?”

“It’s a very handy device,” he said, assessing his chances of leaving without being obliged to resort to karate or whatever it was FBI agents utilized to knock people senseless.

“Do you eavesdrop for personal amusement?” I persisted. “‘Do you listen to couples in bed?”

“I monitor the conversations of potentially dangerous people. You would agree that preventing the placement of a bomb in a building is more important than a warrant, wouldn’t you?”

“Do you keep files on everybody in this country?”

Tonnato gave me a disappointed look. “You’ve been reading their material. A lot of it appeals to the very people who have sworn to uphold and defend the laws of the land. Good luck with your investigation, Chief Hanks.”

He made it past me and went out to a nondescript car. I was still stinging from his comment as I watched him drive away, but since brooding does not become me, I made myself go back to my desk and reread my notes.

One discrepancy was impossible to miss: Barry Kirklin had told his cohorts that he was at the bar until almost 9:30 on Friday night. I’d closed the bar at 8:30 and gone to rescue Ruby Bee and Estelle from the two ostriches. Ergo, he’d lied.

A reason came to mind. I winced as thunder rattled the PD as if it were a cardboard box, then went outside and drove to the motel to talk to him. Les acknowledged my arrival with a nod, then resumed reading.

I knocked on the door of #6. Barry opened the door, started to smile, and then caught my expression. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “Are you alone?”

“Reed’s over drinking beer with Jake. Do you want to come in?”

I went into the room and sat in a chair. The telephone, once an innocuous modern convenience, was on the bedside table, but I didn’t care if J. Edgar Hoover was eavesdropping from his grave. “On Friday night,” I began coldly, “you arrived in Maggody and then went to Sterling’s room. Once you’d been dismissed, you went to Judy’s room, didn’t you? You and she fooled around for about an hour before you went to the campsite.”

He blinked at me. “Why do you think that?”

“Because it explains a lot of things. Jake had legitimate cause to suspect she was having an affair, which is why he was in town. Why didn’t he see you go into her room?”

“I drove away, parked behind a school, and returned on foot across the field out back. She let me in through the bathroom window in case Kayleen or Sterling was watching. I wouldn’t have risked it if I’d known Jake was spying on her, but we both thought he was at the camp. I lied about being in the bar, but I had to come up with something when …” His voice trailed off as he realized the implications of my questions.

“Don’t bother to ask,” I said, no doubt escalating his paranoia to heretofore unseen heights. “You found out later that night that Jake had been in town. Yesterday morning you managed to tell Judy to wait for you after the game started, and then retraced your way back to the campsite. You and she discussed this until the flare went off. At that point, she split it for the motel room and you did the same for the bluff. That’s why you were so vague about your location when the rifle was fired.”

“Aren’t you clever,” he said flatly.

“You probably should admit it, Barry. It’s not going to get you a slap on the back from Jake, but it does mean you and Judy have an alibi for the shooting.”

“I didn’t know I needed one,” he said in a voice that was oddly belligerent for someone who’d just confessed to adultery-and, if I ended up with a case of homicide, impeding the investigation.