My breathing had calmed enough by the time I got to the outskirts of Winnetka to pull over and call Bohler with the good news. ‘Your career is saved. We got the wrong woods. There’s soft ground the size of a fresh grave across the street.’
‘I’m done,’ she said.
‘I’m telling you, the ground is soft.’
‘Damn it, I told you to stay away from there.’ She was speaking fast. ‘If the Wades own that land their ownership will be impossible to trace. I wouldn’t be able to use any warrant, even if I could get one, for years. They’re powerful people, those Wades. If they find out you’ve been poking around across the street they might sue you and me for harassment. Stay the hell away, Elstrom.’ She hung up on me, maybe for good.
I stayed at the side of the road, thinking hard. The way she saw it made sense. I hadn’t tossed her a lifeline for her career; I’d offered up a chance to get in even more trouble. But the longer I sat, the louder the empty plastic jugs I’d fished from the river, tied with thick twine, beat in time with the idling engine, and against each other at the back of the Jeep.
Beating, too, with the beginnings of an inspiration.
I called Jenny. ‘Still in town?’
‘Until tomorrow.’
‘There’s a soft rectangle in the woods across from Wade’s place.’ I told her of the 100 Partners, my shovel and the guard who chased me. And I told her of Bohler’s refusal to take a chance on resurrecting her reputation.
‘You can’t blame her, Dek. And she’s right about the ownership of those woods. It could take years to untangle it and probably longer to find another judge willing to issue a new warrant.’
‘You once told me Jimbo stays up nights, listening to his police radio scanner.’
‘He says he gets the best stuff in the middle of the night when the crazies come out to play,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You shouldn’t leave tomorrow,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘Tomorrow is election day.’