40

She let out a heavy sigh as soon as the door closed. It seemed as if she had pulled it off and that he had accepted her story. If he had guest registrations from that far back, she had no doubt he would look for her name on the day that Kay Parker had died. If he found it, she would ask him over dinner who else had been there that night. Robert Leavitt, for sure, but maybe other players in the sham they had worked on the local police.

Dinner was at one of the dining-room tables, lit with a candle while the other tables remained dark. There were just three of them: the innkeeper, his wife, and Jane. Over dinner, Jane explained that she was scouting a group house for the ski season. “Is the Andrews place for rent?” she asked casually.

“Doubt it,” the proprietor’s wife answered. “It’s never been on the market. But I could recommend a few places. How many in your group?”

Then the manager got serious. “Did you say you were up here for a business meeting?”

Jane nodded while she sipped at her soup.

“Same weekend as that woman was killed?”

“I think so,” she answered. “I know it was about the same time.”

“Well, we’ve got records back to then, but no business meeting. The place was pretty much shut down, just like now.”

“But one of our people must have been here. Wasn’t one of your guests named Robert Leavitt?”

His eyes widened in recognition. “Yeah, that was the name. He was the only one registered that weekend. And he stayed on for another few days while the police and reporters were here.”

She decided to stick her neck out. “Were Mr. Andrews and his wife ever registered here?”

“Not that I know of! I don’t think I ever saw either of them.”

She was beginning to fill in the scenario. The business meeting had just been a cover to explain why Andrews had gone up to his chalet. Bob Leavitt was doing nothing more than covering his boss’s tracks. Jane hurried through the meal so she could get back to her room and absorb everything she had just learned.

It wasn’t Bill and Kay who were enjoying a romantic getaway in the mountains. It was Bill and Selina. They must have realized they were being watched and devised this ruse so they could have a weekend together. Leavitt was in on the deception. But then how did Kay Parker get there? Obviously she wouldn’t have been invited. Jane remembered the Mountain Ridge police chief’s comment. He had mentioned a car parked in front of the house, supporting his contention that an intruder would not have thought he was breaking in to an unoccupied house. That made sense if the car parked in front of the chalet had been Kay Parker’s. That would mean Kay had come up on her own, caught the two lovers together, and run for the shotgun. Apparently Selina got to it first and blew Kay’s head off. A nice theory. The only question was whether any part of it was true.

In the morning Jane was up and out early. When she reached the parking area, she was amazed to see a light snow sticking to the trees and lawns. Her car windows were already covered. She drove carefully away from the inn and headed back toward the town. Only one store in Mountain Ridge showed signs of life. A truck was making a delivery. Past the truck, the lights were on in the police station. Jane parked, stepped inside, and found herself in a waiting area with one long wooden bench. She went to a door marked PRIVATE and knocked on the opaque glass. No one answered, so she went back to the bench to wait. Almost immediately, a weary-looking man in a heavy plaid shirt pushed through the front door, carrying a brown paper bag. His wire-rimmed glasses steamed up immediately.

“Saw you pull in, so I brought you some coffee,” he said. He opened the door to the private office. “C’mon in! The name is Pete. I’m the police sergeant. Whole darn police department when you get right down to it!” He enjoyed the humor of his standard introduction and held out his hand. The palm was callused and the grip firm. Outdoor living had kept his body younger than the mid-sixties lines on his face. Pete lifted folders and circulars from the crowded desk to clear space for the two paper cups. “Take a seat. I hope you like it black.”

“The only way to drink it,” she answered, and rolled up a wooden swivel chair to her side of the desk. She rubbed her hands together and then wrapped them around the hot cup. “I’m not dressed for the weather. When I left New York yesterday, the last thing I thought about was snow.”

“It’ll warm up in a minute. The furnace takes a little time to get started. And this snow won’t last. Probably be up in the forties once the sun gets going.” He sipped from his cup, winced at the scalding heat, and then forced down another sip. “So, how can I help you?”

“I’m a reporter,” she said. She took out her wallet and presented her press card as she spoke. “I’m doing a piece on an unsolved crime that happened here….”

“Here? Someone take home a few bass without a fishing license?” He laughed at the thought.

“No, it was a murder that happened eight years ago. A woman was attacked and killed in her home by an intruder.”

The friendly expression vanished. “Reporter?” he asked suspiciously. He glanced down at her press pass. “Yeah, I remember that one. That television fella, wasn’t it?”

“Andrews,” she agreed. “William Andrews.”

He pushed the press credentials back toward her. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you about that one. State police took over the investigation. They’re the ones you’ll have to interview.”

“I’ve seen the police reports—at least, the public records—and I’ve read most of the press coverage. But it’s all pretty sketchy. I was hoping you might be able to fill in the gaps.”

“That was—what?—seven or eight years ago. There’s not much I remember.”

“Maybe you could check your records,” Jane pressed.

Pete pursed his lips. “I don’t have any. The state boys boxed up everything.”

“But you must remember something. I think it was the New York Post that interviewed you. They said you were the only one with real evidence. …”

He smirked. “That’s probably true. I was the only one looking for real evidence. The state boys were just going through the motions. They kept searching the woods for someone who wasn’t there.”

“You said that there was a car parked outside the house, so an intruder would have known people were home. Do you remember that?”

“Sure,” Pete said. “There were plenty of empty houses around if someone was looking to break in.”

“Whose car was it?”

“A rental car.”

“Do you remember who rented it?”

He gave her a thin smile. “Now, that’s just the kind of question the state people didn’t want answered.”

Jane sensed an opening. “Why was that?”

“Why? Politics! Hell, you’re a reporter. You must know how these things work. This Andrews was an important man. The politicians needed his television stations and his newspapers. Nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of him.”

He crumpled his paper cup with a quick, violent squeeze. “Politicians,” he groused, and tossed the cup into the wastebasket.

“Why wouldn’t Andrews want the police to find his wife’s killer?”

“Lady, if you can’t figure that out, you ought to try a different profession.”

“Are you saying he was the one who—”

“I’m not saying anything. The state took over the case, so if you want someone to tell you something, you’d have to go see the troopers. Far as I’m concerned, it’s all over and done with. So, unless you want a fishing license or something …”

He stood slowly, indicating that the interview was over. But Jane stayed seated.

“Has someone threatened you?” she asked.

Pete turned his head away and laughed derisively. “Boy, are you a babe in the woods.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” she persisted.

“Because I like it here. It’s a nice, comfortable job, the pay is okay, and the pension I’ll start getting next year is damn near my full salary. So the last thing I need is politicians from Albany wondering why I’m talking about one of their old, forgotten botched cases.”

“Even if someone gets away with murder?”

“Important people get away with murder every day,” he assured her.

Jane nodded, got up, and held out her hand. “Thanks, anyway, Sergeant. I’ll take your advice and try the state troopers.”

Pete shook her hand, but he didn’t let go. “Take one more piece of advice. Get yourself another story. Mr. Andrews still has a lot of clout up here. You keep asking questions and you’re going to find out just how much clout.”

“Reporters have to ask questions,” Jane reminded him.

He patted her hand affectionately. “Watch your back, Miss …”

“Warren,” she said with a smile. “J. J. Warren.”

She stepped back out into the waiting room and paused to pull her jacket around her and button it up to the collar. She had pushed Pete about as far as she could. And although he wouldn’t confirm anything, his insinuations had been chilling. The intruder had been a ruse, and the local police chief knew it. He had come to the conclusion that Kay Parker’s murder was an inside job. And the reason her husband wouldn’t have wanted the police to find the killer was that he already knew what they would find. That he, or someone very close to him, had fired the shot.

Pete had clearly been warned off further investigation and told to keep his ideas to himself. The warning had been graphic enough to frighten him. He seemed paranoid over the Andrews spies that he imagined were still watching him. He was probably afraid that his office was bugged or that she was wearing a recorder. She opened the door, braced herself against the cold wind that was still driving a mist of snow, and started out to her car.

“Can I give you a lift?” The voice came from a car parked just in front of hers, its source unseen but its tone decidedly familiar. Robert Leavitt stepped out to meet her.