SEVENTEEN

“Come in, Sheriff. Come in, Mr. Peterson. Let me take your coats.”

Knutson and his deputy handed their parkas to Martha Hofstead and appreciated the warmth of the house. It was an attractive house, not overly large, befitting a childless couple with an assured and comfortable income. Palmer admired Martha’s taste, as evident in the foyer done in subtle shades of blue. Mrs. Hofstead ushered them into the living room and said, “Just sit down. I’ll get us some coffee.”

Knutson and Peterson looked at each other without speaking. Orly was glad that in situations like this he could count on the sheriff to do the talking. Martha Hofstead returned almost immediately with a thermal HotPot of coffee and a tray of cookies. “Oh,” protested the sheriff, “you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. Really. People have been very kind. I have received dozens of cookies in the last few days.” She seemed to choke up and whispered, “So kind. Really.”

“We’re very grateful that you took the time to see us,” Palmer began tentatively. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”

Martha Hofstead sighed and said, “You would think so, wouldn’t you. And maybe I should be. All these wonderful people sending condolences. Everybody saying, ‘If there is anything I can do to help …’ Well, what am I supposed to say? Yes, will you please bring John back to me? Everybody assumes that there will be all sorts of people over, but no one wants to come. Other people have children to help them. I have nobody. In the days before the funeral everyone called and Pastor Knutson—he’s your brother, isn’t he?—was here. But since I got back from the funeral yesterday, only one person has called, and that was Borghild Kvamme from the office. You know, it makes one take stock of one’s life. John was all I had. I’m not into self-pity, and I’m not asking for any from you. But I am just so bewildered. What will I do now?”

“Martha, John will be missed by the whole community, and we all share your loss. I know it sounds empty to make these kinds of assurances, but you are a healthy and talented woman who can do just about whatever you set your mind on. I’m sure that your husband, who believed in insurance, left you well provided for. I know it won’t be easy, but you have the capacity and the opportunity to enjoy the rest of your life.” Palmer thought he sounded like an idiot.

Orly thought, “I wish I could say things like that.”

Martha sniffed, and Palmer continued. “But we are here about something else, a very serious matter. This may come as a shock to you, but we think that your husband’s death may not have been an accident.”

Mrs. Hofstead looked up quickly. “What do you mean?”

Palmer looked embarrassed and said, “I mean, are you aware of anyone who may have benefited from your husband’s death?”

“You mean …?”

“Yes. We have reason to suspect that your husband was murdered.”

Martha gasped and put a Kleenex to her eyes. Orly, who had become more cynical and more suspicious since his talk with the sheriff, observed her and decided her shock was real.

“What makes you say this?” she asked weakly.

“We have pretty much determined that it would have been impossible for your husband to have accidentally run into the loon and for his sled to have kept on going all the way back down to the lake. We think someone else was there, and that the someone else murdered him and made it look like an accident.”

“But why? Who could ever want to kill John? He didn’t have an enemy in the world. He was the consummate do-gooder. His basic goodness almost shamed me sometimes because I just felt, well, that I could never be that good.”

Palmer reached forward and filled his coffee cup. Martha automatically smiled and offered the cookie platter around. “Here, have another.”

“Please believe me that what I am about to ask is necessary,” he continued. “It is vital that we find out how and where John died. It is probable that he was killed elsewhere and taken to the loon afterward. Mrs. Hofstead, I intend to ask for an autopsy on your husband’s body.”

Mrs. Hofstead sat in silence. No tears fell. Orly became conscious of a new emotion present in the room. There was still the overwhelming sorrow, but now it was joined by something else. Was it fear, he wondered? Or was it something else, a determined anger? In any event, when she spoke, it was with complete control. “And you need my permission for that?”

“Technically, no. We can get a court order and proceed without your permission, which, in this case, I’m afraid we would have to do. But I don’t want this out in the open. I don’t want whoever killed your husband to think that we are unsatisfied that it was anything other than an unfortunate accident. Whoever the murderer may be, he is a potentially dangerous person. I don’t think it likely that anyone is in any danger, but anyone who could do it once has the potential to do it again. And since we have no idea of a motive, I have no way of knowing if this is the end of it.”

It took Martha several seconds to realize the significance of his words. With a start, she looked up and gasped, “You mean, I might be in danger?”

Palmer tried to summon up a protective tone for his voice and said: “Well no … no, I doubt it. I doubt if anyone is. But I can’t be sure. So be safe. Keep your door locked and just be careful. Now, do we have your consent to an autopsy?”

Mrs. Hofstead winced and silently nodded.

“Thank you. I’ll keep you posted on what we find out. I realize that we have already taken up much of your time.” Knutson realized as he said this that he was being insensitive to Mrs. Hofstead’s earlier protestations that she had too much time on her hands. Still, he pressed on. “But if we could just ask you a few more questions.”

Martha did not let it pass. “Time? Time? That’s all I have left is time. Fire away, Sheriff.”

“Er, thank you. Um, who is your attorney?”

“Old Thomas Knappen, of Knappen, O’Brien, and Keefe.”

“And he would have the details of the will?”

“Yes, although it is straightforward enough. John had some insurance policies that benefited various colleges and foundations, but all assets come to me. My will is essentially the same as his, to benefit John, of course. We had them drawn up at the same time.”

“So­—and I don’t mean to suggest anything—no one benefited financially by your husband’s death, other than you?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Knutson had been ready to leave off questioning Mrs. Hofstead at the first sign of grief and agitation. But there was something in the determination evident in the muscles of her face that encouraged him to go on. Orly was unobtrusively taking notes and the sheriff continued, “What is the condition of your company, Hofstead Hail?”

“It’s never been better. We have had record earnings.”

“But this company meeting at the Otter Slide. That was a new thing, wasn’t it?”

Martha tilted her head as she looked up in surprise. “You mean you haven’t heard what it was all about?”

Orly started to squeeze his pen. It would seem they were about to learn something important. The sheriff calmly encouraged a reply, “Suppose you tell us.”

Martha paused for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and said, “A few days ago, John surprised everybody by deciding, all by himself, to retire. He was so delighted with his decision he could hardly wait to tell me. He was going to remain as a sort of chief executive officer of the company and let someone else run it for him. The last two weeks of his life were two of the happiest in my existence. We made plans for next year. We were going to spend our summers here, but we would be spending our winters in Florida. He brought home travel literature and we began to plan for all the things we would do in our retirement. We even talked about going there in March, to check out things for next winter and to take in a couple of Twins preseason games. According to the weatherman, these have been the two coldest weeks in years, and yet, planning for Florida with John, I’ve hardly noticed them. And now, well, now it seems colder than I can ever remember.”

After a heavy silence, it was Peterson who asked, “Who was going to take over Hofstead Hail?”

It was a good strategic move in the interview process that allowed the powerful empathy that existed between Knutson and Mrs. Hofstead to be temporarily put aside so that she could answer a question from a different quarter. “Well,” she said, with almost a trace of a smile, “that was the question. That was the whole purpose of our business retreat.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was originally John’s idea to meet with his whole company and to interview them all to see who would be the best president of Hofstead Hail. I think virtually all of the employees saw themselves as his successor. The whole thing was turning into a glorified beauty contest. I think John saw this as a fair way to start over and objectively survey the field and make the choice that was best for the company on the basis of what he had observed over the weekend. But he eventually abandoned that notion. In the end, he had made his decision and was going to use the time for an opportunity to allow the members of the company to get comfortable with the new president. He intended to announce his decision at breakfast on Saturday morning.”

“Did you know his choice?” Palmer quietly asked.

Martha smiled at the irony. “Yes, in fact, that was almost the last thing he ever said to me. I think he may have made his mind up several days before, I don’t know, but he enjoyed his little secret. He had asked my advice about each member of the firm and I told him what I thought. He just nodded noncommittally when I suggested a positive attribute of someone and gallantly defended them when I was critical. Anyway, by the time we finished supper on Friday night, John could see how the rest of the company was reacting to his weekend plans and he decided it was unfair to keep things going as they were. As he was getting ready to go out snowmobiling he told me that he was going to get everyone together over breakfast and end all the speculation.”

Orly looked up at Knutson, who subtly nodded. “And who,” the deputy asked, “had he chosen run the company?”

Martha smiled. “He picked my choice. He appreciated my view and said that the more he thought about it, the more right I was. I loved him for it.”

“Um, and who was that?”

“Borghild, of course. And she’s still going to run the company.”

Knutson could not hide his surprise. He had no real knowledge of the company, but had only considered Borghild, if he had considered her at all, to be merely an elderly secretary. “Borghild?” he asked.

If one can be said to be able to “stamp” an index finger, this is what Martha did on the coffee table. “Borghild! She is the only person who has seen the totality of the company. She is the only person that everyone else in the company could work for on an even level. Besides, Borghild has talent. If she would have had the opportunities that young women have today she would have been a lawyer or an MBA working for a large firm. I pointed out to John just how valuable she had been over the entire course of the agency. As John said, almost his final words to me, in fact, ‘It’s time we recognized what Borghild has done for us and what she can do in the future.’”

The implication hung in the air as Palmer asked, “Did he tell anybody else?”

Martha considered the question for some time before answering. “I doubt it. He told me to be sure not to tell anyone until he had made the announcement, so I doubt that he would have spilled the beans himself.”

Palmer nodded and asked, “Did he tell Borghild?”

“Apparently he had planned to do so just before he announced it to the others. I told her yesterday that I wanted her to run the company. She was polite and grateful and said that she could probably run it for a while until I made up my mind who I wanted as a permanent president. I had to convince her that it was not just my choice, and not just a favor to me, but that she was John’s choice for a permanent president.” There followed a silence broken by a slight whimper. “… We had a good cry over it.”

Knutson nodded again and asked, “Have you told any other members of the firm of your decision?”

“No. The agency has been closed, of course. I told Borghild to just carry on with the routine and to make whatever plans she needed to make. We will get everybody together later this week.”

“I hate to make too much of this,” Palmer said, “but just to be clear, at the time of your husband’s death, each employee of the company thought that he or she might be the new president? No one had an inkling of who it might be?”

“As far as I know, that is correct.”

As Orly wrote this last response in his book, he looked as though he had heard something of terrible significance. The sheriff stood up. “Thank you, Mrs. Hofstead. You have been most helpful. Remember that at this point your husband’s death may have been an accident, and we are very reluctant to pursue this any further until we know more. Meanwhile, please don’t say anything about this to anyone. If, indeed, this was all a terrible accident, well, then, we don’t want to cause anyone anxiety. We will keep you informed as to our findings. Oh, and, er, thank you for the coffee and cookies.”

The deputy put away his notebook and took Mrs. Hofstead’s hands in his. “And allow me to say once again how sorry we are. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to call.”

The new widow mumbled her thanks and showed them out the door. The snow had let up, but the wind had risen, and Knutson and Peterson walked rapidly to the car. As they pulled away into the street, Peterson said, “Well, we got motive!”

Knutson responded with a hint of sarcasm. “You mean,” he said, “someone wanted to be president of a small insurance firm enough that they would kill for it?”

Orly, now playing the realist, replied, “People have killed for less.”