Alan slept restlessly for several hours. Marjorie left his bedside only once to relieve herself and give the deputy at the door a glass of cool water. Just past noon Alan woke with a start. His eyes were wide as he lifted his tousled head off the pillow. Hazel eyes met his blue ones with such a look of relief and love he was speechless for a minute.
“Oh, Alan,” Marjorie murmured, “that was about the worst twenty-four hours in my life. Don’t ever do that again.”
“I assure you, my love, I never intended to disappear.” In the past when Alan Lockem had been on an assignment, Marjorie had worried but she’d almost always known in a general sense what he was doing and where he was. This abduction had been so sudden and unexpected, it had thrown both of them. But aging resilience stood the couple well and Alan’s recital of what he could remember of his trip up and down the mountain plus several more glasses of water interspersed with two cups of coffee, a plate of ham and eggs with hash browns on the side, revived Alan’s strength and his spirits.
“I seldom want to do bodily harm to anybody,” he remarked, emerging from a second hot and steamy shower, mid-afternoon, “but right now I’d really like to lay my hands on those miserable excuses for human beings who left me in the weeds on the mountain.” He switched subjects. “You called Sheriff Carter, yes?”
“While you were in the shower. He should be showing up at any moment.” The telephone rang. Marjorie smiled and picked it up. “Yes?”
“I’m in the lobby. Is he awake?”
“Yes. You can come up, Sheriff Carter.” Marjorie replaced the instrument and nudged Alan into a chair after he tucked in his shirt tail. “Just sit. You don’t have to demonstrate your quick recovery to him.”
A sharp rap at the door. Marjorie opened it and admitted the sheriff who vigorously shook Lockem’s extended hand.
“Whew,” he said. “I sure am glad to see you back here in one piece. Have you seen a doctor? Are you up to making a full report?”
“Thanks, Sheriff. Should we be notifying anybody?”
“I called the local PD. Couldn’t think of a reason not to. I did insist they leave you alone for a while to recover. Now, what do you remember about your abductors?”
Lockem related to the sheriff everything he could remember about his ride to the mountain and the men who had laid rough hands on him. Carter didn’t take notes, but Alan suspected he had a voice recorder somewhere in a pocket of his uniform. He wound down his narration just as a heavy knock on the door sounded through the room.
“Sounds like a cop knock,” remarked the sheriff. When Marjorie pulled open the heavy door, she found grim-faced Detective Anson Carlson looking at her.
“I just received word your husband has returned, Ms. Kane. Since we’ve been expending considerable resources of the city looking for him, I think it would have been judicious to have called us.”
“That’s partly my fault,” said Sheriff Carter. He rose from his chair and came to the door behind Marjorie. “Since it’s now clear we both have some jurisdiction over this abduction, and Sam Black’s case, I just jumped on the chance to talk with Mr. Lockem. I did call your office, however.”
Detective Carlson looked hard at the sheriff, obviously unhappy with his presence. He reluctantly agreed when Carter asked to sit in on the interview. “After, we can compare notes,” he growled.
Fortified with fresh coffee from room service, the three men sat knee to knee while Marjorie observed and listened from the small sofa across the room.
“Based on your descriptions, and the information we’re starting to get from Gordy Lewis, we should have the rest of your abductors in custody before the end of the day.”
“Assuming they haven’t left your jurisdiction,”
Carter nodded. “None of them are among the smartest people in the county. However, I doubt they can give us much useful information. It will be more like filling in the gaps. I bet whoever hired them to snatch you off the street kept his distance.”
“Or her distance,” Lockem amended. Marjorie scribbled a note in her pad.
“My abduction suggests to me somebody is getting nervous. But frankly, I’m not quite certain how to proceed.”
“Dead end?” Sheriff Carter frowned. Detective Carlson shrugged.
“Those guys, assuming we find them, probably don’t know anything. I wish you could be more specific about who was in charge.”
“Me too,” acknowledged Lockem. “I didn’t put much or any thought into that. I was just trying to be ready to jump whenever any little window of advantage showed up. None ever did.”
“Except for Wally O’Malley,” said the detective. “Fortunately for you, I gather, he appeared at just the right moment.”
Lockem and the sheriff both glanced at the detective. Had they noticed something in his tone? “We generally classify homicides in four categories, relational, random, collateral and opportunistic.”
“Or panic,” commented the sheriff. Carlson nodded. “In this case, we can’t find any family business that could have led to Ketchum’s killing. We thought at first it might have been random, but the second shot rules that out.”
“So we know it was deliberate murder,” mused Lockem. “How do you determine collateral and what does that mean, exactly?” He had a pretty good idea of the answer, but he wanted both Carter and the city detective, Carlson, to agree on the definition. He knew that categorizing homicidal death was one way police departments assigned priorities.
“In this case, the county is calling it opportunistic,” said Carter. “We feel certain the killer or killers saw a way to clear up a situation that was bothering them. Ketchum stood in the way of something and the killer knew or had persuaded himself that there was no changing Ketchum’s mind.”
“I agree,” said Carlson. He pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. Looking around for an ashtray, he found none, so he stuffed the pack back into his suit jacket. “Which means if we can come up with a motive, it’ll likely lead to our killer. Or killers.”
“But so far, nobody seems to have any active reason for Ketchum’s death except his drunken sojourn down the mountain-side on his bulldozer. Right?” interjected Lockem.
The sheriff scratched his head. “I’m mostly persuaded the arrest of Sam Black was politically motivated.”
At that, Detective Carlson leaned back slightly and raised a hand in protest. Before he could say anything, Carter went on. “I don’t think it was you, Carlson. I think your bosses moved the case forward precipitously and I don’t expect you to confirm or deny.” He sat back. Carlson, relaxed a bit and just looked at him.
Somebody needs to go over Ketchum’s life with a fine-toothed comb,” interjected Lockem. “Unless that’s already been done.” His tone was hopeful even though he must have realized that as soon as Sam Black had been arrested, motive dropped in priority against collecting evidence that could be used by the prosecutor to convince a jury to convict Sam.
Detective Carlson stood up. “I have to go. Mr. Lockem, I’ll arrange for you to have access to our murder book.” He grinned at the sheriff. “It ain’t kosher, but nobody’s gonna say we didn’t turn over every rock to help make this an honest conviction. Ma’am.” He nodded to Marjorie, picked up his hat and strode out of the suite.
Lockem and the sheriff sat almost immobile for a long minute after detective Carlson departed. “What do you think about that?” mused Lockem.
“I think he got what he came for and gave more than he planned,” said Carter. “I’ll bet his boss, the chief or the county prosecutor have been on his tail to find out what if anything we’ve developed and his excuse was seeing you after the rescue. Whoever is holding the strings here is getting a little nervous, I think.”
“Ketchum,” said Lockem. “His life is the key here. I need to get on to Hare and get a delay, move back the arraignment. Yes, I know,” he said in anticipation of Marjorie’s protest, “we’d like to have Sam out of jail soonest, but we need more time.”
“File for a change of venue,” suggested Sheriff Carter. “Hare did that once, but your abduction can be the basis for a re-file, can’t it?”
“Would they grant it?” asked Marjorie.
“Not likely, but it would give us some additional time,” said the sheriff.
Lockem reached for the telephone. He stopped in mid-reach and looked at Marjorie. “What was that?”
“Carlson and Carter,” she repeated. “Their names are so similar I might get confused and I wonder if anybody else does.”