CHAPTER 10

MONDAY, JULY 1

It began raining when Marti and Vik were about eighty miles from Springfield. By the time they reached the turnoff to the city, light rain had become a downpour, wind gusts were battering the car and the sky was so dark that Marti wondered if it might spawn a tornado. Several traffic lights were out and by the time they reached the capital building they were fifteen minutes late for their nine-o’clock appointment with Anne Devney.

As they walked from the parking lot the wind turned their umbrellas inside out.

They were soaked by the time they made it to Devney’s office. A secretary greeted them.

“She’s been called to a meeting. It shouldn’t take long.”

When Marti’s cell phone rang at ten forty-five, Devney still hadn’t shown up. It was Lupe Torres, their backup. Another accident had been reported at the Smith place.

When she hung up, Vik asked, “Who is it this time?”

“Harry Buckner, the guy on the backhoe who dug the holes.” For some reason she thought, Zoe’s father.

“Dead?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Another accident, right?”

“You’ve got it. But coincidence can only take them so far.”

“Then let’s hope this is the end of the road.”

Lupe called back as soon as she reached the scene. “Looks like he fell out of the window in the upper level of the barn.”

“Take pictures,” Marti told her. “Lots of them. Interior, exterior, close-ups, distance. Everything you can think of. And go over everything the evidence techs do. Make sure they don’t miss anything. You know how Vik and I want the scene processed.”

Anne Devney came in while she was talking. “Accident,” she said when she hung up.

They went to the small conference room. The file folders were in four stacks now. “There might be a few interruptions,” Marti advised her.

“You really should turn that cell phone off,” Devney said.

“Sorry. Can’t do that.”

Lupe didn’t call again. She had worked with them on a number of cases. She knew what she was doing.

Devney found it necessary to go over points in the case that they had covered on Friday. By the time they got to the pretrial files, it was noon. By the time they left, it was after one o’clock. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark. Marti could see lightning strikes as she drove. They didn’t stop to eat. She made the three-and-a-half-hour trip back to Lincoln Prairie in just over two hours.

Lupe Torres was waiting for them. “I’ve got the photos.” She had had them enlarged.

“That was fast,” Vik said.

Lupe always seemed pleased when Vik complimented her.

*   *   *

Marti picked up a photograph that showed the garden in relationship to the barn. Harry Buckner had landed in a vegetable garden, behind the barn. His body was facedown in the mud. The tilled earth, which must have been kept moist with repeated watering, had absorbed the rain, and the runoff had collected in the furrows between the rows of plants. Some bushes were heavy with still-green tomatoes, others with long, pointed chili peppers. There was a row of sunflowers that were about four feet high. The area had full sunlight.

“Where is this barn?” Marti asked. This was the first time she had seen it.

“Far northwest corner of the property,” Vik answered. She didn’t ask him how he knew that. His sense of direction was unerring. She thought it must have something to do with growing up in a small town with streets that weren’t all laid out in straight east-west, north-south patterns.

Lupe had used a wide-angle lens for the next shot. Although the area immediately surrounding the barn had been cleared, it was isolated by trees and dense bushes. Behind the barn, where the vegetable garden was and the body had been found, there was also a narrow road where machinery had made ruts. Closer to the trees, grass grew about a foot high. Thistle and other weeds grew higher. Marti was surprised by how much of the Smiths’ property was undisturbed. That must be why everyone involved with land restoration and conservation wanted some of it.

“Old barn. Timber-framed,” Vik said. “Gambrel roof.”

“What’s that?” Marti asked. She didn’t think it was important. She just wanted to see if Vik knew, or if he was just guessing.

“A gambrel roof?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“City girl,” he scoffed. “See how it has two slopes on each side? An old barn,” he repeated. “I wonder if anyone is trying to save it, now that they’re getting rid of the land.”

“It’s not like it’s the family castle,” Marti said. Like Vik, she thought it was a more interesting building, but who else would? “It’s so far away from anything but that back road; I bet nobody even knows it’s there.”

Vik pointed. “Buckner must have come out of that door, fell forward.”

“Door,” Marti said. “It looks like a window to me.”

“It’s a barn,” Vik said. “They would store stuff in the loft, haul it up there with a rope, lower it down, or just toss it into a wagon or a truck. Doors,” he repeated.

“How long ago were you a farmer?” Marti asked.

Instead of answering, Vik said, “Who found him?”

“One of the guards,” Lupe told him. “Chet Simms. He said Buckner was supposed to be mowing the south lawn this morning. When he didn’t show, the guard was sent out to the barn to wake him.”

Marti made a note of the name. “Did any of the Smiths show up?”

“Not while I was there.”

Why didn’t that surprise her? Marti looked at the shots of Buckner. She could not see his face at all. His arms were spread wide, as if he had attempted to fly. The door consisted of two long wooden panels that would meet at the center when closed. Why would Buckner have opened it during a storm? Why would he have stood close enough to the opening to fall? How could he have lost his balance?

“Here’s the backhoe,” Vik said, picking up another photo. “Out front. He must have been digging again.”

“I made sure the evidence techs checked the grooves in the tires,” Lupe said. “Dirt, but no mud. They didn’t think anyone had moved it during or after the storm. They also searched as far back as the fence and for three hundred feet along both sides of the fence for tire tracks or footprints. They didn’t find anything.”

*   *   *

Marti stopped at Wendy’s for burgers and fries on their way to the Smith place. She thought about eating bacon twice in one week and picked up a salad, too. When they reached the Smith place, Lupe directed her to the barn and put a call in to have the guard who found the body meet them there. While Vik admired the roof, Marti went inside. It was cool and dark. A riding mower and a plow were parked to one side. One stall was filled with rakes, other gardening implements, and shovels. The other stalls were empty, with cribs for hay. Leather harnesses hung on the walls. They were old and worn and stiff from lack of use. Narrow stairs went up to the loft. There was no railing. Marti tested one step, then another. They seemed sturdy.

“Get in here, Jessenovik!” she called as she reached the top. Before he could, a black cat jumped down from a shelf and picked its way down the stairs.

The loft was a place where a man with few possessions lived alone. The cot was unmade; a cabinet held cans of chili, soup, and ravioli. A bowl and a spoon were in the sink, a clean pan was on a hot plate. The coffee maker held half a pot of cold coffee.

“No Sunday go-to-meeting clothes,” Marti said. Just work clothes, thick-soled shoes and three pairs of boots. When she opened the top bureau drawer she found a photo album filled with pictures. A little girl with dark hair and dark eyes who must have been Zoe, with a much younger Harry and a smiling woman who Marti assumed was Buckner’s wife. As she turned the pages, the little girl went to school and the woman went away. Then Harry went away, probably because he was holding the camera. The little girl visited Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and a couple of cartoon characters. She grew up and went to school dances, toasted marshmallows over campfires, and posed on skis against a backdrop of snow. After a dozen more pages of a smiling young woman, Zoe went away. The final picture was of a grave surrounded by floral arrangements. One had a pink ribbon that said “Daddy’s Girl” in gold letters.

“No mail, no nothing,” Marti said. There weren’t even any bills.

Vik was checking the storage shelves that had been placed at intervals along one wall.

“Something was here,” he said.

It wasn’t the shelf the cat had jumped from. The dust had been disturbed. There were a partial palm print and a few finger prints.

“Looks like somebody put something here,” Lupe said. “I’ll call and make sure the techs caught it.”

Marti checked the shelf where the cat had been. There was almost no dust at all. Someone had put an old flannel shirt there and the cat was using it for a bed.

*   *   *

When they went back outside, a uniformed security guard was waiting for them at the front of the barn. The dirt was so hard-packed here that last night’s rain had done little more than dampen it.

“Chet Simms?” Vik said.

The man nodded.

“You found him.”

“Yes, sir.” The man took a drag on his cigarette and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Why were you looking for him?”

“I wasn’t.”

Vik waited.

“I … umm … it’s Monday. He mows the west lawn on Monday. He didn’t show.”

“Has that ever happened before?”

“I … um … I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Happened today.”

“You were in the guardhouse at the entrance to the property on the east side?” Vik asked.

The guard looked at him, then nodded.

“Then how did you know he wasn’t on the west side?”

“I … um … um … I … no lawn mower.”

“Did you try to make voice contact with him?”

“Uh … no … there’s no … he doesn’t. He just takes care of the grounds. There’s no reason to talk to him.”

“Did he have a schedule?” Vik was beginning to sound frustrated.

“I guess, kind of.”

“Why were you expecting to hear the lawn mower?”

The guard didn’t answer.

“Thanks,” Vik said, dismissing him.

The guard inhaled twice, then threw the cigarette butt on the ground.

As he walked away, Vik called, “Be careful. Don’t have any accidents.”

Marti waited until the man got into his Jeep and drove off, then put on a latex glove, opened a small plastic bag and retrieved the cigarette butt.

*   *   *

They went to the guardhouse at the rear of the property, the one closest to the barn. Inside, it was like a large living room except for a bank of screens fed by cameras. Marti checked them. Ten screens. She couldn’t pinpoint the locations but could see that all of the cameras were placed along the perimeter. There were no interior locations, no camera that would record someone approaching or entering the barn.

“We need to ask you some questions,” Vik told the guard.

“Sure,” the man said. “Nobody’s told us not to talk to you.”

“How many shifts do you have?”

“Three,” the man said. “Six guards on each. One of us is always here and at the main guardhouse. The others patrol.”

“On car or by foot?”

“SUV.”

“Do they each have a specific area?” Vik asked.

The guard pointed to one of the maps that were framed and hung on the walls. “This is the Smith property.” Instead of a square or rectangular shape, the property lines were irregular. Some joined at angles. Others outlined small blocks joined at one corner to the whole. At the top of the map, the land curved along the river.

“Now.” The guard hung an overlay on the frame. Dark lines created six sections. “Each guard works one of these areas. They always patrol the same place. Otherwise it gets confusing.”

“How often do they patrol?”

“Each section is close to sixty acres. They just drive around and come to one of the guardhouses for breaks.”

“We’ve never seen them,” Vik said.

“That’s because you’re here during the day, when Buckner, or whoever replaces him now, is working. The guys working those areas try to stay out of the way.”

“What about the fence? Has it ever been breached?”

“A few times. Local kids. Parts of it are electrified now. Low voltage. I can show you on another overlay.”

The electrified sections looked to be random.

“Can you tell them from the other sections?”

“No. That’s the idea.”

Vik had him point out where the barn was in relation to the fence. The nearest fence was wired.

“Do you keep reports?” Vik asked.

“Not unless there’s something to report.”

“And last night?”

“No. Poured rain, lightning, thunder, the whole nine yards. That’s about it.”

*   *   *

It was time for another visit to the Smith family. Lupe stayed outside. This time the Smiths were assembled in what the maid referred to as the parlor. It was after eleven in the morning, an odd time for everyone to be at home. Marti wondered if any of them worked.

The room was about half the size of the library and the furniture was all curves and curlicues and looked like a traveling exhibit Marti had seen at a museum when she was in college. French, she thought, or maybe Italian. Marti didn’t wait to be invited to sit down. The chairs were comfortable this time. Vik decided to remain standing. He was bad cop today.

“Do you want to see our identification again?” Marti asked.

Josiah Smith gave her a haughty look, but said nothing.

“How long was Mr. Buckner in your employ?

Paul Smith answered. “Twelve years.”

“And you hired him?”

“Actually, the cook did. We have very little to do with the hired help. Our security people checked him out.”

Marti was surprised that Paul spoke and not Josiah, who was looking away from her now and toward a window. He hadn’t wanted to speak to her the last time she was here and had apparently decided to follow through on that.

“What should Buckner have been doing this morning?”

Paul hesitated. “I have no idea.”

“Did anyone know what his schedule was?”

“The security people, maybe. I guess they keep some kind of records, make some kind of patrols, I don’t know what exactly. Something sufficient so that nobody is on the property at any time who shouldn’t be.”

A muscle in Josiah’s jaw twitched, and Marti got the impression that he would like to speak but had opted not to, at least not yet. She preferred talking with Paul anyway. He had more to say.

“What was Mr. Buckner’s normal routine on Sunday?”

“I have no idea, but he would not have been working.”

Marti made a mental note of that.

“When is the last time you saw him?”

Paul thought for a moment. “Actually, I have no idea. To tell you the truth, I rarely saw him at all.”

She made another mental note when he said to “tell you the truth.”

“Did he work on Saturday?”

“Yes. No. Well, I’m not sure.”

Marti waited.

“We played tennis on Friday. Someone might have asked him to clean up, retrieve the balls, pick up the trash, glasses, whatever.”

“Someone,” Marti said.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“The guard, maybe.”

“Does that mean you did talk with the guards?”

“Oh, yes. No, not personally. No. I would assume that someone said something to one of the guards, or that the guards noticed something needed to be done and told him to do it. If not, then to tell you the truth, Harry didn’t do any work Saturday or Sunday that I know of.”

Again, Marti noted what Paul said.

“How many guards do you have?”

“We contract with an agency. I think there are maybe four to six here at any given time.”

“Do they patrol the property?”

Paul hesitated, “Well, I … I suppose … they do whatever guards do. You’d have to ask—”

“Do you have any more questions?” Josiah spoke abruptly.

Sharp old man, Marti decided. He knew Paul was talking too much. She debated asking if Buckner had done any more digging, but didn’t want the old man to know that was even on her mind—not yet, anyway.

“There was only—” Paul began.

“No!” Josiah interrupted.

Marti wondered what Paul had been about to say.

*   *   *

“Does anyone in that family work?” Marti asked Vik as they walked to their car.

“I don’t know which one does what, but one son has some cushy obscure government job, the other is a bank president. One of the wives is in real estate. Big real estate—office buildings, industrial property. The other wife does something at the Mercantile Mart or the Stock Exchange.”

“With a place like this to maintain, that doesn’t sound like much more than pocket change,” Marti said.

“The old man is loaded. I’m surprised he’s selling. They’re only getting about fifteen million. I’ll bet they’re worth ten times that much.”

Marti thought of the expression “house-poor” and remembered driving up to a huge Tudor and going into a house that was empty. The owners slept on a mattress on the floor. Sometimes appearances were everything. “Where do you get your information?” she asked.

“Read the newspapers. Ask a few questions. If they were in financial difficulty, these accidents would make a lot more sense.”

It took the state’s attorney three hours to get a judge to sign a warrant authorizing them to search the grounds of the Smith estate for additional excavations. At 7 P.M., they were back with a dozen sheriffs and six uniformed officers. That was not nearly enough people to do an adequate search, but Vik had a map of the property based on the zones the guard had shown them. Each section would be gone over twice, each time by a different team. It was already close to sunset, but Marti didn’t think they would find anything without the element of surprise. She didn’t want to give the Smiths another day to cover their tracks.

“You really think we’ll find something?” Vik asked.

“No,” Marti admitted. “But Buckner did something with that backhoe.”

“What good will it do us to find another excavation site if we don’t find anything in it?”

He was asking the same questions the state’s attorney had asked. She repeated her answers: “Well, that they have a reason to dig. That they are either looking for something or trying to make it look as if they found something. That two people could be dead because they found something they weren’t supposed to. That they are now knowingly in violation of the law according to JULIE.”

“And?”

“If we find another site, at least we know something’s going on here. We raise a little suspicion.”

“Marti, we work homicide, not grand theft.”

“Vik, two people are dead. What do we do? Go home? If Linski or Buckner found something they were not supposed to and there is another dig site, maybe finding it will help turn up a few clues.”

“Okay,” Vik agreed. “You could be right this time. I just hope that doing this is a better idea than doing nothing for a while and letting them come to us.”

“What do you think the odds are on that happening? These people are rich, isolated, and respected.”

It was after midnight when the first new dig site was found in a grove of oak trees, and two in the morning when a second site was discovered in the apple orchard. Marti made sure a guard was posted at each site and ordered one more complete search. It was after four when she and Vik walked to the Smith mansion. The place was not lit up but the lights in a room at the back of the house were on. Paul admitted them. Inside, the hallway and the first room they walked through were dark. Paul did not turn on any lights but led them to the kitchen. His wife, Jessica, was spooning instant coffee into a cup.

“And I don’t care who else wants some,” she said. “The water is hot. Make your own.” She was wearing a loose-fitting top over spandex capris. Her thick chestnut hair hung to her shoulders. The tallest of the Smiths, she looked as if she worked out every day.

Franklin was sitting on a stool at a counter, playing solitaire. He didn’t look up when Marti and Vik came in. His wife wasn’t in the room. Marti looked around, wondering where Josiah was.

“We found two more dig sites,” Marti explained. “We thought maybe you could tell us when Mr. Buckner dug them up.”

Nobody spoke for at least a minute. Then Paul cleared his throat. “I … I really don’t know about this … I really can’t tell you … the truth is …

“We will say nothing.” Josiah spoke, from behind.

Marti turned toward him. Josiah looked exhausted. And old. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept in days.

“You may speak with our attorney,” he said.

“Certainly, Mr. Smith.” She smiled.

“No, we can … that’s … not necessary,” Paul said.

“It most certainly is,” Josiah insisted. He looked at Paul and raised his eyebrows. Paul did not protest further.

Franklin’s wife came in just as Marti and Vik were leaving. Eileen was shorter than she seemed to be when sitting down, but like her sister-in-law, looked as if she spent some time at the gym. Or here in the gym, Marti thought. As big as this place was, why not?

“We’ll have to get Caleb back out here in the morning,” Marti told Vik as they left. “See if he can tell us anything.”

“Anyone but McIntosh.”

Marti ignored that. They might need Gordon again. He had been helpful so far. “We’ll have to make sure the evidence techs take more soil samples,” she added. “Check them against the ones we have.” She might not gain more information from these two new dig sites but one thing she was sure of—there was something about this land that was damned important to the Smith family. If two people had died because of it, the family wanted whatever it was to remain a secret.