A Fountain Filled With Blood

Russ closed his eyes for a moment, but the overly illuminated image of the bloody paper was there, too. “Okay,” he said, “bag it. Maybe we’ll luck out and there will be usable prints.”

Lyle sidled closer. “Your mom is still in the county lockup, right?” When Russ rounded on him, teeth bared, the deputy chief held up both hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding! Just kidding!”

Russ grunted. “You are. Whoever thinks it next won’t be. Christ, this is all I need—someone thinking I have a personal stake in the outcome of a murder investigation.”

“Oh, come on. In the first place, who’s gonna believe one of your mom’s tree-hugging friends slit Ingraham’s throat? And it’s not as if you’ve coddled them. Trust me, slinging your own mother’s butt in jail showed the world you are an incorruptible cop.”

Russ looked at him. “Thank you, Officer Friday. Now, let’s wrap up this scene and get the gawkers out of here.” He shaded his eyes against the glare of the lights and squinted toward the dwindling crowd. “Looks like Durkee has finished taking names. Get him to run the tape down to the water.” He looked at his watch. “Glens Falls Dispatch is taking our calls right now. I’m going to get them to buzz Davies and McCrea at home to let them know to come straight here when their shifts start tomorrow morning. I want you here, too.”

“That’ll put me on—”

“Overtime. I know, I know. Be here anyway.”

The slither of tires on grass and the bounce of a new set of lights made him look away. The Channel 6 news van was pulling up, just in time to get the story taped for the eleven o’clock broadcast. He shook his head. Dealing with the press was his second-least-favorite part of the job, surpassed only by presenting the department’s budget to the Board of Aldermen.

A pretty young blonde who looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a reporter slipped out of the van, followed by a gorilla of a cameraman loaded down with what must have been sixty pounds of equipment. They conferred for a minute. From the way their arms were moving, they were figuring out what he was going to shoot. Then the gorilla caught sight of Russ and Lyle and pointed at them. The reporter ducked under the tape and advanced on their position, trailed by her cameraman.

“You want me to deal with ’em?” Lyle asked. There were only two types of cops who liked talking to the press: ambitious politicians or frustrated performers. Lyle, who once told Russ he had wanted to be Buffalo Bob when he grew up, fell in the latter group. He could spin out a “No comment” into a twenty-minute story without ever letting on it was all puffed air.

“Naw, I’ll handle it. Just button this place up fast, okay? I want to be out of here before Channel Thirteen decides this is newsworthy enough to send over a van, too.” If it were a single news outfit here tonight, he would only have to appear on TV once. After the initial photo op at the crime scene, he could usually get away with commenting to reporters over the phone.

Lyle waved an acknowledgment as he headed off to collect Durkee. The reporter pulled up in front of him and stuck out her hand. “Sheena Bevin, WTYY News. You’re Chief Van Alstyne?” Her voice was that peculiar combination of melodious and strident that all television reporters seemed to have.

He started back toward the police line. “Yep.”

She smoothed her white shirt and tugged on something clipped under her navy windbreaker. It was a microphone in a holster, which she unspooled and extended toward him. Behind and to the left of her shoulder, the camera light blazed on. “Chief, the report we got was that there was a possible homicide here tonight. What can you tell us? Who’s the victim?”

He stopped next to the yellow tape, which was shivering in a barely perceptible wind. He hoped to hell the rain would hold off. Trying to search the stretch of brush in the dark was going to be impossible; finding anything in a downpour in the morning would only be marginally less so. “We’re not releasing the name of the victim until we’ve been able to notify any relatives.”

“So it was a homicide?” Her shining blond hair seemed to gleam in interest.

He held up his hands. “Let me put what information I can give you in the proper order. At approximately nine-thirty tonight, we received a call that one of the spectators at the fireworks here had found a body. Deputy Chief MacAuley and Officer Durkee responded. Upon arriving at the scene, they secured the area and sent for Sergeant Morin, a state police forensics technician, and Dr. Scheeler, our temporary medical examiner. The victim was a middle-aged white male who was killed within an hour or so of the start of the fireworks. We are actively pursuing leads, and if anyone in the vicinity saw anything suspicious, we ask that they report it to the Millers Kill Police Department.”

“How was the victim killed?”

“I can’t release that at this time.”

“Do you have any significant evidence? Any suspects?”