Blood Test

I thought of the people I’d encountered during the last couple of days. Valcroix. Matthias and the Touchers. Houten — did the sheriff’s El Camino have fat tires? Maimon. Bragdon. Carmichael. Rambo. Even Beverly and Raoul. None seemed remotely likely as suspects and I told Milo so.

“Of all of them, I like that asshole Canadian the best,” he said. “Guy’s a Class A bad actor.”

“I don’t see it, Milo. He resented being interrogated and could have held that against me. But resentment isn’t hatred and whoever fired those shots did it out of blood lust.”

“You told me he was a heavy doper, Alex. They’ve been known to get paranoid.”

I thought of what Beverly had said about Valcroix’s increasingly strange behavior and repeated it to Milo.

“There you go,” he said. “Cokehead madness.”

“I guess it’s possible, but it still doesn’t feel right. I wasn’t that important to him. Anyway, he seems more of an escapist, someone who’d retreat rather than act out. The peace-love-Woodstock type.”

“So were the Manson family. What kind of car does he drive?”

“No idea.”

“We’ll run it through D.M.V., then pick the guy up for questioning. Talk to the others, too. Hopefully the whole thing will boil down to Moody. When you get down to it he sounds like an easy one to hate.”

He stood and stretched.

“Thanks for everything, Milo.”

He waved it off. “Haven’t done a damn thing so don’t thank me yet. And I probably won’t be able to handle it myself. Gotta travel.”

“Where to?”

“Washington, D.C. On the rape-murder. The Saudis have one of those slick public relations firms on retainer. Been putting millions into commercials showing they’re just plain folks. Prince Stinky’s exploits could make them look like the enemy again. So there’s been pressure from the top to let him slink out of town to avoid a trail and all the publicity. The department won’t let go of this one cause the crimes were too damned ugly. But the Arabs keep pushing and the politicos have to do a bit of symbolic brown-nosing.”

He shook his head in disgust.

“Other day a couple of gray suits from the State Department came down and took Del and me out to lunch. Three martinis and haute cuisine at the taxpayer’s expense, followed by congenial chitchat about the energy crisis. I let them talk, then I shoved a bunch of pictures of the girl Stinky killed right in front of them. Foreign Service types must have delicate constitutions. They almost heaved right into the coq au vin. That afternoon I got volunteered to fly to D.C. and discuss it further.”

“That’ll be something to see,” I said. “You and a room full of bureaucrats. When are you leaving?”

“Don’t know. I’m on call. Could be tomorrow or the day after. Going first class for the first time in my deprived life.”

He looked at me with concern.

“At least Moody’s out of the way.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I wish it could have happened another way.” I thought of April and Ricky, what this would do to them. If Conley turned out to have been the one who blew away their father, the tragedy would be compounded. The entire case had a raw, primal stink that foreshadowed tragic endings for generations to come.

Hardy came back from the kitchen and gave his report.

“Coulda been worse than it was. Half of Durkin’s house is up in smoke. He and his wife suffered second-degree burns and some smoke inhalation but they’re gonna live. Worthy had smoke alarms and caught it in time. He lives in the Palisades, big property with lots of trees. Couple of ’em burned down.”

Which meant plenty of hiding places. Milo glanced at me meaningfully. Hardy kept on talking.

“The judge’s and Daschoff’s places haven’t been touched so the cans in the car were probably meant for them. I sent uniforms to check out all of their offices.”

Richard Moody had ended his tormented life in a blaze of twisted passion.

Milo whistled and told Hardy the Delaware-as-victim scenario. Hardy found merit to it, which did nothing to improve my state of mind.

They thanked me for the coffee and stood. Hardy left the house and Milo lingered behind.

“You can stay here if you want,” he said, “because most of the forensic work will go on outside. But if you want to go somewhere else, that’s okay, too.” It was intended more as advice than the granting of permission.

The glen was filled with blinking lights, footsteps, and muted human conversation. Safe, for now. But the police wouldn’t be there forever.

“I’ll move out for a couple of days.”

“If you wanna stay at my place, the offer’s still open. Rick’ll be on call next couple days, it’ll be quiet.”

I thought for a moment.

“Thanks, but I really want to be alone.”

He said he understood, drained his coffee mug, and came closer.

“I see that gleam in your eyes and it worries me, pal.”

“I’m fine.”

“So far. I’d like to see it stay that way.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Milo. Really.”

“It’s the kid, isn’t it? You haven’t let go of it.”

I was silent.