On Harrow Hill

“How vital? Who the hell knows? The point is, I need to talk to you.”

Gurney checked the time on his phone. It was 12:52 p.m.

“I can try to be there around one thirty.”

“Fine.”

On that curt note, Aspern ended the call. Gurney pocketed his phone, took a last look around the swale, and made his way up through the row of bushes.

Slovak, squinting in the sunlight, was just getting out of a black Dodge Charger, parked behind Gurney’s Outback.

“Just got the news at HQ,” he said, closing the car door. “Weird that Tate would take the chance of coming back here. You figure it was just to leave a creepy message?”

“If there was another reason, we haven’t discovered it yet.”

“If he wanted to leave us a message, why didn’t he do it the night he killed her?”

“The night he killed her he was on his way to kill Russell. With that on his mind, he may not have wanted to take more time here than he had to. Fear of being discovered, maybe. Sometime yesterday or last night, his other goal may have taken over.”

“Other goal?”

“He wants recognition. Common with a certain kind of killer. Ego trip. He wants the name Billy Tate up in lights.”

“Man, that is so sick!”

“But possibly helpful to us. Obsession can lead to practical mistakes.”

He pointed to Barstow, who was kneeling at the roadside, checking the solidity of the plaster cast. “Tate may have left that partial tire track over there. Could be a key piece of forensic evidence. You need to revisit the owners of the security cameras that captured the earlier videos of Tate’s Jeep. If those cameras are still operational, you should review any vehicle or foot traffic they captured between the time the last officer left here yesterday and noon today.”

“Will do. By the way, Chief Morgan just got in touch with Hilda Russell, executrix of Angus’s estate, and she’s providing copies of all his trust and testamentary provisions. Good to have all that, I guess—even though it doesn’t seem relevant to the murder. Tate sure as hell isn’t one of the beneficiaries.”

“Right. But it still might be interesting. Anything else?”

“Not much. A few more idiots over in Bastenburg claiming Tate sightings, asking about a reward. Local cops are checking them out. If anything credible turns up, I’ll let you know.”

Slovak rubbed his scalp, got in the Charger, made a U-turn, and started driving slowly along Waterview Drive.

Gurney asked Barstow if she needed any help before he had to head back to the village for a meeting with Aspern.

“Not at the moment,” she said, gently prying up the solidified cast.

The village hall was one of the three big Victorians on Cotswold Lane. Police headquarters sat in the middle, with Peale’s Funeral Home on one side and the village hall on the other.

They were similar in structure, with similar front lawns and a similar profusion of lilacs in front of their porches. In the spacious entry foyer, an unsmiling receptionist, who’d evidently been told to expect him, directed Gurney along a wide center hall to the last office on the right.

The door was open. With its mahogany furniture and paneling, the office looked very much like Morgan’s, just larger. Aspern was on the phone with his back to his desk. Gurney rapped sharply on the doorjamb. Aspern swiveled around, nodded, and pointed to a leather-covered chair facing his desk. He ended his call a moment later and showed his teeth in an expression that bore a distant resemblance to a smile.

“Glad you could make it.”

“You said you had information.”

“I do. And concerns. But first, I want you to know how much I welcome your involvement. You have a hell of a reputation.” He showed his teeth again. “Experience, smarts, record of success.”

He paused, as if expecting thanks for the compliment, then continued. “So, I have a question. Are you being given all the resources you need?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” That wasn’t true. He understood the question and what was likely behind it, but he wanted to hear how Aspern would explain it.

Aspern leaned back in his oversized chair and glanced at the heavy gold Rolex on his right wrist. “I’m concerned about the agenda of your old partner.”

“Agenda?”

“Maybe that’s not the best word. Let’s call it his mindset. I worry about the mindset and priorities of a man who’s been so blind to the dark side of Angus Russell. It suggests stupidity, complicity, or both.”

“Tell me about Russell’s dark side.”

“Surely you’re aware by now of the suspicious disappearances?”

“I heard there were allegations regarding two individuals—dismissed for lack of evidence.”

“Three, actually. Two in the past five years, another a few years earlier. Very convenient for Angus, this tendency of his enemies to evaporate.”

“You’re suggesting that Angus had a super-efficient hit man who made all this happen without leaving behind any physical evidence or witnesses?”