had crossed the fence line. We did a wide circle of the farm, and there were no tracks we could see coming in from anywhere. We did have one set of depressions that looked fresh. The pilot, at the request of Art, went into a low hover to give us a better look. Obligingly, the crew chief slid the door open, and in the freezing draft, we could see they were deer tracks. We came out of hover quickly, as the pilot wasn’t supposed to descend lower than 1,000 feet, according to regulations.
Interestingly, I found it scarier to hover just above the tops of the trees than it was to orbit higher up. Better sense of height, I guess.
We flew back to MAX, thanked the crew, and were back in our car. Art and I compared notes. This is what we had, generally:
All the tracks out of the Borglan place go through the hired man’s yard. This means
A. He did the killing
.
B. He has knowledge of who did the killing
.
C. He has at least heard somebody go through his yard in a noisy snowmobile after they killed the brothers
.
D. The killer is still at the farm
.
“I figure,” said Art, “we can pretty well eliminate the ‘D’ above.”
I figured we could, too. Although there were no foot tracks from the house going anywhere except to the machine shed. The only other track was the snowmobile track that was near the back door. If our killer didn’t take the snowmobile, he would have to have been in the house when I was first there. I didn’t believe it for a minute, but it gave me a funny feeling in the back of my neck, anyway.
My feelings must have shown on my face. “Got a case of the spooks, Houseman?”
“Oh, sort of…” I said. Then, “Nah, we searched that house thoroughly.” But I remembered very well the feeling that I was being watched…
I just drove. Back in the days when I smoked, this would have been the time.
I picked up the mike, and called for dispatch to phone Borglan’s hired man, and let him know we were coming.
Art read off the sheet he’d picked up at dispatch earlier that morning. According to his information, the hired man was a fellow named Harvey Grossman. His driver’s license had said he was born in ’62, five feet nine inches, 180 lbs., blue, and brown. I didn’t know him, but Lamar had told me that he’d moved to our county back in ’93 or ’94.
I was getting a little worried. Art was pretty well established as thinking that Fred had done the dirty deed. I didn’t agree, and thought that Fred was telling the truth. All well and good, and an indication of a balanced investigation. The part that worried me was that I thought it was very likely that we were just about to talk with the man who had murdered the two burglars. I mean, if Fred hadn’t done it, and all the snowmobile tracks at the Borglan place led to the residence of one Harvey Grossman, who was left?
Just for the sake of arguing with myself, I assumed that Grossman had been at the residence for some reason, and had caught the burglars in the act. Perhaps there had been some sort of confrontation. Turned violent.
Bang. Bang
. And then,
bang
. Put ’em in the shed. Who else would even be looking in there until the Borglans came back? If, as he said, Cletus had been called back unexpectedly for business, then how could Grossman have known he’d be coming? Right. He couldn’t. All the time in the world to dispose of the bodies, as far as he could have known. The forecast was for warming for the next week or longer. Just wait a few more days for enough of a thaw to get them into a shallow pit. Move the corpses later, if necessary.
“How certain are you,” I asked, “that Grossman here isn’t the killer?”
“Just about positive,” said Art. “Why?”
“Well,” I began, and ran my theory by him. Quickly, but with some feeling.
“It’s a point.” He waited in silence. “Okay, it’s a good point. If Fred didn’t do it, this Grossman dude is the most likely suspect. Sure. So …?”
“Well,” I
Interestingly, I found it scarier to hover just above the tops of the trees than it was to orbit higher up. Better sense of height, I guess.
We flew back to MAX, thanked the crew, and were back in our car. Art and I compared notes. This is what we had, generally:
All the tracks out of the Borglan place go through the hired man’s yard. This means
A. He did the killing
.
B. He has knowledge of who did the killing
.
C. He has at least heard somebody go through his yard in a noisy snowmobile after they killed the brothers
.
D. The killer is still at the farm
.
“I figure,” said Art, “we can pretty well eliminate the ‘D’ above.”
I figured we could, too. Although there were no foot tracks from the house going anywhere except to the machine shed. The only other track was the snowmobile track that was near the back door. If our killer didn’t take the snowmobile, he would have to have been in the house when I was first there. I didn’t believe it for a minute, but it gave me a funny feeling in the back of my neck, anyway.
My feelings must have shown on my face. “Got a case of the spooks, Houseman?”
“Oh, sort of…” I said. Then, “Nah, we searched that house thoroughly.” But I remembered very well the feeling that I was being watched…
I just drove. Back in the days when I smoked, this would have been the time.
I picked up the mike, and called for dispatch to phone Borglan’s hired man, and let him know we were coming.
Art read off the sheet he’d picked up at dispatch earlier that morning. According to his information, the hired man was a fellow named Harvey Grossman. His driver’s license had said he was born in ’62, five feet nine inches, 180 lbs., blue, and brown. I didn’t know him, but Lamar had told me that he’d moved to our county back in ’93 or ’94.
I was getting a little worried. Art was pretty well established as thinking that Fred had done the dirty deed. I didn’t agree, and thought that Fred was telling the truth. All well and good, and an indication of a balanced investigation. The part that worried me was that I thought it was very likely that we were just about to talk with the man who had murdered the two burglars. I mean, if Fred hadn’t done it, and all the snowmobile tracks at the Borglan place led to the residence of one Harvey Grossman, who was left?
Just for the sake of arguing with myself, I assumed that Grossman had been at the residence for some reason, and had caught the burglars in the act. Perhaps there had been some sort of confrontation. Turned violent.
Bang. Bang
. And then,
bang
. Put ’em in the shed. Who else would even be looking in there until the Borglans came back? If, as he said, Cletus had been called back unexpectedly for business, then how could Grossman have known he’d be coming? Right. He couldn’t. All the time in the world to dispose of the bodies, as far as he could have known. The forecast was for warming for the next week or longer. Just wait a few more days for enough of a thaw to get them into a shallow pit. Move the corpses later, if necessary.
“How certain are you,” I asked, “that Grossman here isn’t the killer?”
“Just about positive,” said Art. “Why?”
“Well,” I began, and ran my theory by him. Quickly, but with some feeling.
“It’s a point.” He waited in silence. “Okay, it’s a good point. If Fred didn’t do it, this Grossman dude is the most likely suspect. Sure. So …?”
“Well,” I
Similar Books
