The Big Thaw Part 22

Cletus just was going to burst if he didn't say something. "Bulls.h.i.t!"

Well, it wasn't much of a defense. But I think it made him feel a little better. Gunston put a hand on his shoulder. "Let him go, Cletus. He's going too far out on a limb now."

Blitek just looked startled. I a.s.sumed it was because he so seldom dealt with evidence.

"You know, that's just what I thought." I put on my reading gla.s.ses, and looked down at the paper I held in my hand. I looked at it for a second, and then looked at Cletus. I looked over the top of my gla.s.ses, without raising my head. "I thought, 'There ain't no way to prove that, that's just hearsay'" I stared over the top of those little gla.s.ses for all I was worth. Timing was everything.

"Until I got this," I said. "With this subpoena," I added. And I handed both doc.u.ments to his real attorney, not to Cletus, not to Blitek. As Gunston looked at it, I said, "It's your phone bill, Cletus. A phone company record of the call being placed from your farm, to your place in Florida, just minutes after the Colson brothers were killed. In black and white."

Cletus was very pale. Gunston didn't look all that good, either. Silently, he pa.s.sed the bill to his client. I thought Blitek was going to trip as he got up and stood behind Cletus, peering over his shoulder.

You could have heard a pin drop, as they say. I don't know how I ever did an interview before I got those gla.s.ses.

"You want to stop, or do you want me to give it all to you now?" I asked. Quietly. All for effect. They'd have gotten the phone bill on discovery, anyway.

Cletus looked up. "Go ahead," he said, in as close to a whisper as he could probably get. I looked at Gunston. He nodded. Nothing to lose, there. Besides, I think he was really curious. Blitek I ignored.

"We've been following Gabriel for years," I said. Call it a white lie. "We" as in "We the People ..."

That was when Cletus surprised me. He turned to the side, and threw up on the floor.

Seventeen.

Thursday, January 15, 1998, 1848 Nothing like heaving on the floor to bring a party up short. We made Cletus clean up his own mess. Jail rules. Got him a damp cloth for his forehead. He was all quivery for a few minutes.

"Tell me the truth, now," said Davies to Gunston. "You trained him to do that, right?"

Gunston wasn't particularly amused, and told us that the interview was over. We'd abused his client for the last time. We were n.a.z.is. Truth was, he was running up his tab.

Cletus had other ideas. "Just stay with me, here, will ya, Ray? I gotta explain here. I gotta."

"Be careful," said Blitek. "Think about what you say. I can't caution you strongly enough ... be careful."

An attorney who got $25.00 an hour probably would have said it wasn't worth it. Ray Gunston, who was closer to $2,500.00 an hour, let the clock run.

Cletus did the only thing he could, as far as trying to exculpate himself. He told us that he'd been snookered in, was afraid of Gabriel, and didn't know how to get out of the matter. He also explained something that had been making me wonder ever since we did the crime scene.

"He wanted to use the computers in the house while we were gone," he said. "He calls it 'distributed computation,' or something."

"'Distributed computing,'" I said. "Sure. Put a bunch of little computers on big problem. Use their time, then put it together at the end."

"Yeah. Tied in with a bunch of other equipment. All over the country."

"For what?" I was curious.

"You'll see," he said. Right. I got the solid impression that he didn't know, either. I stopped with that line right there. Distributed computing was all we'd need to know to get some smarter cops on it. But I really wanted to get hold of those computers.

Cletus said that he just thought that Gabriel would use the house while they were gone. Then be out of there before they got back. No problems. No troubles. No complications except a bit of an electric bill.

Mostly true, I thought. Easy to make up, hard to disprove. He was only telling us what was supposedly in his own mind. No way to prove it either way. Then he interjected something into the rather standard tale of woe that led me to believe him.

"I thought they had to be cops, too. Feds. I thought he was right. I thought you were all lying to cover up the Feds."

Let me tell you just how glad I was that Volont wasn't in the room.

"Gabe's well known, and wanted around here," I said. "He's been involved in other killings, you know."

"He's a hero around here," said Cletus.

"You wouldn't think so if you'd been there, Cletus," I said.

Davies had let me converse with Cletus for long enough. "So, Cletus," he said, "where is he?"

Cletus just looked at him with a firmly closed mouth.

"Ray, here, will tell you that what I'm about to say is the truth. Your only chance is to cooperate. Saying you're sorry ain't gonna cut it. Neither is 'I was afraid of this man' when you so clearly cooperated with him."

"You offering a deal?" asked Gunston.

"I'm offering a chance," said Davies.

"My client will never cross the BAR," said Blitek.

"Pardon me," said Davies, "but what is that supposed to mean?"

"Common law applies on the lands, lakes, and the rivers. The law of the sea only applies on seawater. Salt and fresh water cannot be mixed, because G.o.d did not make salt water potable. This is the basic contradiction between the law of the land and the law of the sea. Cletus G. Borglan is a citizen under maritime law, and the laws of the land are not his. Where salt and fresh water meet is the BAR, and we will not cross it." Blitek paused for breath.

"What's your position on p.i.s.s?" asked Davies.

Blitek opened his mouth, but Gunston put a hand on his shoulder. "Not now." Simple, nearly sotto voice, but it shut Blitek up as if you'd closed switch. Interesting. Obviously didn't have much time for the man, but was in complete control of him.

I'd also noticed that, all during the time Cletus had been talking about Gabriel, Gunston hadn't batted an eye. I made a note. I really didn't want to forget that.

Gunston asked to talk with Cletus in private, so we took them to a little jail conference room, with a tough plastic window, and shut the door. I didn't lock it, although I was authorized to do so. I didn't feel they'd pose much of an escape risk. Blitek stood outside, looking forlorn.

I showed my note to Davies. "Yeah," he said. "I know." He then gave me an elbow in the ribs. "Good job," he said, just like W. C. Fields. "Made him regurgitate."

"Hey," I said, "I didn't know ..."

"Ah, you're a mean one, Houseman."

"Yeah, right." I took a sip of coffee. "Don't you suppose it could have been the reaction from anybody in Cletus's position, though? I mean, here he was, totally committed to an ideal. And a cool leader. He must have totally believed in the man." I took another sip.

"From what you people tell me about this Gabriel character, yeah, he would have." Davies grinned.

Gunston stuck his head out. "We're ready to go back to the kitchen, now."

We got there, and I was all prepared to get some good information. We did seem to have Cletus where we wanted him. Didn't work that way, though.

"My client," said Gunston, "is in danger of his life. I demand that he be moved, and that every security precaution be taken to ensure his safety."

"We'll do what we can," I said. Gunston was just blowing smoke, as far as I was concerned.

"To protect him from a known killer? Deputy, I'd suggest you move my client to the Linn County jail."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Last time we had somebody involved with Gabriel at Linn County," I said, "somebody else a.s.sociated with Gabriel fired at them with a LAWS rocket and took out a chunk of wall."

I'm sure Gunston remembered the incident, but I'd be willing to bet a million dollars that he'd never heard that it had anything to do with Gabriel.

Apparently, Davies hadn't, either. "No s.h.i.t? Was that this dude?"

"Ah, I guess I let the cat out of the bag on that one." I looked squarely at Gunston. "The point is, neither you, nor I, nor your client is safe if Gabriel wants to take us out. Anywhere. I'm deadly serious, Mr. Gunston." I gestured around the room. "But I think we're marginally safer here than we would be on the road."

Gunston didn't seem particularly worried. "Even if he stays here, we feel he's talked enough this evening."

Like Davies said later, Gunston had learned enough to begin to build a long, expensive case. I suspect my statements regarding Gabriel made it all that much easier. I didn't really care about that part. I suspected Cletus had told the truth, as far as it went.

"If your client were to let us know where Gabriel is," I said, "I'm confident that he could be taken into custody fairly quickly. Eliminate the whole problem."

"You don't know where he is?" asked Cletus.

"No, I don't." Then, afraid I'd given too much to him, I added, "Well, not exactly."

Cletus turned to Gunston. "I think it'd help if I told them what I know about that," he said. "It can't possibly get me in more trouble if they go get him." Before Gunston or Blitek could get a word in, he said, "He scouts banks at night. He's gonna hit some banks, and he's making detailed plans of them. For his troops. Calls it Operation Just Cash."

Cletus had been told that Gabriel intended to hit five banks in the area, three of them in Nation County. First, Maitland, First Iowa. Grand Vista, Federated Bank and Trust. Terrill, People's National. One in Dubuque County, and one across the Mississippi in Conception County, Wisconsin. Five. Sounded impressive at first. Until you figured the five would probably net him $10,000.00 in cash. It was apparent to me that Cletus had been sold a little bill of goods. Normal, I thought. Gabriel wouldn't want any details about a real plan in the hands of the likes of Cletus Borglan.

Too bad for Cletus. He'd opened the bag, but we already had the cat. No bargaining points there. But after he spoke, both his legal advisers just raised h.e.l.l.

Cletus went back to his cell. He said he really didn't want to bond out. In his shoes, I wouldn't, either.

In any case, it was way past my bedtime. I said as much to Lamar.

"Yeah, get some rest," he said. "This is your weekend off, isn't it?"

Oops. I'd forgotten about that. Our schedule went something like this: seven days on, two off; seven on, two off; three on, two off; two on, three off. Yeah, I know. Took some deputies months to get used to that. But the "three off" was a Friday, Sat.u.r.day, and a Sunday. The only Friday, Sat.u.r.day, or Sunday we got in a month. Tomorrow was my day off. Sue wanted to go to Madison and a part of me did too. But I knew the other part wouldn't let me.

"Uh, yeah. I guess it is."

"Don't you think you better take it off, then?"

"Not now..."

"Okay," said Lamar. No reason for him to argue that. I'd just go on building up comp time for eternity.

"Maybe I could get next weekend?"

"If you can get somebody to switch," he said. "We're still shorthanded."

When I got home, I explained the situation to Sue. It was one of those times when she got really mad, but was totally reasonable.

"I expected that," she said. "I always expect that."

"Look, I'm really sorry. We can try for next weekend ..."

"There's leftovers in the refrigerator," she said. "Scalloped potatoes and ham. I'm going to bed."

As she started up the stairs, I had two choices. One, I could say something apologetic, and she'd start to lose it, and we'd have a fight. Two, I could stay downstairs, and she'd lay awake for an hour, getting madder and madder.

I hate to say it, but I let her go up the stairs. I just didn't have the energy to argue.

I put the scalloped potatoes in the microwave, and heated them up. I took a plateful into the dining room, and ate in silence. I hated that schedule. I hated the size of the department that made you find your own replacement for an unscheduled day off.

The potatoes sat in my stomach like concrete. Most of the ham chunks were still cold. I didn't care enough to take them back to the microwave.

I took my plate out, sc.r.a.ped it off, and decided to go upstairs to bed. I'd just have to say something to Sue, the frustration was building to a point where I wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway.

I got into the bedroom, and Sue was asleep.

I remember counting, lying there, staring at the thin strip of street light coming through the curtain. I remember making a mental note to myself that I had reached 22,500.

Eighteen Friday, January 16, 1998, 0802 I woke up, showered, shaved, and went downstairs for coffee. There was a note on the pot from Sue. She and a neighbor gal had gone to Cedar Rapids to shop. She had already taken the day off from school and chose to make the most of it without me. She planned on being back after supper. woke up, showered, shaved, and went downstairs for coffee. There was a note on the pot from Sue. She and a neighbor gal had gone to Cedar Rapids to shop. She had already taken the day off from school and chose to make the most of it without me. She planned on being back after supper.

There being no point in sitting around the house, I checked the Weather Channel on TV. There was a great worm of a jet stream, moving up and down over the Midwest. Huge cold ma.s.ses were sliding down from Canada into the dips in the stream. We, however, were just getting the benefit of a sort of peak. Warm Gulf air was just moving into the area. The forecaster said we should enjoy it. Shortly, the arctic air would be back as the hump of the jet stream moved east. It was warming up, and forecast to be above twenty degrees most of the day. A "January thaw," as they call it, was in the making. If it got over thirty-two degrees, it would really start to mess up the gravel roads, with standing water, and softened surfaces giving under the wheels of traffic, and making ruts. Then it would freeze hard, again, and those ruts would be like steel trenches. In the meantime, the water on top of a frozen roadbed made for some really greasy driving. They say wet ice on wet ice is the slipperiest surface known ... much slipperier than Teflon.

I got to the office at 0842. Three plus hours early, since I was now going on to a noon-to-eight shift.

I found myself wandering about the jail kitchen, waiting for the fresh coffee to brew, when Sally came in at shift change. She came out to the kitchen to store her supper in the refrigerator, and stopped to chat for a few seconds.

"Hiding from work?" she asked.

"Kind of. Just waiting for a phone call..."

She opened the refrigerator door, and put her lunch bag inside. "You making fresh coffee?"

"Yep. Want some? Be glad to pour you a cup."

"Sure. You must want something special," she said, pulling a folding chair up to the long, inst.i.tutional table.

I interrupted the pot, poured her a cup of coffee, and took it to the table. "Here. Well, yeah, I sort of do."