“What do you know, Carl?” I put my hat on the table and stared him down.
“I know Hattie Hoffman’s dead, that’s all. I had her for history two years now. American history last year and European this year. She liked Europe better.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at. Why’d you lie to Jake?”
“Lie!”
“I want to know what you talked about in your basement on Friday, and you’d better not say the Twins.”
He stared at me, frozen for a minute, before going to the doorway and glancing down the hall. Then he dropped into one of the chairs at his kitchen table and spoke quietly.
“Lanie.”
“What about her?”
He sighed. “We talked about her a bit. When Peter came back with me on Friday she was upset. We started fighting. We’re always fighting these days. And after she stomped upstairs, Peter and I talked about it.”
“About what?”
“About getting married young. Not knowing what the hell you’re getting into. He got married right out of college, too.”
“Was he having marital troubles? Did you talk about that?”
He was quiet for a second. “No. Not exactly. He asked me something, though, and I’m not proud of what I told him. That’s why I didn’t tell your deputy.”
I waited and eventually he came out with it.
“He asked if I would’ve stayed with Lanie before Josh was born. If I could’ve done it over again when there weren’t any kids to think about, would I have stayed?”
His voice dropped even lower. “I said no. I said I thought even Josh wished we were divorced sometimes. The stupid things we fight about . . .”
“What kinds of things?” I smelled a domestic brewing.
“Everything. You ever been married, Sheriff?”
“Yep.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that. What happened?”
“Vietnam.”
“She left you while you were gone?”
“Nope. About two minutes after I got back. Turned out she liked me better on the other side of the world.”
I never talked about Angie. Not that I was torn up about it anymore. There was a time, a long time, when I was bitter about how she left, but that all faded. She hadn’t known what to do with an angry war vet anymore than I knew myself. She just wanted a happy, regular life. Before I shipped out, she’d begged me to go to Canada with her. I took the honorable path, though; I put my country before my girl. Her letters were one of the things that got me through my tour and that’s what I remembered about her now. When I heard she’d died in a car crash outside Dubuque a few years ago, I pulled out all those letters again. It was a strange thing, reading all the warnings to be careful and not let myself get hurt, all that concern pouring out of Angie’s dead hand. I put them away in the box with the medals and the note from the president and hadn’t looked at any of it since. No need to dig up the past, except I felt for Carl. Angie and I had been kids ourselves, no property or children to muck up the divorce. There was just a See you later and a few papers to sign. But Carl and Lanie had a life together—a home, a son.
“That’s horrible, Sheriff.” He looked mad. “Leaving a war hero as soon as he gets home.”
“What’s done is done.”
I picked up my hat and made my way back toward the front door. “Lund never complained about his wife?”
“Not really. Mostly his mother-in-law. Seems she doesn’t care too much for him.”
“You talk about Hattie that night?”
“No.” He opened the door and walked me out to the cruiser. “No, I would’ve remembered that.”
“Okay. Thanks for taking the time this morning.”
He nodded and Lanie appeared in the screen door behind him, her face pinched and closed. Whether or not she heard what Carl had said in the kitchen, it looked like they had some more fights ahead.
I found myself driving toward Bud’s house, but what could I say? I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to know, which was who to point his gun at. This was an active investigation, not to mention a media nightmare, and the less Bud knew the better.
Passing the turnoff to Bud’s, I headed out to the lake. On the way I called the crime lab to check on the samples. They told me the file was still pending and they couldn’t give me a date on when it would be processed. They were working through an “unusually large number of files,” according to the pissant who finally answered my call.
I pulled into the lot where Hattie and Tommy went parking on Friday night, looking across the lake to the Erickson barn with its old roof bowing down toward the water. There were a few trees along the shore next to the barn, enough cover to hide in even without the long grasses that would wave up in a few more months. According to Tommy’s story, she’d gotten out of his truck and walked to the barn on her own. Meeting someone. Why would she go there if she wasn’t meeting someone? It probably would have been around 10:00 p.m. Lund could easily have met her out there after he left Carl’s place. Someone could have followed her, too—Tommy, or even someone else, but whoever it was had to have a reason to be out here in the middle of the night. I rubbed my face and thought through my short list of suspects. Lund and Tommy both had motive, both might have had reason to want her dead.
I got out of the cruiser and retraced Hattie’s last steps—across the parking lot and then along the lake that lapped up the shore with a warm, lazy wind. It was cooler and partly cloudy last Friday, in the low fifties and dropping after sundown. She would have been cold, probably walking fast, both from the chill and to put distance between her and Tommy. There weren’t any houses or barns on the horizon in any direction. The security light in the parking lot would have been on, but it didn’t have enough wattage for more than a hundred-foot radius, so she only had a partial moon to light the way. Was she afraid? I didn’t know. If she was alone, no. Walking alone in the cold and dark wasn’t anything to a country girl. Maybe Hattie was aiming toward the city, but she was as much a part of this land as any other Pine Valley kid, and the land comforted folks here. Its openness and vastness were a balm. No, if she walked to her death alone, she walked unafraid. I crunched along the trail and scanned along the edges of the grass again. Nothing was trampled, no mud kicked up. There were no signs of any struggle. We’d already been over this ground; me, the forensics team, and Jake to boot, but it never hurt to retrace your steps, especially when you were thinking things over or waiting for a lab tech a hundred miles away to squirt something into a vial.