Dark of the Moon

"CPR?"

"It's a lifesaving technique," Virgil said.

She frowned, then shook her head. "Whatever. Don't get alone."

Virgil left her with Jacobs and Clark, headed back to Bluestem, stopped at the fire department. A big man with a handlebar mustache met him, took him back to an equipment locker, opened a door: "There you go," he said.

ON THE WAY back to Bluestem, Virgil called Joan: "Where are you?"

"At the post office," she said.

"Then where're you going?"

"Mmmm. Might go home and watch television," she said. "What're you doing?"

"Trying to contain my animal spirits."

THE GREAT THING about daytime sex, Virgil thought privately, is that you got to watch. Women didn't like to watch so much, which was understandable, because they were watching men, and men having sex wasn't that interesting. At least, not to Virgil. Women having sex was. Which was why he liked daytime sex.

And Joan said, "I gotta give this up and get something regular."

"You had something regular," Virgil said.

"You're right," she said. "Once a year is regular. Just not frequent. I need something regular and frequent. Not all over the goddamn place, morning, noon, and night."

"That would be 'nooner.'"

"You know, people haven't used that term in fifty years," she said. "You are such a small-town guy."

"I've heard it four times since I've been here," he said. "Tends to stick in your mind."

"I'm not positive that you've got enough extra space, to collect small-town sayings," Joan said.

Virgil said, "Bite me."

SHE ROLLED OVER on her stomach: "So what's the big mystery?"

"I've got it worked out that Todd Williamson is going to hang himself tonight. Or, clear himself. I'll take either one."

Her eyebrows went up. "How're you gonna do that?"

"That's complicated and confidential. However, I will take either one. If I clear him…Hmm. Never mind."

On the way out to the truck, Virgil noticed a clump of multicolored paper sheets stacked on the kitchen table. "Crop insurance," Joan said. "Everything the federal government touches, turns into quadruplicate or quintuplicate or something, and it takes days to fill it all out. And then, they do it all over next time."

Virgil looked over the forms: "Christ, I don't even understand the words."

"I'm the party of the foreplay," she said. "The government's the party of the gang bang. See, it's right there…"

VIRGIL LEFT JOAN'S and cruised the back of the newspaper building, in a mood, now.

A mood going sour.

He saw Williamson's truck; so he was probably in. He parked in the Ace Hardware lot for twenty minutes, watched the front of the newspaper, two blocks away, saw nothing. Moved to the McDonald's lot, parked behind the restaurant, and watched the newspaper by looking straight through the building's windows, feeling somewhat invisible.

Forty-five minutes after he began watching, Williamson came out of the newspaper, walking fast, crossed the street in the middle of the block, and went into Johnnie's Pizza. Five minutes later he came out with a pizza box and soft-drink cup, crossed the street back to his office.

So Williamson was working. Virgil called Stryker: "I need to get you and five deputies to work tonight. I'd like to get the Curlys, Jensen, Carr, couple more guys. Hook up tonight at eight o'clock. To whenever."

"What are we doing?"

"Surveillance and maybe an arrest. I'll brief everybody at eight, at the courthouse. Tell everybody to be on time and to keep their mouths shut-I don't want any of the other deputies to know about it."

"You think…"

"Something could happen. Or maybe not. Can't take a chance."

WHEN HE GOT OFF the phone, Virgil spent another ten minutes watching the news. Five o'clock. The rest of the day would drag. He'd deliberately set the meeting between Williamson and Jesse Laymon for after dark, because he thought the killer would feel safer. Fewer people around; and if he trailed Jesse afterward, he'd be easier to tag.

Still: a long time to wait. Maybe go back to Joan's? Maybe not. He thought about it, fired up the truck, and headed back to Worthington.

MARGARET AND JESSE were in their room, watching a movie about languid Englishmen and-women who lived in London at the beginning of the twentieth century.

"We're kinda into this movie. Could we do the planning thing afterward? There's only twenty minutes left."

"We got time," Virgil said. He left his sound kit next to the bed, and went out to the lounge. Had a beer, watched the end of a Twins-White Sox game, and walked back to the room at seven o'clock.

TO JESSE: "There is some small risk for you, but not as much as letting him go on. I don't believe there's any chance that he'll attack you at the Dairy Queen. Just in case, we're gonna have a deputy sitting outside eating an ice-cream cone. I'm thinking Margo Carr, with a gun."

Margaret said, "If Todd is a lunatic, how do we know he won't just explode and start killing people?"

"Because if he is a lunatic, he's a special kind," Virgil said. "He's a planner. He's meticulous. He'll do it, but he'll lower his odds of getting caught, however he can. He won't just start blasting away."

Jesse asked, "Then what do you think he'll do?"

"He'll meet you. He'll bullshit you. He'll find out what you're planning to do. Then he'll come after you. Might have a long gun, pull up beside you on the road home, after you get off the highway, take a shot. Might dump his car and walk to your house, and then come in after both of you. That's what we're hoping he'll do…"

"You're hoping he'll do that?" Margaret asked.

"Jim Stryker and I and the Curlys and Larry Jensen will be staking him out. Margo will be at the Dairy Queen. Two more will actually be inside your house-we'll drop them off early. I'll need a key from you. So Jesse goes and talks to Todd, then she gets in her truck and she takes off-and when she gets out on the highway, she really rolls." He looked at Jesse. "You move just as fast as you're comfortable with."

"I'm pretty comfortable with ninety," she said.

"That's good. You've only got a few miles down to your exit, if you get even a small jump on him, he won't be able to catch you before you get home. We'll have two guys on the highway in front of you. When you get home, you go in the back door and right down the basement. The two guys who are in front of you will keep going, two blocks down the way, and then out on their feet. Then we've got two guys inside if he goes in after Jesse, and two outside, and two more right behind him."

"WHAT AM I doing during all this?" Margaret asked.

"I'd like you to stay here," Virgil asked. "Or wait in my room down in Bluestem. We'll keep you right up to date on what's going on…"

VIRGIL PICKED UP his sound kit and unzipped it. The two microphones and transmitter together were no bigger than a matchbox, and the microphones themselves were as thin as pennies. "This is a radio," Virgil said, showing it to them. "There are two microphones; they route separately through the transmitter. Like a cell phone, but the microphones are way better. We'll tape the mikes to your chest-best if you wear a T-shirt-and clip the transmitter inside the waist of your jeans, at the small of your back. We'll both be able to hear you, and record it at the same time.

"When you meet him, you push him about the moon tattoo, the man-in-the-moon thing," Virgil continued. "You push him about how he must've known that Judd was his father-how could a Twin Cities newspaper reporter, with all that curiosity, and all those records right there in St. Paul, not know who his father was? And didn't he have grandparents, and wouldn't they know? He won't want you to ask those questions-he'll be pretty hot about keeping you from asking. I think he'll be right after you."

"What if he doesn't do all that?" Jesse asked. "What if he goes home and goes to bed?"

Virgil said, "Well, shoot. Then we'd have to start over with something else. But he was calling you because he wants to make some kind of move. I think."

"I'd like to get it over with," Jesse said.

"We all would," Virgil said. "So. You want to take your shirt off?"

WHEN HE LEFT Worthington the second time, at seven-thirty, Jesse was ready to roll, the wire tested both for recording fidelity and for direct sound.

At five after eight, Virgil was back at the courthouse. Daylight was beginning to fade, the shadows long across Main Street, red light reflecting off west-facing windows. Sundown would come a few minutes before nine o'clock.

Stryker was waiting, with the two Curlys, Jensen, Carr, and two guys named Padgett and Brooks.

Virgil leaned on the front edge of Stryker's desk. "I've pulled together evidence that suggests that Todd Williamson might have been capable of doing the Gleason and Schmidt killings, and the two Judds, and might have been inclined to do them. I'm going to feed that evidence back to him, tonight, through Jesse Laymon, and hope that it forces him into an overt act. They're going to meet at ten o'clock at the Dairy Queen. After the meeting, which I'm set up to record, and to monitor, Jesse is going to take off as fast as she can, for home. So fast that Williamson won't be able to ambush her, or run her off the road, on the way.

"Deputies Padgett and Brooks"-he nodded at them-"will already be at her house, waiting. Jim and Larry will try to figure out where Williamson is, before he goes to the meeting, stake him out, and track him toward the Dairy Queen.

"The two Curlys will be down south of the Dairy Queen, in separate cars. Once Jesse takes off, I want you two in front of her, heading back to her place…The rest of us will follow behind, so we'll have him boxed in if he goes after her."

"What about me?" Carr asked.

"I've got something touchy, if you're willing to do it," Virgil said. "I want you in civvies. But with a gun: this guy is dangerous. You'll be in your own car, and as soon as Larry sees Williamson walk into the Dairy Queen, I want you to pull in and order an ice-cream cone. Sit outside on one of those benches, and lick it down. One hand on your gun."

She smiled: "Sounds good to me."

"Where'll you be?" Stryker asked Virgil.

"I'll be in my truck, parked behind Jane's Nails. I want to stay back in the dark, but I've got to be in radio range, too, so I can monitor the meeting."

"I've got a couple of questions," said Brooks.

"ALL RIGHT," Virgil said. "Let's do the details. But: we've got to be in place an hour before Williamson is due to meet Jesse, by nine o'clock. Williamson is at his office: we don't want to lose him…" He stepped to a wall map of Bluestem, on the wall behind Stryker's desk, touched street corners. "I figure Stryker and Jensen will be here and here, covering the front and back doors of the newspaper office."

WHEN HE WAS DONE, Carr asked, "So if Todd doesn't do anything, we just go home?"

"No. We'll be giving him a serious push-he won't want Jesse Laymon to talk to me. I think he'll have to do something. If Jesse takes off, and Williamson goes home, or back to his office, or wherever, we'll tag him. Overnight, anyway. And just in case he figures out a way to sneak off, I want Padgett and Brooks to hang at Jesse's overnight." He nodded at the two men: "If nothing happens, I'll join you out there early tomorrow, and I'll ship Jesse back to her hideout while I try to figure something else."

"All seems a little shaky," Brooks said.

"It's a lot shaky," Virgil said. "But to tell you the truth, with what I've got now, and what I'm likely to get, I don't think we've got a conviction. He'll get away with it, unless he kills somebody else, and trips up. We gotta take the shot."

"Not against that," Brooks said. "I'm just sayin'."

"I hear you," Virgil said. "I'm more worried than you are."

"WHAT IF he really didn't do it?" Jensen asked.

Virgil smiled. He'd been waiting for that question. "That's almost as good. If we clear him, I think I can work out who we're really looking at. We've really got quite a bit of detail, once you sift it out," Virgil said.

"What detail?" Stryker asked.

Virgil shrugged. "I got notes. Small stuff. Show it to you later."

THEY WENT OVER the details one more time, but it wasn't rocket science, and they were done by 8:45. They were all a little hot, eager to get going, and by nine, Virgil was alone in his truck, and called Jesse. "You ready to roll?"

"Yup. I'm a little nervous."

"Good. You should be. We've already got the place staked out," Virgil said. "Margo Carr will be outside. She'll be close enough to be there instantly if you scream; and she's armed. I'll be five seconds away, on the corner by Sherwin-Williams. Now: remember about the radio check. You call me on your cell when you're coming up to the exit so we can get Margo moving, and then when you're coming into the Dairy Queen, turn on the radio. I'll make sure you're coming in clear. Don't get out of the truck until I give you the okay."

"Okay. I'll leave here right at eight-thirty."

"Stay in touch," Virgil said. "You've got my cell. Call me for anything."

AT TEN AFTER NINE, Virgil was squatting between two plastic recycling bins and the back wall of Jane's Nails and Extensions, a cell-phone bud in one ear, a cop-radio bud in the other. Stryker called: "All right, I got Williamson. He's at the office. Saw his head in the window, clear as day."

"His house is dark," Jensen said. "I'm moving up behind the Judd building, looking down the alley toward the back."

A minute later: "I'm looking down the alley. His van is there."

Another minute, Stryker: "Got him again. He's working."

STRYKER SAW HIM twice more, the clock creeping around to nine-thirty.

Virgil: "All right, everybody, Jesse is on her way. Margo, are you there?"

"At my house, all set, in my car. I am two minutes away," she said.

"Big Curly?"

"Here."

"Little Curly?"

"Looking at the Diary Queen."

"Stay cool, everybody."

Virgil himself was not that cool. He lay behind the two garbage cans, with the shotgun, watching his truck across the street. Nine thirty-two. Nine thirty-five.

LIKE THIS: he thought the odds that the killer was Williamson were about thirty percent, one in three. If he was, then Williamson would meet Jesse in the Dairy Queen, and Jesse would unload a whole bunch of things that Virgil had told her, about his record, about being Lane, about how he must've known he was Judd's son, just to get there…about talking again with Betsy, to see if she could identify him. If that happened, then Williamson would follow her home and try to kill her, and they'd get him.

But the Curlys had shown themselves capable of some serious shit. Big Curly had been there the night that Maggie Lane died; might have known that she'd been beaten before she died. They'd tampered with a murder scene, for sure. They said that Todd Williamson had fed them Jesse Laymon as a suspect, and Big Curly said that Williamson had gone through the Gleason house, and may have left the Revelation. But all of that was what the Curlys said…

An alternative: one of the Gleasons, knowing about the cover-up surrounding Maggie Lane's death, had gotten religion. Maybe even from Feur. And fearing for their souls, had started talking about coming clean. So the Gleasons had been silenced by someone else involved in the cover-up: Big Curly.

Judd suspected something: so Judd died.

Roman Schmidt began to put things together: and the Schmidts went down.

Thirty percent, Virgil thought.

BUT THE STRYKER FAMILY was deep in this, as well. Had the motive to get rid of the Judds-Judd had killed their father and husband. And when Amy Sweet had told Virgil that she'd mentioned the Judd ethanol plant to her bridge group, the one member of the group whose name Virgil had recognized had been Laura Stryker's. So at least one Stryker had known that Judd was headed back toward ethanol, a scheme that might have looked a lot like the Jerusalem artichoke scam.

It was possible, he thought, that the Strykers, one or all of them, would not want Williamson cleared, as Virgil had suggested he might be. And Stryker did have a streak of violence in him, as Jesse had suggested. He'd killed Feur and the man named John without turning a hair. Twenty percent, one or all.

THERE WAS a possibility, which would never really come clear, if it were true, that George Feur was behind it all, as Jim Stryker believed. Good reason to believe that-Stryker wasn't a stupid man. Fifteen percent.

MARGARET LAYMON was another possibility, although he really didn't think she would have left that pistol in Jesse's boot. Or, in any case, he couldn't see why she would do that.

Then there were a few outliers: Jensen and Margo Carr. Somebody had planted that Revelation, and that Salem cigarette butt, and had known that Carr would pick it up.

Altogether, another fifteen percent.