Wilderness

CHAPTER 14.

Lieutenant Murray Vincent sat in his office at 1010 Commonwealth Avenue and fingered a thick collection of computer print-out sheets. He sat square in his chair with both feet flat on the floor and the computer sheets on his spare neat desk. As he went through them he moved his eyes methodically down the names on the sheets, turned a sheet, read the names, turned a sheet, read the names. Occasionally he stopped and went back reading more data on a name he recognized. He did this for an hour and eight minutes. Then he yelled through the open door, "Bobby." A uniformed State Trooper appeared in the door. "Corporal Croft is out on a detail, sir. Sheet says he'll be back in about half an hour."

"Send him in when he gets here," Vincent said.

In half an hour Croft came into Vincent's office.

Vincent said, "Close the door, Bobby."

Croft did. Then he sat in a straight chair beside Vincent's desk.

Vincent handed him a multifold print-out sheet, folded over. There was a name marked in blue pencil. "That a familiar name to you?" Vincent said.

Croft read, "Aaron Newman. Sure. He's the guy that saw Karl kill the broad in Smithfield and then got scared off." "It appears," Vincent said, "that Newman has purchased a firearm."

"Un-huh?"

"Whyn't you look into it, Bobby."

"You think he's still involved with Karl?"

"Whyn't you look into it and see. See exactly what he purchased, and see if you can figure out why. But don't talk to Newman without first talking to me. Okay?"

"How'd you happen to see this listing?" Croft said.

"I try to thumb through them all each week," Vincent said. He made a small smile.

"All the firearm purchases in the state? Every week?"

"I just sort of scan them."

"No wonder you're a lieutenant and I'm a corporal."

"I take the Commonwealth's money," Vincent said, "I do the Commonwealth's work." "Amazing," Croft said. "A-fucking-ma zing "Bob, stop dazzling me with your vocabulary. Go find out about Newman and his gun. Maybe there's something in it for us."

Croft nodded. He took the folded computer sheet and went out.

Vincent took a brown paper bag out of the bottom right desk-drawer.

From it he took a meatloaf sandwich with mayonnaise and lettuce, a nectarine, a Santa Rosa plum, half a dill pickle carefully wrapped in foil, two blue-checkered paper napkins, and a wedge-shaped plastic container in which there was a slice of homemade cherry pie. Taped neatly to the pie container with a piece of Scotch tape was a plastic fork. He spread a paper towel on his desk and carefully arranged his lunch on it. Then he took a big blue and white Thermos bottle from the same drawer and took off the cap. He poured skimmed milk into the cap and ate his lunch. He drank some milk and patted his mouth dry with the napkin and opened the pie container. On top of the pie was a small piece of paper with a heart and three kisses drawn on it. He smiled and put the paper in his desk drawer and ate the pie. When he was through he wrapped the plum and nectarine pits, along with the napkins and the plastic fork, in the foil from his pickle. He threw the foil away. He got up and went to the washroom and rinsed out the Thermos and the pie container. He washed his hands and face and went back to his desk. He put the Thermos and the pie container in the paper bag from which his lunch had come, put the bag away in the bottom right drawer of his desk. He took a toothpick from his shirt pocket and cleaned his teeth. Then he took a file folder from his in-basket and opened it and began to make notations in the margin with a blue pencil.

At two-forty Bobby Croft came back into his office and sat down in the straight chair. He took a small notebook out of his inside coat pocket, leafed through it until he found what he wanted, and then looked up at Vincent.

"Ready, Lieutenant?"

Vincent nodded.

"Newman bought a Springfield '03 bolt-action with a scope and a box of.30/06 ammunition. Told the clerk he wanted it for competition."

"Hmm-um."

"Then I went over the BPL and looked Newman up in Who's Who and Contemporary Authors. No mention of competitive shooting. I called his publisher and asked them if they knew anything about Newman shooting competitively. Said I was doing a story on writers who shoot and hunt for a Chicago magazine. Woman in the PR department said he gave no indication on his author's biog sheet of competitive shooting.

No mention of hunting or woodsman ship or anything remotely like it.

Said she'd heard him say at lunch he wasn't an outdoorsman. Ridiculed people who were, she said."

"Hmm-um."

"So why's he want the long-range rifle with the scope? I mean, your Springfield '03 isn't the first gun you think of when you go to buy a rifle."

"They were sniper guns in Korea," Vincent said.

"Too long ago for me, Murray. I'll have to trust your word on that." "They were," Vincent said. "Bolt-action, a lot slower than the Mi's for rapid firing, but for sniping they were perfect. You don't need rapid fire for sniping, and they had good range and didn't jam."

"So why does Newman want a sniper rifle? If you wanted something for protection, that's not what you'd get. You'd get a shotgun or a carbine, something like that."

"Right. It's not a common hunting weapon either. Not with the scope." "Clerk in the gun shop says he made a point of the scope and the range."

"Man buys a sniper gun," Vincent said, "probably wants to snipe."

"Croft put the notebook away in his coat pocket and leaned back in the straight chair and put his hands behind his head and looked at Vincent.

"You think he wants to shoot Karl?"

"You got a better guess?"

"You think he's got the balls?"

"No, but maybe I'm wrong. It's too big a coincidence. Guy sees Karl do murder. Guy goes to testify. Guy gets frightened off. Guy buys sniper rifle." Vincent spread his hands out, palms up. "What else?"

"He might have the balls," Croft said. "He asked what I'd do if my family were threatened. I told him I wasn't sure. I'd have to be in the spot." "I know what I'd do," Vincent said.

"I told him that too," Croft said.

"What'd you tell him I'd do?" "I said you'd blow the guy away."

Vincent nodded.

"Maybe he's going to. It's the way a guy like him would go. Long distance so you don't get blood on your jogging shoes."

"He's not a bad guy, Murray," Croft said. "He didn't like getting scared off. It bothered him."

"It should."

"Murray, not everyone is like you. You been doing this, how long, twenty-something years?"

"Twenty-six," Vincent said.

"You're used to guys with guns. You don't have any nerves. This guy's a writer. Biggest showdown he's had in twenty-six years is whether his serve hit the net or not, you know? He might have the balls."

"I hope so."

"So what do we do?"

"Nothing."

"Murray, we have some reason to think that a man might commit murder."

"Nothing," Vincent said.

"Yeah, okay, I won't get hysterical if Adolph Karl gets aced. He can use it. So can the Commonwealth. But what about Newman? He gets mixed up with Karl, a guy like that, they'll mangle him."

"Maybe, and maybe we'll catch them at it. Then we'll have Karl."

"You are a cold bastard, if you'll pardon my saying so, Lieutenant, sir."

"Newman could have given this to us. He didn't. He wants to do it himself, he takes his chances. If he gets Karl, that's good for us, and him. He gets blown up trying, maybe we can make Karl on that. We don't lose either way."

"Suppose he's lucky and gets Karl. Then what? We put him in the house of blue lights for the rest of his life?"

"Maybe we don't," Vincent said.

"One good turn deserves another?" Croft's face was tight.

"Something like that, Bobby. We can't lose on this one."

"Yeah, well, I take the Commonwealth's money," Croft said, "I do the Commonwealth's work." He got up and left.