Death Benefits_ A Novel Part 23

"What kinds of things?"

"Office supplies. Pens, calculators, computers, airline timetables, maps. His friends might have gotten in and out already and removed incriminating paper. They would have no reason to get rid of paper clips. The magazines I found all had subscriber's address labels, so they were his-all guns and naked women." Stillman paused. "I'd say that Scully was pretty much what he seemed to be the night we met him: the sort of guy you tell, 'Go get Walker and Stillman,' and he goes out to get Walker and Stillman."

"So now we're stuck again."

"Temporarily becalmed," said Stillman. "If the other guy in Florida was a sort of relative, it's possible he lived nearby-maybe in Coulter, or in one of these other little towns around here." He let his eyes rest on Walker for only a half-second before he said, "Let's find some breakfast."

Walker began to breathe more evenly as soon as he was back on the Old Concord Road. There were other cars on the highway now, and the bright summer sunlight seemed to lend not exactly benevolence, but at least reality to the world. What he could see now included long views of trees and fields and hills, not just a section of pavement lit by the funnel-shaped beams of his headlights surrounded by vague shapes and shadows. There were flowers growing in patches here and there, and being able to see the detail and complexity of their forms made him less uneasy. Approaching traffic now resolved itself into sequences of cars, and not just the glare of headlights brightening and then disappearing. It even made him feel better that two of the first six cars had out-of-state license plates. This was tourist season, and the uncomfortable feeling he'd had that he and Stillman were the only strangers disappeared.

They found a restaurant just outside South Haverley that had been built to look like an enlarged farmhouse. A few of the dozen cars in the parking lot had plates from Ma.s.sachusetts, New York, or Vermont. When he pulled into a s.p.a.ce and got out of the Explorer, he noticed that the muscles of his shoulders and neck were stiff from the tension of the night and morning, then remembered that he had been awake for twenty-four hours.

They sat beside a window that looked out on the highway, ordered steak and eggs for breakfast, and then watched the traffic continue to build while they ate. When Stillman was signing the charge slip, Walker let himself return to thoughts of the immediate future. They got back into the Explorer and Walker started the engine, moved to the edge of the highway, and signaled for a left turn while he waited for an opening in the traffic.

"You know where we're going?" Stillman asked.

"What choice do we have?" said Walker. "The case is in Coulter."

They drove back to the sign that said COULTER COULTER and made the turn. There were two cars ahead of them on the road that sliced between the hills and onto the flat plain beyond, and as each turned to the right, Walker stared at the occupants. The first car held a couple in late middle age and the second a younger couple with children in the back seat. and made the turn. There were two cars ahead of them on the road that sliced between the hills and onto the flat plain beyond, and as each turned to the right, Walker stared at the occupants. The first car held a couple in late middle age and the second a younger couple with children in the back seat.

Walker drove more confidently over the covered bridge this time, and across the fields to the town. Coulter looked different in full daylight. There were people on the street, cars parked in front of the old-fas.h.i.+oned commercial buildings. The public library was not open yet, but there were lights on inside, and two little girls were on the front steps with stacks of books beside them, watching two slightly older boys playing catch with a baseball on the lawn.

They went on past the old church, and Walker could see the blue sign ahead that said POLICE POLICE.

Stillman seemed to read his mind. "Keep going. I want to see it."

It was a wide, single-story modern building made of tan bricks that didn't match the reddish color of the older buildings in the area. Walker's second glance made it look even better. The town was about half the size of Wallerton, the little place in Illinois where Ellen Snyder had been murdered. There, the police station had been about half as big, and much older.

"Pull around the corner, and we'll park on the side street," said Stillman. When they got out and walked back toward Main, Stillman nudged Walker. "Look at the parking lot."

Walker looked at the row of police cars. "Looks like sixteen," he said.

"I guess we didn't have to worry about car thieves," said Stillman. "Let's go for a walk."

Walker's impression of the place began to grow more specific now that his slower pace let him see details. The town had been laid out in the eighteenth century, when there had been a hope that cities designed on a rational plan would stay that way, and this one had. The streets were on a regular grid. Main Street ran down the middle of town from the bridge, with two parallel streets on each side of it: Federal and New Hamps.h.i.+re on the left, and Const.i.tution and Coulter on the right. The cross streets began with Was.h.i.+ngton, set right above the river on the first high ground. Then came Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, and Grant. Walker suspected that Grant Street had been changed from something else, because all the houses on the street seemed to be older than the Civil War. It had probably been a tree, because this was where the names of trees began: Sycamore, Oak, Maple, Birch, Hemlock, and Cherry. The streets all ended in fences that separated the town from old pastures.

The houses were nearly all of the older varieties-wooden ones that seemed to belong in the late eighteenth century, and brick ones with Victorian-style porches and elaborate wooden trim. A few were nearly new, but they were built to the scale of older times, when a family might include eight children and a couple of maiden aunts. As they walked up another street, and another, Walker's impression was confirmed. "It's a pretty prosperous place."

"Yeah," said Stillman. "I suppose the houses don't tell the whole story. Most of them are a few generations old, when the money could have come from something we can't see anymore because they sold it-lumber, or granite, maybe. Real estate has got to be cheap around here."

"They take care of the place, though," said Walker. "About a third of these houses look as though they've just been painted." They walked back the way they had come.

A few minutes later, at the next intersection, Walker noticed something at the end of Grant Street that looked different. It was a long, one-story building that appeared to be the work of the same architect who had built the police station. It was plain, tan brick with only tiny windows at the top, just below the roof. The parking lot beside it seemed to be full.

Stillman noticed it too. "I wonder what that is."

They walked down the street toward the building, until Walker could make out the stainless-steel letters attached to the brick facade. " 'New Mill Systems,'" he read.

"Just some kind of business," said Stillman. "Let's go back."

They returned to Main Street. The town didn't look any different from the other small, old places in the area. The single church had a stone set at the corner of it with the date 1787. The library had opened now, and Walker could see through the gla.s.s doors that the girls had already made their way past the librarian's desk to an alcove full of tall, brightly colored books that had to be the children's section. The boys had disappeared. As he pa.s.sed, a pretty young woman with serious-looking gla.s.ses came from behind a counter and knelt on the floor beside one of the girls.

People pa.s.sed by or went into the twenty-five or thirty buildings on Main, and Walker could see that they had little curiosity about a pair of tourists. But when they went into a coffee shop, the elderly man who waited on them said, "You haven't been in before, have you?" He was staring at Walker.

"No," said Stillman. He pointed to his Danish pastry. "If this is any good, you might see more of us."

The old man looked at Walker. "You," he said.

Walker froze.

"You look a lot like the Ellisons. I'll bet you're here to visit."

"Do I?" said Walker. "No relation that I know of. We're just here exploring."

Stillman seemed eager to keep the old man talking. "How about you? Have you lived in town long?"

"Long? I was born here."

"Really," said Stillman. "That reminds me. I was going to ask somebody, so I'll ask you. I didn't notice a hospital."

The old man shook his head. "Never had one. In the old days, the doctor would come out to your house. I was born a couple of blocks from here. No more, though. Now, if your wife is due, you drive her to Keene."

"The world's a different place," said Stillman regretfully.

"You can miss those days if you want," said the old man. "I sure don't. I got a pacemaker." He pointed to his chest. He noticed that a young man and woman had stood up from their table and were bringing their bill to the counter. He stepped around the other side to meet them.

Stillman spent the next few minutes eating his pastry and looking around him. Walker could tell he was trying to make eye contact with the people nearby. There were three well-dressed women in their thirties who looked like lawyers, a pair of boys in their late teens who were drinking some kind of whipped fruit concoction, and a pair of men about Stillman's age who seemed to be sitting together to share a newspaper. Stillman seemed to have no luck, so he stood up and gave the old man his bill and some money.

As he pocketed his change, he said, "I was wondering. The place a couple of blocks over-New Mill Systems. What do they do there?"

"Do?" The old man looked confused, then a little embarra.s.sed. "Oh, some high-tech stuff. It's way beyond me. I can't program my VCR." His eyes seemed to stray from Stillman's face and dart over his shoulder.

When Walker turned, he couldn't pick out anyone who was paying attention. The three women were leaning forward talking and laughing, the two middle-aged men were still engrossed in their newspaper, and the boys were just standing up to come toward the counter too. Maybe that had been what had distracted the old man, Walker decided. Teenaged boys were always closely watched.

He followed Stillman into a drugstore and watched him go up the aisles picking out a small bottle of sunscreen and a pack of chewing gum. The only employee in the store was a man in a white coat who was at least as old as the man in the coffee shop, sweeping the floor. He put aside his broom, went behind the counter, and took Stillman's money.

Stillman smiled and said, "Is this the only drugstore in town?"

"Yes," said the man. "Got a big drug habit?"

"No," said Stillman happily. "I was looking for those Dr. Scholl's pads for inside your shoes, and I didn't see any."

The man pointed, his hand shaking a little. "Over there. That aisle."

Stillman followed his gesture, then came back with a flat package that he tossed on the counter. "Thanks," he said. Then he added, "I wonder if you could give me directions to New Mill Systems?"

The man's brow furrowed a little and he looked up in the air for a second, as though he were trying to place the name. Then he said, "That way up Main, turn left at Grant, and you'll already be there. You a salesman or something?"

"Sore feet gave me away, huh?" said Stillman. "Maybe you can help me. What is it they make?"

The old man shook his head. "Something to do with computers. I hear it's mostly government contracts, though, so they may not even let you in." He went back to his broom.

Later, at the end of a side street, they found another large, modern building; this one had COULTER SCHOOL COULTER SCHOOL emblazoned on a sign. It was summer, so Walker wasn't surprised to see that the building was deserted and the windows dark. He could see that it must have been built to accommodate all of the town's children. One side of the building had a small playground with swing sets and monkey bars and slides, but at the other end there were full-scale athletic fields. emblazoned on a sign. It was summer, so Walker wasn't surprised to see that the building was deserted and the windows dark. He could see that it must have been built to accommodate all of the town's children. One side of the building had a small playground with swing sets and monkey bars and slides, but at the other end there were full-scale athletic fields.

There seemed to be only one real restaurant in town. It was in a big turn-of-the-century brick building across the bridge on the other side of the river, and the sign on the door said simply FINE DINING FINE DINING. There were about forty tables, twenty of them set with crisp white linen, and three waiters who hurried back and forth carrying trays and folding stands to set them on.

Walker studied the old photographs on the wall above their table. There were men in high collars, pinch-shouldered, rumpled suits, and derby hats standing beside a horse and wagon, a gathering of women in full skirts, wasp-waisted and wearing feathered hats, in some garden. There was one that had men standing in the street outside a building he had seen on Main that still bore the sign BANK OF COULTER BANK OF COULTER, but the street in the picture was cobblestones. There was another picture that seemed to be the building they were in.

Stillman asked their waiter, "What was this building originally-a mill?"

"Yes, sir," answered the waiter. "People call it the Old Mill. But that was a hundred years ago."

"That explains that place we saw before. New Mill Systems. You happen to know what they sell?"

"Electronics. Something to do with communications."

When they had finished their lunch, they walked back along the river to the other side of Main, and made their way up the side streets there. As they reached Maple Street, Stillman looked at his watch. "It's after two-thirty. Let's get back to Keene. We can stop at Foley's and get your new gla.s.ses, then go to the hotel and get some sleep. When I wake up, I'll call you."

30.

Walker awoke in the dark, already looking at the telephone. He wondered if that was what had awakened him, but he waited for a few seconds and it didn't ring. He looked at the digital clock beside the bed. It was already ten-fifteen.

He considered calling Stillman, but he remembered that Stillman had definitely said he would do the calling. He went to his suitcase, opened it, and laid out fresh clothes, then went into the bathroom for a shower. He left the door open so he could hear the telephone.

He dressed quickly, then left the room and counted the doors as he walked down the hall to the exit. When he reached the parking lot, he counted the windows from the end of the building to find Stillman's room. The light was on.

He went inside and knocked on Stillman's door. He heard Stillman say, "Just a minute," and the door swung open. Stillman walked back to his desk and picked up the phone that had been lying there off the hook. "It's just Walker," he said into it. "He and I have got to talk. I'll call again when I can." He hung up and turned his attention to Walker.

"I thought you were going to sleep," said Walker.

"I did. When you get to a certain age, you don't need as much. When was the last time you talked to Serena?"

"Just before we went to Coulter. It was ... what? Three-thirty A.M. A.M."

"Nothing since then?"

"No. Why? Is something wrong?"

"She left. I just talked to Gochay, and he said she quit. She picked up her belongings and walked out on him."

Walker said, "Just like that? She didn't say anything like that to me." He felt a sudden emptiness, a sense of loss so deep it surprised him. He had never gotten an address and telephone number for her except Gochay's. She had never offered one.

Stillman intruded on his thoughts, as though he could read them. "She's perfectly capable of finding you anytime she wants." He lifted the telephone again and punched in a number, then punched two more digits, listened in silence for a few seconds, then hung up. "Uh-uh."

"What was that?"

"My bug in Jim Scully's house. It's plugged into the phone jack, and whatever it hears is recorded on a little sound-actuated recorder. It doesn't ring, just plays back what it's heard. It hasn't heard anything. Forget Serena for a minute. We've got to figure out how to get from Scully to the other dead guy-this cousin of his."

Walker sighed and forced himself to think. "You made some acquaintances-the waiter, the druggist, the old guy in the coffee shop. In a town that size, I'm sure one of them must have known Scully."

"It takes time to get people to talk. We're liable to be asking about him an hour before or after the FBI announces he's been killed by two guys who can only be us."

"The Coulter police, then?"

"I've been thinking about it. They probably know what we need to know. Guys who grow up to carry guns for a living usually get noticed long before they turn pro. Say we take the direct approach. We go to the station, identify ourselves, and tell them what we want-a short list of Scully's friends and relatives. There's no rational reason for the police to give it to us. If they do, what's our next move? We can't go to their houses, break in, and look around. In fact, if the police know Scully's house has been broken into, we'd be confessing to that."

Walker was frowning as he stared at the wall.

"What is it?" asked Stillman.

"That town. I guess I wasn't sleeping very deeply, because when I woke up, I was already running the statistics."

"The statistics?"

"Well, think about it. Coulter has four hundred and twenty-eight people in it. From looking at it, I'd say there are about a hundred and sixty-five houses: eleven purely residential streets with around fifteen houses each. That's roughly two point six people per dwelling. The average family in the country has two point six four people, so that works out about right. About a third are kids under eighteen, so you figure a hundred and forty-three of those, and two hundred eighty-five adults."

"The school looks about right for that. Maybe a bit on the roomy side," said Stillman. "But there might be farm kids bused in."

"Yeah, it's okay," said Walker. "Even without them. There's obviously money in town for public works, so you'd expect it to be better than minimum. But there are sixteen cars in the lot of the police station."

"Seemed a little high, didn't it? I've been wondering about that too."

"It was two-thirty in the afternoon when I looked for the last time. You have to figure some of the cars were out, don't you? Looking for speeders, or something?"

"There were," said Stillman. "We saw two out in the morning."

"That's right. Let's be conservative and say we saw all the police cars in town. Eighteen. Suppose only half are ever manned, so each of the three s.h.i.+fts has nine cops. If there's no chief, dispatcher, watch officer, or anybody but those nine cops, you still come up with twenty-seven cops. That would mean roughly one in ten adults in Coulter is a police officer."

"It's a lot of cops," Stillman mused. "I can see we're lucky we didn't get our a.s.ses tossed in jail for burglary. What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know," said Walker. "The place seems to have a lot of money. Maybe they're using it to keep people employed."

"That's a possibility," said Stillman. "At least they're not suspects. You know, maybe in a town this size that's the way to narrow down the field. If a person has a job, he's not running around Florida killing people. Where else do people work?"

"How about New Mill Systems?"

"How many people do you figure work there?" asked Stillman.

"We saw at least thirty cars in the lot. Since there's n.o.body in town who doesn't live within easy walking distance of the place in good summer weather, figure that's half the work force. That would be at least sixty people. If you figure two hundred and eighty-five adults, you've got about a hundred and forty-five women and a hundred and forty men. Sixty percent of all women over eighteen work outside their homes. That's ...what? Eighty-seven women. Of all men over eighteen, seventy-five percent are employed outside. That's a hundred and five. The work force is a hundred and ninety-two. Twenty-seven are cops. That leaves a hundred and sixty-five. If sixty of them work for New Mill Systems, that's one in every three working adults. If another third live by selling goods and services to the company and its employees, it's two-thirds of the economy."

"Interesting," said Stillman. "n.o.body seems to know what they do in that building. One says computers, one says communications, and one says high tech, which means nothing."

"It could be all three," Walker said. "It doesn't matter. If we want to use it to eliminate people who work there, we need to know who they are."