I stood outside and shivered.
There was no traffic on the county road, and I was surprised when a battered SUV arrived, shuddering to a stop behind the ME’s van. Kevin Salisbury stepped out of the SUV in a hurry, afraid he was missing something. Like the ME, he carried his own camera.
“Whaddaya got?”
“Are you talking to me?”
Salisbury glanced about, looking for someone to talk to. Finding no one, he returned to me.
“The police scanner said there’s been a shooting.”
“The ME’s inside. You should talk to him.”
“Yeah.” Salisbury made for the house. Mallinger stopped him.
“Whoa, Kevin,” she called as she left her vehicle. “Where are you going?”
“I want to go—”
“No, no, no. Come here.”
Mallinger took the reporter aside and spoke to him like she had been doing it her entire life. For his part, Salisbury furiously wrote down her words in a notebook. After a few minutes Salisbury raised his camera. Mallinger shook her head. From his body language, I had the impression he was pleading with her, apparently without success. After a while, Salisbury began taking photos of the house, but he didn’t attempt to enter it.
Mallinger rejoined me at the car.
“I don’t want you speaking to Kevin,” she said. “Okay?”
“Not a word. I promise.”
“I appreciate it.”
We watched the reporter circling the property, looking for an angle to shoot from that would make his photos seem ominous.
“What do you think happened?” Mallinger asked.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I already don’t like it.”
“I think Josie’s death is connected to the murder of Elizabeth Rogers.”
“How could it be? That was thirty years ago.”
“I spoke to Josie last night. He made some reference to—When I asked him about the night Elizabeth was killed, he said, ‘Oh, what did we do?’ When I pressed him, he said, ‘I can’t tell you.’ Then he passed out. I came here today to learn what he meant.”
“Do you honestly think someone killed Bloom to keep him from telling a complete stranger a secret that he’s managed to keep to himself for over three decades? That’s kind of a reach, isn’t it?”
“This morning I went to see Dr. Dave Peterson in Mankato. He was willing to talk to me yesterday. Now all of a sudden he’s too busy to even say hello. That’s when I did something foolish.”
“No. Foolish? You?”
“I left a note telling Peterson that I was going to ask the BCA to reopen the investigation. The next thing I know, someone runs my car off the highway and puts a bullet in Josie Bloom’s head. If it wasn’t for the deep snow in the ditch, I’d be as dead as he is now.”
Mallinger shook her head.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Chief—”
“I buy the first part. You started asking Josie a lot of questions, his partners found out about it, panicked, and kill him. I’m willing to accept that. Bloom was a weak sister and he was getting weaker. I think he was killed because his accomplices were afraid he would tell you something about their operation, and that’s as far as it goes. The thing on the highway this morning—there’s no evidence that that was anything more than road rage. The fact that you’re asking questions about Elizabeth Rogers, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You can’t just eliminate the possibility.”
“Sure, I can. You know, the guys in the truck, that could just as easily have been the two punks you punched out in front of Fit to Print. Did you ever think of that?”
“You know about them?”
“It’s my town.”
“C’mon, Chief.”
“I’m lazy, McKenzie. I admit it. I don’t like to work hard. That’s why I want to be chief of the Victoria City Police Department instead of going to a bigger city. I was looking forward to a long, uneventful career. Now this.” Mallinger sighed deeply and massaged her temples. “We’ll test Josie’s hand for gunshot residue. If it comes back positive, we’re going to call it a suicide brought on by drug abuse.”
“If it’s negative?”
“If it’s negative—ah, dammit. Wait here.”
Mallinger disappeared into the house. The ME was following her when she returned ten minutes later. He smiled broadly as he approached Salisbury, as if speaking to the media was the most fun he could have. Mallinger flagged down one of her officers and spoke to him. The officer nodded his head like he was taking instructions.
“Come with me,” Mallinger said as she approached her cruiser.
“Where are we going?”
“To our tiny, antiquated law enforcement center. I’m only doing this to get it out of the way, understand? We’ll take a hard look at Elizabeth Rogers’s file to see if there’s anything that even remotely supports this goofy theory of yours.”
I bristled at the word “goofy,” but decided to let it slide. After all, it was nice of her to let me tag along.
