how things
come back around, isn't it?" A little pawing of the floor with
his right shoe. "Cuddy, the Gant killing is as high-profile as a
homicide can get."
"All the more reason to be sure that, pretrial,
you've got the right guy for it."
Lieutenant Robert Murphy
looked at me, then set the clipboard down on a table before calling
over to the two men at the plastic tent. "I'll be out on the
street a while."
* * *
The maroon Crown Victoria that Murphy had signed for
back at the Homicide Unit turned left in front of me. I followed in
the Prelude as the road became more rural and twisty. It's easy to
forget there are still some sections of the city like this, a
two-lane parkway through a forested valley.
Murphy slowed to maybe twenty miles an hour,
eventually pulling onto the grassy shoulder near skid marks darker
than their neighbors on the pavement. The Crown Vic trundled along
the shoulder a while more, coming to a stop about fifty feet before a
tree at the bottom of the slope. The tree had a strip of yellow
plastic tape tied in a simple knot about eye-height on its trunk. I
stopped behind Murphy's bumper, and we both waited for a break in the
traffic before exiting our driver's side doors.
Shrugging into his suit jacket so the Glock on his
belt wouldn't scare the people passing us on the roadway, he walked
around the front of his vehicle to its righthand headlight, waiting
for me.
"You notice the skids?" he said.
I glanced back toward where they started. "From
the blown-out tire?"
"Shot-out tire." Murphy pointed ahead and
toward the near treeline. "You see the tape?"
"Yes. Crime Scene stuff?"
"Right. Marked that trunk even with Gant's body,
behind his car."
"What make?"
"BMW 530i." Murphy gestured. "Gant was
lying half on the pavement, half on the shoulder."
"Can we walk over there?"
"Sure."
As Murphy moved ahead of me, a lot of traffic whizzed
by in both directions. Above the noise, I said, "Busy road."
"This time of day, maybe."
"But not at night?"
"Gets kind of lonesome, account of folks don't
want to take the chance of breaking down, middle of nowhere. We
figure that's why your boy Spaeth picked this spot."
"Only how did the killer, Spaeth or otherwise,
know to pick it?"
"Meaning how could he be sure Gant would come
along here?"
"That's what I mean."
Murphy drew even with the taped tree and turned his
head, back the way we'd come. "This parkway, maybe a mile beyond
where we turned on it, gets pretty commercial. Auto parts, discount
houses, restaurants. We know Gant and some woman had a late dinner at
this place called 'Viet Mam'. "
"Viet Mam?"
"Right, two M's." Murphy swung his head
back to the direction we'd been going. "Four, five miles up
there, you've got Gant's condo building."
" 'Four, five miles'?"
Murphy almost smiled. "I clocked it at
four-point-six on the odometer."
"And this parkway's a good route between the
restaurant and Gant's place?"
"Most direct, anyway."
I thought about it. "I still don't see how the
killer knows
Gant will be coming by here."
"Well, we don't believe Spaeth staked out one
restaurant out of a thousand, hoping Gant and this woman would eat
there. But all your boy would have to do is be following Gant,
watching for a chance to do him, and then figure after dinner, the
man'll be coming back this way to go home."
"Or take the woman back to her place."
Murphy kicked at a stone. "We don't know whether
they came to the restaurant together or in separate cars."
"You don't."
"Uh-unh. The parking lot's on the side of the
restaurant building, no windows. All the Viet Mam people could tell
us is that Gant and the woman walked in together and walked out
together."
"How about a cab?"
"Checked with the companies. No pick-ups or
drop-offs near the restaurant that we couldn't eliminate."
I shelved the car issue for a while. Looking down at
the shoulder, I could see a patch of stones and grass that seemed
almost bleached. "What caused this?"
"Gasoline."
"From the
come back around, isn't it?" A little pawing of the floor with
his right shoe. "Cuddy, the Gant killing is as high-profile as a
homicide can get."
"All the more reason to be sure that, pretrial,
you've got the right guy for it."
Lieutenant Robert Murphy
looked at me, then set the clipboard down on a table before calling
over to the two men at the plastic tent. "I'll be out on the
street a while."
* * *
The maroon Crown Victoria that Murphy had signed for
back at the Homicide Unit turned left in front of me. I followed in
the Prelude as the road became more rural and twisty. It's easy to
forget there are still some sections of the city like this, a
two-lane parkway through a forested valley.
Murphy slowed to maybe twenty miles an hour,
eventually pulling onto the grassy shoulder near skid marks darker
than their neighbors on the pavement. The Crown Vic trundled along
the shoulder a while more, coming to a stop about fifty feet before a
tree at the bottom of the slope. The tree had a strip of yellow
plastic tape tied in a simple knot about eye-height on its trunk. I
stopped behind Murphy's bumper, and we both waited for a break in the
traffic before exiting our driver's side doors.
Shrugging into his suit jacket so the Glock on his
belt wouldn't scare the people passing us on the roadway, he walked
around the front of his vehicle to its righthand headlight, waiting
for me.
"You notice the skids?" he said.
I glanced back toward where they started. "From
the blown-out tire?"
"Shot-out tire." Murphy pointed ahead and
toward the near treeline. "You see the tape?"
"Yes. Crime Scene stuff?"
"Right. Marked that trunk even with Gant's body,
behind his car."
"What make?"
"BMW 530i." Murphy gestured. "Gant was
lying half on the pavement, half on the shoulder."
"Can we walk over there?"
"Sure."
As Murphy moved ahead of me, a lot of traffic whizzed
by in both directions. Above the noise, I said, "Busy road."
"This time of day, maybe."
"But not at night?"
"Gets kind of lonesome, account of folks don't
want to take the chance of breaking down, middle of nowhere. We
figure that's why your boy Spaeth picked this spot."
"Only how did the killer, Spaeth or otherwise,
know to pick it?"
"Meaning how could he be sure Gant would come
along here?"
"That's what I mean."
Murphy drew even with the taped tree and turned his
head, back the way we'd come. "This parkway, maybe a mile beyond
where we turned on it, gets pretty commercial. Auto parts, discount
houses, restaurants. We know Gant and some woman had a late dinner at
this place called 'Viet Mam'. "
"Viet Mam?"
"Right, two M's." Murphy swung his head
back to the direction we'd been going. "Four, five miles up
there, you've got Gant's condo building."
" 'Four, five miles'?"
Murphy almost smiled. "I clocked it at
four-point-six on the odometer."
"And this parkway's a good route between the
restaurant and Gant's place?"
"Most direct, anyway."
I thought about it. "I still don't see how the
killer knows
Gant will be coming by here."
"Well, we don't believe Spaeth staked out one
restaurant out of a thousand, hoping Gant and this woman would eat
there. But all your boy would have to do is be following Gant,
watching for a chance to do him, and then figure after dinner, the
man'll be coming back this way to go home."
"Or take the woman back to her place."
Murphy kicked at a stone. "We don't know whether
they came to the restaurant together or in separate cars."
"You don't."
"Uh-unh. The parking lot's on the side of the
restaurant building, no windows. All the Viet Mam people could tell
us is that Gant and the woman walked in together and walked out
together."
"How about a cab?"
"Checked with the companies. No pick-ups or
drop-offs near the restaurant that we couldn't eliminate."
I shelved the car issue for a while. Looking down at
the shoulder, I could see a patch of stones and grass that seemed
almost bleached. "What caused this?"
"Gasoline."
"From the
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