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“Who’d believe them? They’re nuts.”
“You’d be surprised, Barry. There’s always credibility in numbers. And why do I think your history might not be so squeaky-clean if someone looks hard enough? And believe me, jerk-off, I know how to look.”
Barry swore at her, turned and stomped off.
As Michelle walked back to her room she knew there was only one true way to deal with Barry. She planned on devoting all her energies to that task, starting this minute. And she had a hunch where to begin.
CHAPTER
25
THE LOCAL COPS had done their thing as had the FBI, in the person of the dour Michael Ventris. He barely gave Sean a glance after he finished explaining how he’d found Rivest’s body.
“And you came back here, why?” Ventris asked in a surly tone.
“We’d arranged to meet to go over the case. He didn’t answer the door. So I went in.” Sean kept back the part about being shot at. Until he understood the situation better, his instincts told him to keep that to himself.
Ventris said, “I’d heard the folks here had hired a private detective to come down and poke around. So you’re it?” The FBI agent didn’t look the least bit impressed.
“I’m it.”
“Piece of advice. First time you get in my way, it’ll be the last time. Got it?”
“Got it.” Sean didn’t dare ask why the FBI was investigating the death of a private citizen in the first place. It wasn’t like Monk Turing’s death; he’d been found on federal property.
Len Rivest’s remains were removed to the temporary morgue where Monk’s body lay, while the local sheriff stood looking at the now empty bathtub and shaking his head. Sean was next to him doing the same thing, but the thoughts running through his head were probably a little more complex than the ones sifting through the sheriff’s, he imagined.
Rivest was killed between the time Sean had left him around midnight and the time Sean had found him, a span of about six and a half hours. And he thought he’d seen Champ Pollion going into his bungalow around two in the morning. Thought, but wasn’t certain.
“Sheriff Merkle Hayes,” the man said, interrupting Sean’s musings. Before Sean could say anything the man added, “You’re Sean King, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Ex–Secret Service?”
“Right again.”
Hayes was in his early fifties with closely cut grayish white hair, a little potbelly, thick legs, wide bony shoulders and a slightly curved back that reduced his six-foot height a notch. “Any idea what might have happened?”
“I was with Len last night. He’d had a few drinks, maybe a few too many. I left around midnight. He was passed out on the couch downstairs.”
“So what’d you two talk about?”
Sean had been prepared for this question and had been surprised that Ventris had not asked it. “This and that. Some about Monk Turing’s death. A little about Babbage Town.”
“You think he was drunk enough to climb into this bathtub and accidentally drown himself?”
“I couldn’t say for sure that he wasn’t drunk enough to do it.”
Hayes remained silent, but nodded at this comment.
“The door was unlocked when I got here,” Sean said. “I remember locking it last night.”
Hayes said, “So either he unlocked it or…”
“Right.”
“We’ve started asking around. So far, no one saw anything. Of course the FBI’s taken the lead.”
