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“It’s nine-tenths of the law,” admitted Lucy, thanking Sally before ending the call. She took her time getting over to the courthouse in Gilead; court didn’t go into session until ten and Monday mornings always began with a number of folks who’d gotten themselves in trouble over the weekend.
The morning arraignments were well under way when Lucy slipped into the courtroom, where she noticed Dave Forrest sitting quietly beside Bob Goodman in the general seating area. An assistant DA was standing before the judge, enumerating the charges against the various hungover OUI offenders and the scruffy, unshaven domestic abusers who’d spent the night in jail. Dave Forrest was called last, charged with grand larceny, and the assistant DA requested bail, suggesting five thousand dollars.
Bob immediately objected, pointing out that Dave Forrest did not have a record, was a respected local businessman and family man, and presented no flight risk whatsoever. His client, he claimed, was eager to prove his innocence.
The judge agreed, and Dave was released on his own recognizance. Free to go, he dodged the reporters and TV crews, leaving through a side door. DA Phil Aucoin and police chief Jim Kirwan had arranged for an impromptu presser in the lobby, and were standing behind some mics when Lucy exited the courtroom. They were already embarked on the usual litany at such events, praising interdepartmental cooperation and lauding the quick resolution of this difficult and challenging case, so when Lucy spotted Bob Goodman sitting on a nearby bench she went to join him. Bob was intent on arranging some papers in his briefcase, but looked up when she sat beside him.
“Good work in there,” she said. “What are Dave’s chances in the trial?”
“Pretty good, I think,” said Bob. “It’s pretty obvious he was set up. He’s a smart guy, and if he had actually stolen the egg, why wouldn’t he do a better job of hiding it? It’s not that big, it would be easy enough to stash it someplace, right? Nobody in their right mind would keep it in their golf bag, especially if they were planning on playing golf.”
“Good point,” said Lucy, chuckling. “But Aucoin seems to be quite convinced . . .”
“It’s all about votes, Lucy. There’s always another election coming up and he’s grabbing every opportunity to get attention.”
“But what if he loses the case?”
“I guess then he won’t be holding a press conference,” said Bob.
Lucy laughed. “What’s going on with Karl Klaus? Any progress?”
“Well, Rachel tells me that Rosie’s over the moon. She can’t say enough good stuff about him. The apprentices all adore him, and he’s happy as a clam sculpting bones for the puppets and enjoying all the attention.”
“Who’d guess?” mused Lucy. “What about that Mike guy?”
“Well, he kind of just moved in on Karl about six months ago, offering to help him with heavy lifting and stuff like that. He gradually began taking over more and more, becoming a sort of amanuensis. He did all sorts of errands, he shopped, cooked meals, handled shipments and ordering, until Karl really came to depend on him. And you know Karl, he’s not exactly reality-based, so he just went along with everything. If Mike asked him to sign something, he did. That’s how Mike gradually got control of all his assets and when Karl went off to New Hampshire to collect his St. Gaudens Prize Mike changed the locks.”
“Are you going to be able to make a case, press charges?”
“Oh, yeah.” Bob pressed his lips together, as if holding in a big secret, then broke into a big smile. “In fact, Lucy, the sheriff is going to raid the place tomorrow and arrest Mike Green.”
Lucy knew this would be a big scoop. “When?”
“He didn’t give me a time, but they usually do raids like that first thing in the morning. Before sunrise even, to catch ’em by surprise.”
“Oh, Lord,” sighed Lucy. “Are you going to be there?”
“Me? No way. I’ll be in deep REM.”
“I’ll be thinking of you all warm and cozy when I’m out there in the dark, shivering.”
“Admit it. You love this stuff, Lucy.”
Lucy stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the tip,” she said, smiling.
* * *
Next morning, when the alarm went off at four a.m., Lucy quickly silenced it before Bill even stirred. She hopped out of bed in a spurt of unusual energy, excited about covering an actual police raid. This wasn’t the sort of thing that happened every day in Tinker’s Cove or even in the county, it was the sort of thing that was a mainstay of TV cop dramas but had occurred only rarely in her years as a reporter. Planning ahead, she’d laid her clothes out in the guest room and it was there that she dressed, pulling on several warm layers. She then tiptoed downstairs in her socks, switched on the coffeepot, and ate a yogurt while it dripped. When the coffee was ready she filled a thermos, pulled on her boots and added her warmest jacket, and quietly left the house.
There was no traffic on the winding country roads that led to Karl Klaus’s studio and Lucy was soon there, parked discreetly along a stone wall, underneath a huge pine tree. There was a full moon so she had a good view of the barn Klaus had converted to a studio; a single glowing window seemed to indicate a night light had been left on inside. As she waited, she recalled the one time she’d been inside the studio. It was years ago when she’d been doing a series of features about local artists, and she had been struck at the time with the minimal adaptations Klaus had made in the aged structure. He hadn’t really renovated the space at all but had simply knocked out the things he didn’t need and added those he did. A tack room served as a sort of bedroom; he’d added a hot plate and refrigerator to one stall creating a minimal kitchen and had knocked down several other stalls in order to create a large work space. Tools of all sorts hung from nails pounded into the walls and electrical wires were strung from the beams. She’d wondered at the time that the whole thing hadn’t burned down, but the fates had been on Karl’s side and the wonky old barn had survived.
Lucy had finished her coffee and was debating peeing in the woods, always an awkward affair and especially so given the number of layers she was wearing, when the sheriff’s cruiser appeared and rolled silently into the barn’s driveway. It was followed by a second cruiser, marked K-9, and a van which was angled across the drive, essentially blocking the exit. There was a delay as final arrangements were put in place, then all the lights on the various vehicles were flipped on and the sheriff’s voice was heard over a bullhorn. “Police, come out with your hands up.”
Wow, thought Lucy, just like a movie. She had climbed out of her car and was standing behind the stone wall, from which vantage point she had a clear view of the events as they unfolded. She also had a camera which she could use to capture photos at night.
There was no response from the barn, so the sheriff repeated his demand. Seconds later the dog barked and strained against the leash; Green had apparently gone out a back door and was hightailing it through the woods. The chase was on, led by the barking dog, a single shot was heard, and the officers returned with Green in tow, handcuffed.
After snapping a few photos, Lucy approached the sheriff.
