side of the handshake. Even if Police Chief Gary Putnam wasn’t dressed in blue, the average neighborhood thug would make him as a cop from a mile away. Close-cropped hair, wide shoulders, and slightly square demeanor, he was the kind of man the public trusted. The kind of cop John loved to put on the witness stand.
Andrea Kirkland’s suspicions about the Green Valley police scrolled through his mind. If he was to pick a dirty cop—one who might want to silence the witness to a murder—Gary Putnam would be one of the last ones on his list.
Chief Putnam released the handshake and gestured John into his office. “Come in. It’s quieter in here. We can talk.”
John glanced over his shoulder at the tiny Green Valley police station. The place wasn’t exactly a hub of activity. A young woman dressed in plain clothes hunched over an old typewriter, employing the hunt-and-peck method. Other than that, the place was quieter than a morgue.
John stepped into the office anyway and settled in a plastic-seated chair.
Not bothering to close the door, the chief sat behind a cheap-looking desk, the office furnishings of a public servant. “You want to know about Andrea Kirkland? Yes, she phoned last night. About dusk.”
“And a woman named Ruth talked to her?”
“Yes. I was out on a call. Ruthie talked to Mrs. Kirkland just before she went home for the night.” He nodded in the direction of the young woman typing. “She radioed me immediately. Mrs. Kirkland said her husband was missing.”
“Did you check out her story?”
“I checked into it this morning. Very interesting situation.”
“How so?”
“Seems no one has seen Wingate Kirkland for a week. Both his office in Madison and his company headquarters in Chicago were under the impression he was spending the time at his estate. Seems he’s an avid deer hunter. The interesting part is that Mrs. Kirkland waited the entire week to report him gone.”
Interesting indeed. Of course, there was a chance she was telling the truth about that, too. John had heard of instances where a person blocked a traumatic event from his or her mind only to have it surface later. “She says she must have blocked his death. That the memory didn’t return until last night.”
“Is that what she says? She had amnesia or some damn thing? That’s a new one. I guess it goes along with what she told Ruthie.”
“What did she tell Ruthie?”
“Ask her yourself.” He glanced in the direction of the woman typing. “What did Andrea Kirkland say to you last night, Ruthie?”
The typewriter quit tapping. John turned in his chair in time to see the young woman cross the office. Her shoulder-length hair was expertly styled. Her skin was flawless. And her clothing, though baggy and a lifeless brown color, was obviously expensive and ultimately tasteful. Ruthie dressed as though she was twenty going on fifty. “She said she heard gunshots and saw Wingate lying on the floor. Anything else, she didn’t remember.”
The chief focused his sharp eyes on Ruthie. “And didn’t she say something about an oriental rug?”
“A Persian rug,” she corrected. “She remembered seeing Mr. Kirkland’s head resting on a Persian rug.”
That also squared with what she had told John. So far, so good.
Ruthie frowned slightly. “The funny thing was, I saw a man loading a rug into a van in front of the Kirkland house about a week ago. I assumed Mrs. Kirkland was redecorating or having it cleaned.”
“When exactly did you see this?”
“Last Monday, I think. I remember because Mrs. Kirkland was outside giving the man directions.”
A pain stabbed John’s gut. The ulcer kicking up again. “Are you sure it was Mrs. Kirkland?”
“I think so. It’s a long driveway. And the gate was closed. But there was a blond woman out there who looked like her. At least the way I remember Andrea Kirkland looking.”
Not the most reliable witness testimony he’d heard. Not by a long shot. “You haven’t seen Mrs. Kirkland in a while?”
“I’m afraid not. Even though I live next door, I haven’t seen her very much. She keeps to herself.”
“You live next door?” John tried to hide his surprise. The Wingate estate, a majestic old home Wingate Kirkland had restored and named after himself, was situated in a very exclusive rural development boasting one of the best views in Dane County. Although Ruthie’s hair was tastefully cut and her wardrobe expensive, if staid, he wouldn’t have pegged her for a member of the Kirkland’s social set.
She dipped her head as if slightly embarrassed. “I still live with my parents. I’m Ruth Banks. My father is Gerald Banks.”
“The judge?”
Ruthie smiled and nodded.
He knew Judge Banks well. The judge was notoriously tough on criminals. “Your father is a good man.”
“Most prosecutors think so.”
He smiled. The young woman was sharp. And the daughter of a judge would make a good witness. But from the sound of it, she didn’t see much. Not enough to prove anything, at any rate. “Do you remember what the van looked like?”
“It was blue. Kind of light blue like a robin’s egg.”
“Did it have a company logo on the side?”
She pursed her lips in thought. “Yeah. I think it was yellow. Or gold. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really pay attention.”
A blue van with yellow or gold logo. At least it was something for the police to follow up. Provided Andrea Kirkland wasn’t inventing the whole thing. A possibility he couldn’t ignore. Not until a body turned up. “Can you think of any reason Andrea Kirkland would tell us her husband was murdered if it isn’t true?”
Ruthie shook her head.
John glanced at Chief Putnam. “Can you, Chief?”
“You mean, why would she make it up?”
“If she did.”
He shrugged his square shoulders. “Attention. Isn’t that usually the thing? Maybe she’s bored with her big house and charity events.”
Was that the type of person Andrea Kirkland was? Even though John had only just met her, he couldn’t buy it. “And if she is telling the truth? If her husband is dead?”
“Then I doubt we’ll have to look any further than the obvious.”
John had a pretty good idea of where he was leading, but he bit anyway. “What is the obvious?”
“That he was killed for his money. He sure has a lot of it. And rumor has it, Andrea Kirkland is the sole beneficiary of his will.”
The ache returned to John’s
