Читать книгу Murder on the Road Less Traveled - Robert W. Gregg - Страница 7

When the sheriff reached her office the next morning, she had resolved to leave the Eakins matter to the Eakins. She had fallen into the bad habit of letting issues like this deprive her of sleep. Ironically, her discussion of the matter with Kevin the previous evening had had the opposite effect. There was no persuasive reason to treat Ernie’s disappearance as a matter of law and order. Although Kevin had suggested the possibility that Ernie was the victim of a fellow rider’s hostility, she had not been persuaded that he was really serious. More likely that he had simply become addicted to the view that Crooked Lake was due for a murder every year. Well, she had decided before falling asleep, not this year.

The squad meeting went off without any reference to the Gravel Grinder. In all probability, she thought, her officers - or most of them - knew nothing about Ernie Eakins’ failure to finish what she still thought of as the big race. In any event, it had not been a race, which made it even less likely that his disappearance was a matter of any great consequence. When Carol returned to her office, she was prepared to turn her attention to more prosaic questions.

“Hi, Carol.” JoAnne was at her door. “You’ve already had a phone call. We ought to have a policy that tells the citizenry we don’t answer the phone before ten unless it’s an emergency.”

“I take it that this isn’t an emergency.”

“It doesn’t sound like one, but people have a way of thinking that a routine is a crisis.”

“So I should call back,” Carol said. “Okay, who is it?”

“Says her name is Connie Eakins,” JoAnne said, unaware that she had just spoiled her boss’s day.

Carol sighed, took the note with the number on it, and tried to adopt a positive attitude. The wayward husband had reappeared.

“Good morning, Mrs. Eakins. I hope you’re calling with good news.”

The voice on the other end of the line made it clear the minute her caller started speaking that the news was not good.

“It’s bad news, worse than yesterday,” Connie said. “Still no word from Ernie, nothing from Joe Reiger, nothing from anyone.”

“You say the situation is worse than yesterday. What do you mean?”

“Just that I was sure - or tried to be - that somebody would tell me something that was promising. But no one called, and everyone I called was sorry for me but knew nothing that was helpful. Most everyone didn’t even know Ernie wasn’t home.”

“I’m so sorry. I suppose I had expected that by this time your husband had returned or you’d have heard something from him.”

“Nothing like this has ever happened to us. I’m beside myself, and I really need your help.”

The sheriff had made up her mind only thirteen hours previously that the problem of Ernie Eakins’ disappearance was not hers to solve. Now his wife was virtually demanding that she take responsibility for a problem she very much wanted nothing to do with.

“Have you been in touch with your husband’s friends? His immediate family, or at least those he was closest to?” Carol doubted that the frantic woman on the phone line had done so. There hadn’t been time to visit all of his friends; as for relatives, Carol had no idea who they were or how close they were.

“You said that you really need my help. How do you think I can be of any help?”

“I want you to find my husband’s body. That’s what sheriffs do, isn’t it?”

“That means you think he’s dead.” Carol was surprised. Almost immediately she realized that she shouldn’t be. “Why do you think he’s dead? After all, there must be a lot of people you haven’t contacted, people who could give you information about him.”

“He’s dead,” Mrs. Eakins insisted. “If he were alive, he would have been in touch with me.”

“But you can’t be sure of that. He may have tried to reach you, explain where he was, what he was doing, but didn’t get through.”

“I know you want to reassure me, sheriff, but he’s dead. You don’t know Ernie. He would never, ever, go off somewhere without telling me. I don’t know much about the course they were riding yesterday, but it was all right here in the Finger Lakes. You’ve got to take the route Ernie took and follow it, all the way from the Southport town square back to the finish line. I’d do it, but I’m not sure what I’d be looking for. But you, it’s your profession. You’d see things that didn’t look right. You could ask people what they saw, whether Ernie stopped off, you know, to ask questions or something. I can’t bring him back but he needs a proper burial. Please help me.”

Carol was in a corner. She could either be the sheriff and say ‘no’ or a good samaritan and say ‘yes.’ She knew what she had to do.

“I hope you’re wrong about your husband, but I can see that you need help finding out what happened. I’ll do what I can. Mr. Reiger will give me the details about the route the cyclists took yesterday; I may even be able to persuade him to accompany me. In any event, I’ll check every square inch of the area of the ride and let you know what I find - or can’t find.”

“Oh, thank you, sheriff. I’d probably be kidding myself if I thought you would find Ernie, but I know you’ll do your best.”

Mrs. Eakins did sound grateful, although Carol found it hard to believe that her willingness to search for his body made her day.