Six Geese A-Slaying(80)

In the rearview mirror, I could see Werzel shrug.

“The early reports said it was suicide, so I figured, what the hell. I told my editor I’d done this interview, but I wasn’t sure it was tasteful, now that the guy was dead. And he fell for it. Everyone did. Got me an award—did you know that?”

“Congratulations.”

“Of course, by that time, Doleson had his hooks into me,” Werzel said. He was tapping the gun against his hand as if he wanted to smack something with it. “Everybody forgot about the award in a few weeks, but I still had Doleson popping up like clockwork for his payoffs.”

“So what made you finally kill him?” I asked. “Did you come down planning to do it, or was that a spur-of-the-moment decision?”

No answer for a few moments, and then he chuckled.

“Bit of both, actually,” he said. “I only intended this as a scouting trip. When he found out I’d gone to work for the Trib, he started asking for more money. ‘You’re getting paid more, so I should get paid more,’ was how he put it. I couldn’t get him to understand that when you factored in the higher cost of living in D.C., I was earning a lot less.”

I wondered if he realized how odd it sounded, the idea of discussing the cost of living with your blackmailer. As if the problem were merely the amount he was charging, not the blackmail itself.

“So you just used the parade as an excuse to come down here,” I said. “You didn’t know Doleson was involved.”

“Not until I saw him booting your mutt out of that shed,” Werzel said. “I didn’t know if he’d spotted me, so I went in to talk to him and as luck would have it, I found someone had left that sharp stick lying just outside the door—well, I realized it was the perfect opportunity.”

“Your idea of perfect opportunity must be a lot different from mine,” I said. “I’d have thought sometime when there was no one else around to see you would be a lot more perfect. Like late at night out at the Pines.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “A place like that is never completely deserted, and if you’re spotted there, you’re done for. But at your parade—that’s an opportunity! Hundreds of people milling all around, and knowing Doleson, a few dozen of them were bound to have it in for him. And I’m not local, so no one would have any reason to suspect I had a grudge against the guy, and I had a perfectly legit reason for being there. So I knew as long as I could engineer getting out of the shed without being seen, I’d be home free!”

“Home free, once you got rid of a few bits of evidence,” I said. “Whatever possessed you to take his picture just before you killed him?”

“I wasn’t really taking his picture,” Werzel said. “I knew the flash would blind him just long enough for me to get the drop on him. Of course, I didn’t count on misplacing the camera before I got a chance to delete the picture. That was a problem. All fixed now, though.”

He smiled and patted the pocket where he’d stashed the camera.

“Now all you need to do is get rid of the original evidence Doleson had on you,” I said. “That’s what’s in all those boxes, right?”

“He didn’t have that much on me,” Werzel said. “Just this.”

He held up a nine-by-twelve-inch manila envelope with “Werzel, Ainsley,” written neatly along one edge. Clearly Ralph Doleson had been an organized blackmailer.

“I wasn’t his only victim, you know,” Werzel was saying. “He had three boxes full of envelopes. I’m keeping a few that might be useful, and the rest are going into the bonfire.”

“Useful how?” I asked. “Are you planning on writing exposés, or picking up where Doleson left off?”

“That depends on the Trib,” he said. “They’re setting me up to fire me—I can tell. Sending me on nothing assignments and then complaining when I don’t get a scoop. And then when I do get a scoop on Doleson’s murder, they take away my byline. Well, they’ll see.”

I wondered briefly if the Trib’s editorial staff were next on his hit list. But before I could ask, we reached the barn. The parking lot outside was empty, except for Michael’s truck, now covered with at least six inches of snow.

“Don’t pull in very far,” Werzel cautioned as I turned into the parking lot. “That’s far enough. In fact, turn around so I don’t have to do it when I’m ready to leave.”

I backed and turned until I had the car facing the exit. I did angle it to maximize the chances that he’d steer into the ditch that flanked the entrance, now visible only as a pair of slight indentations on either side of the rough track leading into the parking lot. Murderers shouldn’t expect their intended victims to make it easy for them.