Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3) Page 33

“You disagree?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I’m only saying that the investigation should have been handled by people who knew what they were doing, not some hick-town cop in a six-man department whose idea of a major crime was someone stealing fishing equipment out of a boathouse. There’s been only one murder committed in Victoria in its entire history. One. It remains unsolved. Bohlig blew it. That’s what I wrote. I was fresh out of JO school and just loaded with idealism, and I wrote that the city of Victoria’s police chief was less than he should be and they damn near fired me for it. ‘That’s not the way we practice journalism,’ they told me. I came down here hoping I could use the Herald as a stepping-stone in a long and storied journalism career. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Tell me what you can about the case.”

Salisbury sat in the chair across the table from me. “Why do you want to know?”

“Like I said, it’s part of the story of the Victoria Seven.”

“I don’t think so. You’re on to something else.”

I considered his hypothesis, couldn’t concoct a lie that would refute it in such short notice, so I told him the truth. “I’m trying to find out what happened to Elizabeth Rogers.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then why should I help?”

“There might be a story in it. Something big enough you might get a call from the Cities.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh, I love deals.”

“If I can solve the crime, or at least come up with a better explanation of what happened to Elizabeth than the one Chief Bohlig supplied, I’ll make sure you get the exclusive.”

“Is that why you’re here? To solve the crime?”

“No, I’m not. But I might have to solve it to get what I came to Victoria for.”

“What is that?”

“See, now we’re back to square one again.”

“You can’t tell me,” Salisbury said.

“No, but you weren’t that far wrong earlier when you said book or screenplay.” I hoped the lie would give him something to think about.

Salisbury reached a hand across the table.

“Done.”

I shook his hand, then retrieved my pen and notebook.

“What do you have?” I asked him.

“Saturday, March 15—This is all in the newspaper, by the way; you can look it up yourself. Anyway, the day after the Victoria Seven upset Minneapolis North for a berth in the state basketball tournament there was a party at the house of the mayor. Everyone was there, including the coach and all seven of his players. Jack Barrett, captain of the basketball team, was dancing with Elizabeth Rogers, captain of the cheerleading squad, his longtime girlfriend. In the middle of the dance, they start arguing—now that’s something I developed on my own, it never was printed in the paper. Barrett and Rogers had an argument, and Barrett left the party early, leaving Elizabeth.”

“Did Barrett leave alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did he live?”

“Outside town about four, five miles. His old man had a farm off of County Road 13.”

“Did he have a car?”

“No.”

“Then how did he get home?”

“Walked.”

“Four, five miles? At night? In the winter?”

“This isn’t the Cities, McKenzie. There’s no bus service. People walk a lot, sometimes because they have to. Especially kids if that’s the only way they can get around. Distance doesn’t mean as much.”

“What was the argument about?”

“Argument?”

“Barrett and Elizabeth.”

“Oh, yeah, the argument. No one seems to know.”

“What did Barrett say?”

“Nothing as far as I know. If Bohlig interviewed him, he’s kept the conversation to himself. Anyway, Jack leaves, Elizabeth stays. This is around eight thirty, nine. The party goes on. Around eleven o’clock, which is late in Victoria even if you did just win a historic basketball game, Elizabeth leaves. Alone. Witnesses are pretty adamant about that.”

“Where was she going?”

“The assumption is that she was going home, but like most assumptions . . .”

“Did Elizabeth live near the mayor’s house?”

“A few blocks away. She never made it. Her parents were worried, but they didn’t contact the police until after two.”

“Did anyone leave the party just before or after Elizabeth?”

“No one remembers after all these years, and like I said, I can’t get access to the police reports. All I know is what was reported in the newspaper at the time. They found Elizabeth’s body at Milepost Three early the next morning. There was no sign of a struggle. Apparently, she had been dumped there. That’s what Bohlig said—one of the few things he said for the record.”

“How was she killed?”

“Manual strangulation.”

“Hmm.”