Leopold's Way (43 page)

“I was wondering about my uncle's hit-and-run death. I understand it's still unsolved.”

Sheriff Potter ran his hand over the smooth wood of the work table. “Well, not exactly unsolved. For one thing, the car didn't kill him right off, you know. He died a couple days later in the hospital. Case like that, in order to get an indictment we'd have to bring doctors before the grand jury to testify that the accident was the prime cause of death.”

“Wasn't it?”

“Well, the man was seventy-eight years old. Doesn't take much to kill somebody at that age, you know. A broken hip, a sudden shock—”

“Do you know who was driving the car that hit him?”

“We get a lot of kids from the next county along that road, especially on these warm summer nights. My road patrol does the best it can, but you know how it is sometimes.”

Leopold sighed. “Look, Sheriff, I've been back in town only three hours and a good friend tells me to ask you about my uncle's death. Well, I'm asking you.”

Sheriff Potter scratched his head. “You gotta look at these things on balance sometimes. Your uncle was a good man, but he was seventy-eight years old. He'd lived a full life. Now if some young kids out joyriding hit him and caused his death, through no real fault of their own, should their lives be ruined by it?”

“That's an odd theory of law,” Leopold said. “Is that what happened?”

“I don't know what happened.”

“Didn't my uncle make a statement before he died?”

“Nothing we could use. He never saw the car that hit him.”

Leopold could sense he was getting nowhere with the man. If there was something strange and hidden about his uncle's death, this was not the place to learn about it. “All right,” he said, starting for the door. “Nice meeting you.”

The sheriff walked him out to the borrowed car. “How long you expect to be in town?”

“I'll be leaving after the funeral,” Leopold said. “Sometime tomorrow.”

The following morning Leopold's cousin Sara arrived in town for the funeral. She was a handsome woman in her mid-forties, a wealthy widow who had been involved in one of Leopold's cases a few years earlier. “You're looking good, Sara,” he said, greeting her with a cousinly kiss.

“And so are you. It's good to see you again.”

They entered the funeral parlor and he nodded to Jerry Raznell, attired in a black coat and gray striped pants, looking a bit more like a smiling best man at a marriage ceremony than a funeral director. Margaret Leopold was already seated, but she rose to greet Sara and a few other arrivals. Her son, Henry Cole, was not yet present.

“I'll want you to ride with me in the first car,” Margaret said to Leopold. “You were very close to Joe.”

He nodded and sat down next to her. Jerry Raznell came in after a few moments and said a brief prayer. Then he began reading off the list of cars and occupants. Henry Cole was behind the wheel of the first car when they reached it. He nodded to Leopold, came out, and held the door open for his mother. As Leopold climbed in he saw a blue and white sheriff's car at the end of the line. He wondered if Potter was inside it.

The service at the graveside was brief and nonsectarian. Leopold found himself standing next to cousin Sara and when it was over she said, “Will you buy me lunch? I'd feel uneasy going back to the house.”

“Of course. There used to be a nice restaurant out by the falls.” He drove back with Cole and Margaret to the house, then borrowed Cole's car again with the promise to return it shortly. Sara was waiting for him back at the funeral parlor.

“I'd forgotten how weird this town was,” she said as she settled into the seat next to him.

“It never seemed weird to me.”

“Well, that's because you lived here. I was only a summer visitor. One of the outsiders.”

He drove her to the Fall View Inn, a rambling old place that had been the town's best restaurant in his youth. The prices were high, but a certain seediness had begun to set in. The antique furniture that greeted them at the entrance was covered with dust just a little too thick for mere atmosphere. The falls were still there, of course, dropping the slim trickle of water that gave the town its name.

“It was a nice service,” she said. “Short and simple.”

“Did you hear anything about how he died?”

“A car accident, someone said.”

“Hit-and-run. He was crossing the street outside his house.”

“How terrible! Even a small town like this isn't safe from it.”

“I think there was something odd about his death, Sara.”

“In what way?”

“I think the sheriff knows who was driving that car. But for some reason he's not doing anything about it.”

She smiled at his words. “Perhaps you're just too much of a detective.”

“Maybe.”

“You see things where there's nothing to be seen.”

He ate his lunch in glum silence after that, wondering if she could be right.

The others had gathered back at the Leopold home, in the post-funeral tradition, and Leopold and Sara joined them shortly after lunch. Sheriff Potter was there, all boyish charm, chatting with an older woman on the front porch as he sipped beer from a glass.

“Good to see you again, Leopold. Thought you might have started back before I could say goodbye.”

“No, I'm still here.”

The older woman took Sara in tow and they disappeared into the house. Leopold and Sheriff Potter were left alone on the porch. “I think Margaret's taking it quite good,” the sheriff remarked. “At least she has her son to take care of her.”

“Tell me about Henry Cole. He said he lives out on Creek Road.”

“That's right. Got a nice place out there. Henry's a druggist in town. Owns his own store and works hard at it every day.”

“I've been driving his car around.” He glanced out at the car and for the first time he noticed a dent in the front bumper where the sunlight was hitting it. He made a mental note to examine it more closely later.

“It's been sort of the family vehicle since your uncle lost his license. Margaret never did drive.”

“How did he lose his license?”

“It happened last year. He went off the road at a curve and hit a fruit stand. No one was hurt and it was sort of funny, really. But he'd had some other minor accidents before that and his age was against him. The state revoked his license. So since then Henry's been driving them around.”

But Leopold was only half listening to the words. He was staring across the street. Suddenly he said, “Sheriff, tell me what you see over there.”

“See? What do you mean? Can't you see for yourself?”

“I want to know what you see.”

“A house. A couple of vacant lots.”

“What else? Tell me everything.”

“Two lamp posts. A fire hydrant. A Rotary Club sign.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else. What are you talking about?”

“Maybe nothing,” Leopold said. He left the porch and went down the front walk to the street. Finally he came back onto the porch. “You mentioned the kids in the next county. What made you suspect them?”

Sheriff Potter shifted uneasily. “Are you back on that again?”

“If I can't get the answer from you, I'll get it from the sheriff over there.”

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “There was a hit-and-run death over in Sedgeville the same day Joe Leopold got it. Probably just coincidence, but I guess I figured the same wild driver did them both.”

“Who was killed in Sedgeville?”

“A kid. I don't know any more about it.”

Sara reappeared on the porch with Margaret Leopold. “Margaret's going to show me the garden. Want to come?”

“Sure,” he agreed, glancing at the sheriff.

“You people go ahead,” Potter said. “I have to get back to the office anyway. These summer weekends really bring out the drivers.”

Leopold sensed that Potter was anxious to escape his questions. He followed the two women into the back yard, watching while the white-haired Margaret pulled a carrot from the earth and offered it for his inspection. “This garden was always Joe's pride,” she said, a sadness in her voice. “I don't know how I'll be able to keep it up without him.”

Leopold looked down the rows of flowers, past the leafy vegetables and the cornstalks that reached to his head. He remembered the garden from the days of his youth. It had always been here, always the same yet always changing. Reborn each spring.

“I must be going,” Sara told the white-haired woman. “I only drove down for the funeral.”

Margaret cut a few flowers and handed them to her. “I'm a widow now, like you. I hope I can be as brave as you've been.”

Sara took the flowers and looked away. “I must be going,” she said again.

Leopold fell into step beside her. “I'll walk you to the car.”

“I was never any good at funerals,” she said when they were out of Margaret's hearing. “That's why I wouldn't come back for lunch. I never know the right thing to say.”

“Do any of us?” Leopold asked. “I spend my life on the other side. I'm usually concerned with who did it, but not who it happened to.”

“That sounds like you think he was murdered.”

“The word hasn't been mentioned.”

“Are you flying back today?”

Leopold stared at the sky, debating. “First I'm going to visit another bereaved family,” he decided. “Over in Sedgeville.”

The Flynn house was quiet when he reached it, still driving the borrowed car. It sat subdued in the sunshine of a Saturday afternoon, an island of tranquillity unbothered by the shouting children at a ball game just down the street.

Leopold mounted the porch and knocked gently on the screen door, seeing that the front door stood open to the warmth of the day. After a moment a gaunt middle-aged woman appeared and spoke to him through the screen. “Yes?”

“I read in the papers about the accident to your son.”

“The funeral was yesterday. Who are you?”

“My name is Leopold. I was visiting over in Riger Falls. Could I come in for a moment?”

“No. My husband isn't here. I'm alone.”

“Certainly,” he said. “I just wanted to ask a few questions about the accident. It happened on Tuesday, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“Here, near the house?”

She nodded. “Right in front. He was running across the street to mail a letter for me, and of course he didn't look where he was going. He never looked.” Her eyes were staring past him, seeing it again. “Who are you?”

“Did the driver stop?”

“He slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. When he saw he'd hit him, he kept on going.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Flynn.”

Her eyes refocused on his face. “It was you, wasn't it? You killed him and now you've come back!”

“No, it wasn't me. Goodbye. I'm sorry.”

As he retreated from the porch she opened the screen door and started after him. “It
was
you! I remember that car!”

He opened his wallet and showed her the badge. “I'm investigating the case.” That stopped her and she stood looking at him uncertainly, squinting with the afternoon sun in her eyes. “Now what about the car?” he asked.

“It was like yours. I saw it going away down the street. It was the same color.”

“I see.”

“Is it the same car?”

Leopold looked out at the little beige sedan by the curb. “I don't know,” he answered truthfully.

On the way back to Riger Falls he pulled off the road under a stand of leafy maple trees and parked. He got out of the car and went around to the front of it, kneeling in the dirt to examine the dented bumper. He could see now that the dent extended into the chrome grillwork as well, and that it was recent. The exposed metal had not yet begun to rust.

While he was still on his knees studying it, another vehicle went by and slowed down, coming to a stop about 50 feet ahead. It was a hearse, and Jerry Raznell got out from the driver's side. “What's the matter?” he called. “Have a breakdown?”

Leopold got to his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees. “No, it's okay. I was just looking at the front of the car.”

Raznell walked up to him and glanced down at the dented front end. “Did you have an accident?”

“No. It was like that.”

“Henry Cole's car, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

The undertaker grunted. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

Leopold met his eyes and something passed between them, something from the old days when they had been friends. “What do you think I should do?”

“Did you talk to the sheriff?”

“He told me nothing.”

“He must have told you something. You were on your way back from Sedgeville.”

“Yes,” Leopold admitted. “He told me that much.”

“Where you heading now?”

“I guess I'll take the car back to Henry Cole.” He was staring down at the dented front end. “What do you think he ran into?”

Jerry Raznell shrugged. “A tree. A small tree.”

“Or a small boy? Or an old man?”

“You really think that?”

“Don't you?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Flynn recognized the car.”

“Who's Mrs. Flynn?”

“I found her name in the paper. Her son was killed by a hit-and-run driver on Tuesday.”

“The same day Joe Leopold was hit.”

“That's right. Jerry, why are we talking in circles? We were friends once. Good friends.”

“You should be heading back home soon.”

“I am home, Jerry. This is my home. I came back.”

“But only for the day, only for the funeral. The rest of us have to stay here after you're gone.”

Leopold turned and walked around to the car door. “I'm going to see Henry Cole,” he said.