As the Freiberg police officer closed the back door of his patrol car, thereby preventing Marks from hearing us, Hester turned to me.
‘‘That go the way you planned?’’
I grinned. ‘‘Well, no, now that you ask.’’
‘‘Material witness?’’
‘‘Hey, he’s leaving… or was going to.’’
She sighed. ‘‘Carl, sometimes…’’
I grinned again. ‘‘What?’’
She shook her head. It was, after all, a valid arrest. ‘‘Never mind.’’
‘‘All right. Now, then, as long as he’s not going to be worth a shit to us until he talks to his attorney…’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Well, I was thinking we’d better pay this Howler dude a visit.’’
Since Howler had a ‘‘machine gun,’’ prudence sort of dictated that we have some assistance. Hester used her cell phone to talk to Al, avoiding all the monitors of police radio frequencies. Given what we suspected was going on with Howler, we pretty well had to assume he’d have a scanner. We had to go back down through Freiberg, and out the other end to get to Howler’s place. We stopped and got a couple of cans of pop, and by the time we got to Howler’s farm, at 1643, there were six or seven patrol cars pulled up around the place. I was impressed. A crowd of cops in our county is normally three officers. In two cars.
There were troopers and deputies on all four sides of the house. No sign of activity. Hester had called information and gotten Howler’s telephone number. She called the house while we walked toward the porch. He answered after about ten rings.
‘‘Yeah…’’
‘‘This Howler?’’ she asked, in a normal tone of voice.
‘‘Yeah, honey, this is the old Howler.’’ His interest increased as soon as he heard a female voice. ‘‘You want some?’’
‘‘No, I’d like to talk to you, though.’’
‘‘Hey, phone sex is good, sweetie. Not as good as what old Howler’s got here, but if that’s what you want?’’
‘‘What I really want, Howler, is for you to step out on the front porch.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Just come on out, where I can see you.’’
Old Howler was no fool. ‘‘Who the fuck is this?’’
‘‘Agent Gorse, Iowa DCI.’’
He laughed. Maybe he wasn’t a fool, but he wasn’t convinced either. ‘‘Yeah, right.’’
‘‘Look out the window, Howler. You’ll see me out by the swing set.’’
He actually looked. I don’t think he ever did see Hester then, but he sure saw the cop cars.
‘‘Holy fuck!’’
He hung up.
Hester held the cell phone above her head, and said, in a very loud voice. ‘‘He’s broken contact. Look alive.’’
Howler, ‘‘old Howler,’’ heard that too. Of course.
There was a shadow at the front screen door, and then it opened a crack.
‘‘Don’t shoot!’’
‘‘Just come on out, Howler.’’
‘‘What the fuck you want?’’
‘‘Gotta talk, Howler,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Gotta talk now. ’’
‘‘What about?’’
‘‘About what will happen if you don’t,’’ said Hester.
While she and ‘‘old Howler’’ had been chatting, a youngish trooper had crept up onto the porch area and was standing pressed to the wall, about two feet from the screen door. The door opened more, and Howler stuck his head out. I had the impression of gray hair, in a ponytail, no shirt, thin…
The trooper’s hand shot out, grabbed the ponytail, and in one very smooth move Howler was on the porch floor, facedown with one arm behind his back, and the right knee of the trooper firmly against his spine.
‘‘Ow, man, that hurts!’’ The call of the wild.
Hester and I were on the porch in a hurry. We stood looking down at Howler for a second. I looked at the trooper. ‘‘You do good work.’’
‘‘Hey, nothing to it.’’
‘‘You fuckers,’’ asked Howler, ‘‘gonna stand there and fuckin’ chat while this fucker’s tearing off my fuckin’ arm?’’
‘‘Watch your language,’’ I said, ‘‘there’s a lady present.’’
Howler looked up, saw Hester, and said, ‘‘Oh. My apologies, ma’am.’’
I had to turn around and face the yard. He was funny enough, but Hester just hated ‘‘ma’am.’’
‘‘Let him up,’’ said Hester.
The trooper, who was probably all of twenty-three or twenty-four, stood Howler up, smartly, and asked Hester, ‘‘Do you want him cuffed, ma’am?’’
‘‘No, thank you.’’
I turned around. ‘‘Do you want to talk to him now, ma’am?’’
Mistake. ‘‘No,’’ said Hester evenly. ‘‘I was thinking of hauling him in as a material witness.’’
‘‘Can’t,’’ I said. ‘‘Been done already today. Only allowed one a day.’’
‘‘What’s goin’ on?’’ asked Howler. Reasonably.
‘‘Well,’’ said Hester, ‘‘we have to talk to you about a couple of things.’’ She eyeballed him pretty well, especially his many tattoos. ‘‘You’re a felon, right?’’
‘‘I did my time, ma’am. I got out two years ago. I’m clean.’’
‘‘Except for a couple of things,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Like your assault rifle, for instance.’’
Silence.
‘‘If you give it to us now,’’ said Hester, ‘‘I’ll tell the court you were cooperative.’’
He thought for a minute. ‘‘I don’t want you searchin’ the house.’’
‘‘If we get the gun, we won’t have to.’’
He thought for another few seconds. ‘‘Okay.’’
‘‘We’ll come in with you,’’ said Hester.
‘‘And you just tell us where to look for it,’’ I said. ‘‘Let us get it.’’
‘‘Sure, man,’’ said Howler. ‘‘You think I’m nuts?’’ He grinned. ‘‘Just reach around the door, it’s right there.’’
I pulled my last two surgical gloves from my pants pocket, donned them, and reached my hand around the doorframe. I put my hand on a piece of cold metal. I pulled out an old Russian Army rifle, semiauto. Tokarev. 1940. Had a box magazine under the stock, for ten rounds. I’d seen one once before, in a museum. World War II vintage. But 7.62 mm, all right. How handy.
I pulled back the bolt, and a round popped out, striking the edge of the porch and spinning onto the floor. With the bolt still back, I dropped the magazine, which hit the floor with a solid thunk. The bolt stayed open. I tried to smell the chamber, but with my sinuses, it was hopeless. But old Howler didn’t know that.
‘‘When did you last fire this?’’
‘‘Early this morning.’’
‘‘Where.’’
‘‘In the woods.’’
I looked at him. ‘‘At what?’’ I bent over, and retrieved the round and the magazine, which contained several more.
‘‘A deer.’’
‘‘Howler,’’ I said, straightening up slowly, ‘‘that’s illegal. You can’t hunt deer in Iowa with a rifle. You know that.’’
He just looked at me.
‘‘Howler,’’ said Hester, ‘‘we’re going to have to ask you to come to the Sheriff’s Department with us. We have some questions to ask you.’’ She turned to the trooper. ‘‘Cuff him now, please.’’
‘‘Sure thing, ma’am.’’
‘‘I’ll give you a receipt for the rifle,’’ I said, smiling, ‘‘as soon as we get to the office. We’ll have to keep it.’’
‘‘I know,’’ said Howler. ‘‘It’s these new fuckin’ gun laws.’’ He caught himself instantly. ‘‘Excuse my language, ma’am.’’
We gave Howler to a deputy from James County, who had come over to assist, and let him take Howler to our jail. We thanked the young trooper again, eliciting another barrage of ‘‘ma’am.’’ Hester wasn’t in the best of moods when we left.
I notified Lamar that we were en route to the office for an interview. Hester called her boss, Al, and gave him more detail over her cell phone. We just had to get those things for our department.
When she was done, we talked. Mostly about Howler and the gun. It could be a murder weapon. The caliber was right. But the owner didn’t seem to be a good possibility.
‘‘He’s not nervous enough,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Not by a mile.’’
‘‘Yeah, I know. And he was sleeping, but not apparently drugged.’’
‘‘So?’’
‘‘I don’t know. I wonder, though. I mean, shit, Hester, these dudes are both into Howie. They know about the dope. They either know, or should, who was with him. They’ve just about got to be involved, at some level or another. Don’t you think?’’
Even as I heard myself, I knew that there was something wrong.
‘‘I wonder.’’ Hester slid down in the seat a bit, and reached for her now warm can of pop. ‘‘Something isn’t working.’’
I nodded. ‘‘Tell me.’’