The Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

cigar was now on a continuous rotation. “Professor Bledsoe was being honored at President Mortimer's house last night for winning some big award.”
    “The Devonshire,” Sterling interjected. “The richest science award there is.”
    “Two million big ones,” Stangle added. He sang the amount like the jingle for a lottery commercial. “He leaves the party at approximately seven o'clock and calls his wife to tell her that he's coming home.”
    “Any sign of the car?”
    “Nothing yet. But we're working with the phone company to get a log of his calls.” Stangle flipped the page. “He calls Mrs. Bledsoe again about five to ten minutes later and says that he's gonna be late. There were a couple of guys having trouble with a truck down here on River Road, so he stopped to help.”
    “How far is President Mortimer's house from here?”
    “Can't be more than ten minutes. It's over on Webster Avenue down the street from the fraternities.” Stangle walked a couple of steps off the road and motioned for Sterling to follow. The river was just five feet from where they stood. Stangle pointed across the water. “When the leaves fall off in autumn, you can actually see the president's mansion through these trees. It's really not that far at all.”
    “But there's no way to get from there to here without crossing the bridge?”
    “Not unless you got wings or you're strong enough to swim across the river. Gotta take the long way over Ledyard Bridge in order to access this road.”
    “Where did Wilson say he was helping these men?”
    “Not exactly sure, but according to Mrs. Bledsoe, he was only a few minutes from their property. So we figure he was within a couple of hundred yards from this spot.”
    They had done some thinking on their own, which Sterling found surprising and encouraging. Often when he arrived on the scene only a small amount of real work had been done, and the authorities were more interested in quarreling over who was actually in charge of the case than in gathering evidence. A time line was always the centerpiece of any investigation, and they had started to construct a good one.
    Sterling looked at the men. Some were crouched on the ground with magnifying glasses, others combed through the woods. They were working as a team, which was also important.
    “How far did you block the road off?” Sterling asked.
    “All the way to your brother's street—Deer Run Lane.”
    “How far is that from here?”
    “About two miles or so.”
    Sterling looked down the narrow dirt road, which was smothered by large trees and heavy branches that blocked out most of the sunlight. There were no streetlights or road markings; it was as if someone had carved a road through the forest and forgot to finish it. He wondered how eerie it must've been going down this dark road with its unlit curves and narrow passages. What went through Wilson's mind as he traveled home last night?
    “You say the president was throwing a party at his house in Wilson's honor?” Sterling asked.
    “Yup, started at six.” Stangle looked at his pad. “About two hundred and fifty people. The president and his wife like to throw big parties. They pack 'em in at least once a week.”
    “What about that truck? Did Wilson tell Kay what he thought was wrong with it?”
    Stangle turned the page and skimmed the notes. The harder he thought, the faster his mouth rotated the cigar. “There we go. He told her that he wasn't sure if it was a dead battery or flat tire.”
    “What was the weather like last night?”
    “Clear till about six or so, then a little drizzle. At about seven it started raining like the dickens. Damn winds were almost strong enough to blow my fat ass to the ground.”
    “That should be helpful for them,” Sterling said, pointing at the men crawling on the ground.
    “The wind?”
    “No, the rain. That meant there was a lot of mud here last night—makes for deep tire tracks, especially when the next day is dry like