“Thanks for the tip. Yeah, well, the only suspicion I have is what you’re telling me.” He thought a moment, then asked, “Do you want to spook this guy? I mean, you want an open surveillance or a clandestine surveillance?”

“Clandestine. Like tree cutters watching the road and the perimeter.”

“Okay… but I need to notify and coordinate that with the county police, and I have to tell you, I think Madox has friends in the sheriff’s office.”

I considered that, and it seemed as though Mr. Bain Madox, Lord of the Manor, had his tentacles out into the hinterlands, as witnessed by Rudy’s call to the Custer Hill Club. I asked Schaeffer, “Does Madox also have friends in this office?”

He replied without hesitation, “Not under my command.”

“Right.” But how would he know? “If you think someone in the sheriff’s office is too chummy with Madox, it seems to me that you could in good conscience run a surveillance without notifying the sheriff.”

“Nope. I need to solve the problem with the sheriff, not add to the problem.”

“You’re absolutely right.” We weren’t even on the same planet. Major Schaeffer ran a clean, tight ship, which was nice, but not convenient at the moment. “We really need that surveillance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great.” I belatedly informed him, “Kate and I went to the morgue before we came here.”

He seemed surprised, then asked, “Did you discover anything new?”

“I spoke to the medical examiner-Dr. Gleason. You should talk to her.”

“I intend to. Meanwhile, what did she say?”

“Well, it appears that Detective Muller was subject to some physical abuse before death.”

He processed that, then asked me, “What sort of physical abuse?”

“I’m not an M.E.” I added, not quite truthfully, “I was just there to make the positive ID and say farewell.”

He nodded. “I’ll speak to her tonight.”

I told him, “She found what appears to be rug fibers and dog hairs.” I explained to him what Dr. Gleason had discovered, then said, “If they don’t match the rug in his camper, they may match a rug at the Custer Hill lodge. Harry didn’t own a dog.”

“All right. If we do get a search warrant, we’ll check that out.”

Major Schaeffer had long-range plans for what was going to be, for him, a short investigation, so I informed him, “You’re going to wind up sharing this case with the FBI, and they don’t like to share, and they don’t play well with others.”

He reminded me, “Murder, even of a Federal agent, is a state crime, not a Federal crime.”

“I know that, Major. And ultimately, there may be a state trial for murder. But the FBI will be investigating an assault on a Federal agent, which is a Federal crime. The net result is the same-they’re going to be all over this place and this case very soon.”

“It’s still my case,” Major Schaeffer said.

“Right.” This was like the local baron telling the invading army that they were trespassing on his land. I said, “For instance, Dr. Gleason is not doing the autopsy. The body is being transported to New York City.”

“They can’t do that.”

“Major, they can do whatever the hell they want. They have two magic words-national security. And when they use those magic words, the state and local police are turned into…” I was going to say puppy dogs, but that would piss him off, so I said, “Stone.”

He stared at me, then said, “We’ll see.”

“Right. Good luck.”

“What is your actual status on this case?” he asked.

“I have seven days to crack it.”

“How did you get a whole seven days?”

“I made a bet with Tom Walsh.”

“What’s the bet?”

“I bet my job.”

“And your wife?”

“No, I didn’t bet her.”

“I mean, did she bet her job?”

“No, she’s career FBI. She has to shoot a supervisor before her job is in jeopardy.”

He forced a smile. “I don’t think you’re going to crack this case in seven days, unless someone comes forward.”

“Probably not. Are you hiring?”

He smiled again, then said, “I think you’re past hiring age for the state police. But the local police are always looking for experienced people from the city.” He added, “You’d love it up here.”

“Oh, I know I would. I feel like a new man already.” I changed the subject. “Where’d you go hunting with Madox?”

“On his property.”

“See anything?”

“Yeah. Trees. We met at his house. Big place. Then we went out for deer. Six guys. Me, him, one of my sergeants, and three of his friends from the city.” He added, “Lunch was catered in the woods, drinks back at the lodge.”

“Did you see anything unusual?”

“No. Did you?”

“No,” I replied, “except all that security.” I asked him, “Did you see the perimeter fence?”

“Only got a glimpse of it. It’s surrounded with floodlights, like a prison camp, except these floods are on motion sensors. Also, Madox has his own cellular relay tower.”

“Why?”

“He’s rich.”

“Right. When was this hunting party?” I asked.

“Two seasons back.”

“Like, hunting seasons?”

“Yeah. Up here we have hunting season; ski season; mud, flood, and fly season; then fishing season.”

When I left the city, it was the opera and ballet season. “A guy could really keep busy up here.”

“Yeah, if you like the outdoors.”

“I love the outdoors. By the way, I saw a map of the Custer Hill property, and I saw some outbuildings away from the lodge. What are those buildings?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Well, I know one of them is a bunkhouse. You know, for the guards. There’s also a big barn-like building for all his vehicles. Then there’s a generator building.”

“Electric generator?”

“Yeah. Three diesel generators.”

“What’s that all about?”

“You can lose power in the ice storms. Most people have some sort of generator backup.”

“Right. You’ve seen these generators?”

“No. They’re in a stone building.” He informed me, “The guy in Potsdam who services the emergency generator here also services the ones at the Custer Hill Club.”

I recalled the three heavy cables I saw on the utility poles on Madox’s property. “Why would this lodge need all that juice?”

He thought about that, then replied, “I’m not sure how much power each generator puts out, and I assume one or two are backups if one fails. But you raise an interesting point. I’ll find out how many kilowatts they put out.”

“Okay.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Quite frankly, I don’t know.” But this generator thing led me to ask him, “What is the local gossip about the Custer Hill Club?”

He looked at me. “Are you investigating this homicide, or are you picking up where your friend left off?”

“I’m a homicide cop. But I’m also nosy. I like gossip.”

“Well, there’s the usual gossip. Everything from wild, drunken orgies to an eccentric billionaire sitting around watching his toenails grow.”

“Right. Does Madox ever go into town?”

“Almost never. But now and then you get a Madox sighting in Saranac Lake or Lake Placid.”

“Did anyone ever see the former Mrs. Madox?”

“I don’t know. She’s been out of the picture for a long time.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Boyfriends?”

“He impressed me as a refined gentleman, but he had a macho side to him. What did you think?”

“Same. I think he’s on our team.” I asked him, “Do you know how often he comes out to his club?”

“I have no idea. Usually the local or state police are notified when the residents of a big lodge, or a Great Camp, are away so the police can keep an eye on the place-but Madox has full-time, twenty-four/seven security guards. To the best of my knowledge, that place is never left unattended.”

I’d guessed that from what Madox himself had told me and Kate, and now it was confirmed. “Did anyone ever suggest that the Custer Hill Club was something other than a private hunting and fishing club?”