“Yes, sir.”

Schaeffer hung up and glanced at the dashboard clock, then did what I would have done first and called Continental Airlines at the airport. He got our friend Betty on the line and said, “Betty, this is Hank Schaeffer-”

“Well, how are you?”

“Just fine. And you?”

And so forth. I mean, pleasantries are nice, and it’s sweet that everyone in RFD land knows everyone else and that they’re all related by blood, marriage, or both, but let’s get down to business, folks.

Finally, Major Schaeffer asked her, “Could you do me a favor and see if you’ve got a guy named Putyov”-he spelled it-“on your twelve forty-five flight to Boston?”

Betty replied, “Well, I can tell you without looking it up that we did. But since then, I got a revised manifest out of the company reservations computer, and I saw that he canceled.”

“Did he rebook?”

“Nope.” Then it was Betty’s turn. “Any problem?”

“No, just routine. Call me at the office if this guy Putyov rebooks or shows up. Also, make copies for me of all your flight manifests and reservations for the last six days. I’ll pick them up later.”

“Okay. Hey, you want to hear something? Yesterday, a guy and a lady from the FBI come around, and they want copies of all my flight manifests and reservation sheets. They flew in on an FBI helicopter, so I knew they were for real and they had badges. So I gave them what they asked for.”

Betty went on awhile, then added editorially, “The guy had a real smart mouth, and I gave it right back to him.”

I didn’t recall that I was anything but polite, but even if I was a little smart with her, she hadn’t given it right back to me. Liar.

Major Schaeffer glanced at me and said to Betty, “Well, thanks-”

She interrupted. “What’s happening? This guy said it had something to do with the Winter Olympics.” She laughed. “I told him that was in 1980.” She added, “The lady was nice, and you could see she was kind of fed up with this crackpot. So, what’s this all about?”

“I can’t say right now, but I want you to keep this to yourself.”

“That’s what they said. I would’ve called you, but I didn’t make too much of it at the time. Now, I’m thinking-”

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. Call me if this guy Putyov shows up or rebooks. I’ll see you later. Okay?”

“Okay. You have a good day.”

“You, too.” He hung up, glanced at me, and said, “Well, you heard all that.”

“I was very nice to her. Kate? Wasn’t I nice to Betty?”

No reply.

Schaeffer said, “I meant about Putyov canceling his flight.”

“Right. So, possibly he’s still at the lodge.”

“Yeah. He didn’t rebook.” He informed us, “These are small commuter airplanes, and the few flights we have are usually full. You can’t depend on running out to the airport and finding an empty seat.”

Schaeffer had a lot on his plate now, and a lot on his mind, but he had no idea what was going on beyond a homicide investigation. However, he knew something was going on at Custer Hill that interested the Feds and was not supposed to interest him.

We were approaching Route 56, and I said to Major Schaeffer, “Do us a favor and run us up to Potsdam.”

“Why?”

“We need to… actually, we’re trying to avoid Liam Griffith.”

“No kidding? What’s in it for me?”

“Well, then, just let us out on Route 56. We’ll hitchhike to Potsdam.”

“You might see a bear before you see a car.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m armed.”

“Don’t shoot the bears. I’ll take you.”

“Thanks.” I turned around to speak to Kate, but she looked a little frosty. I said to her, “I’ll buy you lunch in Potsdam.”

No reply.

Then, bigmouthed Schaeffer says, “Max is quite a looker. Funny, too.”

“Who? Oh, the Hertz person.” A little payback from the good major.

We were at the intersection of Route 56, and Schaeffer stopped the car, and asked, “Potsdam?”

I had a sense of déjá vu from when I was at this crossroads yesterday and made the decision to go see Harry at the Potsdam morgue rather than go as ordered to state police headquarters.

Now, we had to decide if we were going to face the music with Griffith before we got deeper into trouble, or go up to Potsdam and hide out.

Schaeffer asked again, “Which way?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Kate? Potsdam or Liam?”

She replied, “Potsdam.”

Schaeffer turned right and headed north to Potsdam.

It’s tough enough working a homicide investigation when you’re out of your jurisdiction. It’s even tougher when you’re on the lam from the people you’re working for, and your partner is pissed at you, and your prime suspect is a buddy of some guys who work for the president.

How do I get myself into shit like this?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

We chatted a bit about the case as we drove through the park preserve. When we got to South Colton, I asked Schaeffer, “Do you know Rudy who owns that gas station?”

“Yeah, I remember him from when I used to patrol this area. Why?”

“He’s Madox’s local rat.” I explained my brief association with Ratso Rudy.

Schaeffer nodded, and said, “This guy Madox has a lot more going on here than I realized. But as I said, he never caused us any trouble, and I don’t think he’s here that much. But from now on, I will keep closer tabs on him.”

I thought that there wasn’t going to be much more “from now on,” but I didn’t reply.

Schaeffer arrived at the same thought. “I guess he’s a murder suspect now.”

“Well, I think he is.”

“Do your colleagues in my headquarters think that?”

“I reported our suspicions to Tom Walsh in New York.”

“And what are you two doing in Potsdam?”

I replied, “Just taking a breather.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you go back to The Point?”

“Well, I think Mr. Griffith may be in our room using Kate’s makeup while he waits for us.”

“So, you’re on the run from your own people?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“No? How would you put it?”

“Let me think about that. Meanwhile, can we be assured that you won’t mention this to anyone?”

“Let me think about that.”

“Because, if we can’t count on your discretion, you may as well take us back to Ray Brook.”

“What’s in this for me?”

“You’d be doing the right thing.”

“When do I know that?”

“Oh… in about two days.”

“Yeah? So, you want me to commit a breach of professional responsibility and not mention to Griffith that I took you to the crime scene, and then to Potsdam?”

“Tell you what, Major. Ask him and the other FBI guys what this is all about. If they give you a straight answer, then send them to Potsdam to find us. Deal?”

“I think you’ll get the best of that deal. But okay. It’s a deal.”

“And I’m going to throw in the keys to my Hertz car, which you may want to move out of your parking lot on the off chance that the FBI practices good police procedure and goes through the lot looking for our rental car.” I gave him the keys and said, “There’s a picnic lunch from The Point in the backseat, and it’s yours.”

“This deal is getting better. What’s for lunch?”

“Probably snails. Also, if you want to cover your tracks a little with the FBI, you should call The Point and ask for us.”

Major Schaeffer observed, “You’d make a good fugitive.”

Actually, that’s what we were at the moment, but there was no reason to remind him of that.

We were on the outskirts of Potsdam now, and Schaeffer asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“Just drop us off at a subway station.”

I wasn’t sure if Major Schaeffer appreciated or got my humor, but he said, “I guess you need a car.”

“Good idea. Is there a rental place around here?”

“There’s an Enterprise.”

I waited for the rest of the list, but that seemed to be it.

We went through the center of town, then continued up Route 56, past the hospital where we’d seen Harry, and a few minutes later, we arrived at Enterprise Rent-A-Car.