“No,” Lulie said, “I can’t, no.”
Ty said, “Let’s get back to the belt buckle. Let me tell you, we expected a number of calls to the hotline from people identifying it, but to our surprise we got only one—from Gunny—which has to mean no one else in town knew about it. And that seems to mean he never wore it? If he did keep the belt buckle to himself, for whatever reason, then did Gunny see it by accident? What is it about this belt buckle that made Mr. Henry make her promise not to tell anyone about it?”
“And why attack her?” Sala said. “What would she have told the agent on the hotline that would implicate anyone?”
Dr. Ellis, an older man with a rooster tail of white hair, walked into the waiting room. He was smiling at Lulie. “She’s okay, she’s going to make it. She hasn’t awakened yet, but I believe she will recover in time, Lulie. She’s through the worst of it.”
Masters pulled Lulie against him when she started to cry and hugged her hard. He couldn’t help it. He wept with her.
40
* * *
HAGGERSVILLE POST OFFICE
TUESDAY
The post office lobby was crowded, but no one seemed much interested in mailing letters or packages. They were talking about what had happened to Gunny Saks. Postal employees knew the most, it seemed, and they were holding court.
When Ty and Sala walked in and asked for Mrs. Chamberlain, the buzz of conversation stopped dead, all eyes on them.
Sala smiled, gave a little wave. “Chief Christie and I—I’m Agent Sala Porto—we’ve come from the hospital and we’re happy to tell you Gunny’s surgery went well. It looks like she’ll be all right. She’ll recover.”
There were murmurs and sighs of relief, most of them sincere. Ty and Sala were the new center of attention, until it was clear they had no more answers.
A woman’s piercing voice rang out, a whipcrack to it. “This is a United States post office, not a coffee shop! Everyone, back to work!” Conversation died on the vine. A formidable woman in her late fifties, Sala would say, tromped toward them in sensible low heels and a plain gray dress that showed, to his surprise, an amazing cleavage. Her glasses hung on a gold chain around her neck, and her hair was permed and sprayed to immobility. She looked no-nonsense, like a Bears linebacker with breasts. Sala imagined everyone knew not to tangle with this woman.
After Sala and Ty showed her their creds and asked to speak to her privately, Mrs. Chamberlain gave one last death look to the postal employees still hanging around in the lobby, then said, “Come this way.”
Ty and Sala followed her through a swinging gate past the fourth window. A thin-as-a-straw older window clerk started to say something, saw the look on Mrs. Chamberlain’s face, and seamed his lips. Sala didn’t blame him. Smart move, dude.
“Pay no attention to Hughes. He’s been here as long as I have, but he’s never going to leave the window, never wanted to. He can sort mail for boxes faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, but he prefers to sell stamps and weigh customer packages. He and Luke Putney try to outdo each other with gossip.”
They followed her into the bowels of the post office, aware of postal employees watching their every step.
Mrs. Chamberlain stopped abruptly and gave the stink-eye to a man in close conversation with a young woman. She said in a death-ray voice, “Mr. Klem, you must get back to work or Mr. Murcheson might find out how you spend your time on the job.” Mr. Klem nodded once to the young woman and turned away. Mrs. Chamberlain continued. “Mr. Murcheson is our postmaster, brand new and scared of his own shadow, sent to us from way up north around Boston. He doesn’t know how we do things here in rural Maryland yet, so he does what I tell him to, naturally. Right now, I imagine he’s in his office, with the door locked. Who knows what he does in there.” She stepped around them and walked into a small windowless room with three surprisingly healthy ferns along one wall next to her very nice wooden desk. A small library of postal books were lined up precisely on the wall behind it, some looking old enough to have been published under Eisenhower. A laptop, a landline, and a paperback novel were the only items on her desk. She sat down and motioned them to the two chairs facing her.
Her look was complacent. “Welcome to my office of twenty-one years. I assume you’ve come because you have questions about Gunny and her job here. You may begin.”
Ty nearly giggled. It was close. Sala knew it, too, and so he covered for her, bless him. He sat forward, but before he could speak, Mrs. Chamberlain said, “I hope there’s no question about Gunny’s hospital bill. All Gunny’s medical bills will be covered by the federal government. Dr. Ellis and the hospital never have to worry about being paid.”
Sala looked so taken aback, Ty quickly said, “No, we realize there’ll be no problem with Gunny’s health insurance, Mrs. Chamberlain. We need to know if Gunny spoke to you this morning about the belt buckle we showed on TV yesterday. She told her mother it belonged to a Mr. Henry LaRoque.”
“Oh, I see. Well, yes, Gunny sidled up to me about eight thirty this morning, asked if she could speak to me. Naturally I was busy, but I told her to go ahead, tell me what was on her mind.
“It was nothing, really. Gunny said she was worried about Mr. Henry’s belt buckle, the one the FBI showed on the television. I told her Mr. Henry didn’t have a belt buckle like the one you showed on TV, and I should know—”
Sala saw a slight flush on her cheeks but let it go for the moment. He could accept Mr. Henry hadn’t worn the belt buckle. But that his own lover hadn’t ever seen it? He said, “Let’s say Mr. Henry did have a gold Star of David belt buckle, and Gunny saw it. Did she tell you why that worried her?”
“I honestly don’t think Gunny ever saw such a thing. She gets things wrong sometimes, fantasizes. She’s a dear girl, but her brain doesn’t always—well, work smoothly. She tunes out suddenly, then she comes back, I guess you could say. Fact is, she’s slow, Agent Porto, but I suppose you already know that.”
Ty asked, “Why was he called Mr. Henry?”
“It was a sign of respect, an endearment. He was a caring, generous man, and you’ll not find anyone who disagrees. Mr. Henry handled the mortgages, business loans, financial assistance of all kinds for most of the people in town.
“Now, I told Gunny I was sure Mr. Henry didn’t own such a belt, that she was mistaken. She didn’t say anything more, only frowned and looked confused. I knew I had to be patient, knew there was more, so I asked her, why all this concern about a belt buckle she saw on TV? She said it had to do with a promise she’d made Mr. Henry, and she didn’t know whether she should tell anyone.”