Begley also had emphasized that Harris contact his chief without further delay, which effectively got rid of him, freeing them to question Gus Elmer without an audience.
“I’d love some coffee, wouldn’t you, Hoot?” he said suddenly. “Mr. Elmer, may we impose upon your hospitality?”
The old man squinted at Begley with misapprehension. “Huh?”
“Have you got any coffee?” Hoot said, interpreting.
“Oh, sure, sure. In the office. And a good fire going, too. Watch yore step. These steps is as slick as snot on a doorknob.”
A few minutes later they were seated in ladder-back rocking chairs in front of a crackling fire. Snow was melting inside Hoot’s shoes, making his feet cold, wet, and uncomfortable. He placed them as near the fire as possible.
The coffee mugs Gus Elmer gave them were as chipped and stained as his three teeth, but the brew was scalding, strong, and delicious. Or maybe it just tasted good because Hoot had been craving it so badly.
For all his willingness to assist in an FBI investigation, Gus Elmer didn’t provide them with much more information than Hoot had already obtained from him. Ben Tierney was a quiet, personable guest whose credit card charges always cleared. About the only thing odd about him was that he refused to let the lodge’s housekeeper clean the cabin while he was occupying it. That peculiarity had been explained by what they’d discovered in the second bedroom.
“But if that’s his only quirk, I ain’t complainin’,” Gus told them. “Ax me, he’s the ideal guest. Always leaves the cabin in good condition, turns out the lights, puts his garbage in the cans so the bears and coons cain’t get to it. And on the day he checks out, he’s out by noon. Yessir, he follows the rules, all right.”
“That’s an impressive stag, Mr. Elmer,” Begley remarked, pointing to the stuffed head mounted on the rock wall above the fireplace. “Was that your kill?”
It was a tactic Begley was famous for. During an interrogation, he would periodically toss out an unrelated comment. He said it served to keep answers spontaneous. By suddenly switching subjects, he kept the person he was questioning from anticipating what he was going to ask next and mentally formulating an answer. It was a means of getting an unfiltered response to a pertinent question.
“Has Mr. Tierney ever talked to you about women?”
Elmer, who’d been admiring his hunting trophy, whipped his head around and looked at Begley quizzically. “Women?”
“Wives, ex-wives, girlfriends, lovers?” Lowering his voice, he added, “Did he ever make reference to his sex life?”
The old man chuckled. “Not that I recall, and I think I’d recall that. I axed him once if his missus would be joining him, and he told me no, on account of he was divorced.”
“Do you think he’s straight?”
The old man’s mouth dropped open, affording them an unappetizing view into the toothless maw. “You tellin’ me he’s a queer? Him?”
“We have no reason to think he’s homosexual,” Begley replied. “But it seems a little strange that a single, good-looking guy like him never mentioned the fairer sex to you.”
Again, Hoot was impressed. Begley was probing Gus Elmer’s memory without appearing to. He’d counted on Elmer being a homophobe. A man like him wouldn’t want his regular lodger, with whom he’d become friendly, to be anything other than a man’s man, hetero to the marrow. So if Tierney had ever introduced a woman’s name into a conversation, the old man would now be racking his brain to remember it.
While he was concentrating, his grubby little finger plunged into the tuft of hair sprouting from his ear and began mining it for wax. “Now that I think on it, he did say to me the other mornin’ somethin’ ’bout that last girl who’s gone missing.”
“Mind if I pour myself another cup?” Without waiting for an answer, Begley got up and went to the coffeemaker on a table across the room.
“He came here to the office to pick up an issue of the Call and was reading the front page. I said, ‘Ax me, seems like this town’s cursed with some kinda nutcase.’ He said he sympathized with the girl’s folks. What they’re goin’ through and all.”
Begley returned to his rocking chair, blowing on his coffee to cool it. “This is excellent coffee, Mr. Elmer. Special Agent Wise, make a note of the brand, please.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to take some back to Charlotte with me for Mrs. Begley. That’s all Mr. Tierney said about the girl?” he asked Elmer.
“Uh, let’s see,” the old man said, trying to keep up. “Uh, no. He remarked he’d seen her just a day or so before she disappeared.”
“Did he say where?” Hoot asked.
“In the store where he buys his gear. Said he’d stopped in there to get a new pair of socks and she rung ’em up for him.”
“What time was that?”
“That he was in the store? Didn’t say. He folded the newspaper, picked up a map, and said he was going hiking up on the peak. I warned him not to let a bear get him. He laughed and said he’d try not to let that happen, and anyway weren’t they hibernating this time o’ year? Bought a couple o’ them granola bars outta the machine yonder and left.”