The Lesson of Her Death

“Find out and if not call back the car companies and ask if someone named Sayles rented a car.”
    Kresge didn’t wait to find out about the wallet. He got on the horn and called Hertz. A supervisor told him that a Randolph Sayles had rented a car the day before at Lambert Field in St. Louis. He’d rented it for two weeks and was paying a drop-off charge to leave the car in Dallas. Kresge got the description and plate number of the car and told them it had been illegally rented. “Have them notify us as soon as he returns it. Is that right, I mean, the right procedure?”
    Corde realized Kresge had looked up from the phone and was speaking to him. Corde, who had never before had a car-renting felon, said, “Sounds good to
    “Okay, it’s a green Hertz Pontiac,” Kresge announced, and sang out the license number. Corde had him send that information out over the wire to the county and state.
    They checked the Midwest Air commuter flights. No one matching Gilchrist’s description had flown from Harrison County Airport to Lambert Field in the past two days and there had been no private charter flights.
    State DMV showed a car registered to Gilchrist, a gray Toyota, but no record of a state driver’s license. After two hours on the phone, Miller found out that Gilchrist had a Massachusetts license. They’d fax a picture within three days.
    “That’s the best they can do?”
    “And I had to beat them up to get that.”
    Kresge said, “So he drove his car to St. Louis, dumped it, rented another one and is going south.”
    “Maybe. Maybe he’s trying to throw us off. Fax Dallas in any case.” Corde pondered. “You know, maybe he’s flying someplace and just rented the car to cover his tracks. Left it in the airport. Call the airlines, everything that flies out of St. Louis. Let’s hope he used Sayles’ credit card again. And check the airport long-term parking for his own car or the rental.”
    Kresge said, “That’s pretty good. How’d you know this stuff?”
    “You pick it up as you go along,” Corde said.
    “I’ve got a lot to learn,” Kresge said.
    “He’s gone over state lines,” Corde said, then added reluctantly, “We could get the FBI in if we wanted to.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Feddies aren’t interested in state crime unless there’s interstate flight or you’ve got a kidnapping, drugs or bank robbery.”
    “Why don’t we want them in?”
    Corde decided it was too early in Kresge’s career for this kind of law enforcement education. “Because,” he answered.
    Slocum strolled up. “Bill, one thing I was thinking.”
    “Yup?”
    “I’m not so sure this is just a fleeing felon thing.”
    Corde wondered what trashy paperbacks he’d been reading.
    Slocum continued, “I was trying to psych him out. I mean, look what he did to Sayles.” When Corde kept staring blankly he added, “Well, it could’ve been a revenge situation.”
    “Sayles was a witness,” Corde said. “Gilchrist had to kill him.”
    Kresge said, “But, Bill, we didn’t need Sayles to convict him, did we? We had enough other evidence. And Gilchrist would’ve known that.”
    Corde considered and said that was true. “Go ahead, Jim, what’s your thought?”
    “His life’s over with. He’s never going to teach again, never have a professional job. The best he can do is make it to Canada or Mexico and the first time he runs a red light, zippo, his butt’s extradited. I think he’s around the bend and wants to get even. He’s just killed again. My bet is he rented that car to send us off to Texas but he’s staying around here somewhere. He’s got some scores to settle.”
    Kresge said, “Maybe we should check out the hotels around the county. Maybe he used Sayles’ name there too.”
    Slocum said, “Hotels’d be easy to trace. I was thinking maybe cabins or a month lease somewhere nearby. It’s getting near season so nobody’d pay much attention to someone taking a vacation rental.”
    Corde said, “Let’s start making some calls.”
    It was just a half hour later that Wynton Kresge hung up the phone after a pleasant conversation with Anita Conciliano of Lakeland Real Estate in Bosworth. He jotted some notes on a piece of the recycled newsprint the department used for memos. He handed the sheet to Corde.
    The detective read it twice and looked up from the grayish paper. He found he was looking at Jim Slocum,who stood in his office doorway leaning on the frame—the same place and the