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“That will strain my powers of condensation. They’re only giving me twenty minutes. Then they have to put you back to bed and irrigate you.” Ball grimaces. “I don’t even want to know what that entails.”
“Davis told me they caught the guy who killed Yvonne Wicker, but I passed out before she could give me any details. Start there.”
“His name is Andrew Iverson, no fixed address. An itinerant Mr. Fixit. He was heading west, driving a little blue panel truck with ANDY I., PLUMBING AND HEATING on the side. It showed up on video both in Arkansas City where Wicker last stayed and at the Gas-n-Go where she was last spotted. He’s also on video in Great Bend, Manitou, and Cawker City.”
“Cawker’s close to Dart County, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Wicker was probably dead in the back of his truck when he drove through there. He was looking for a lonely spot to bury her.”
“And found one.”
“Iverson’s picture should be in the encyclopedia next to the entry for serial killers. He drives, stops for awhile, does some business—cash only, he told the cops, because, he says, cash don’t tell.”
“You got this from Davis?”
“Yes. We had a long talk. She feels terrible about this whole business.”
She’s not the only one, Danny thinks.
“Iverson killed a girl in Illinois and another in Missouri. Buried them in rural locations. The cops have found one, they’re still looking for the other. He picked up a fourth girl hitchhiking in Wyoming, outside a little town called Glenrock. He pulled over on some country road and tried to rape her. She had a knife in her boot. While he was getting his pants down, she stabbed him four times.”
“Good for her,” Danny says. He thinks of the dog that was chewing on Yvonne Wicker’s arm. “Goddam good for her.”
“Davis says this was one tough chick. She tumbled him out of the van, drove toward Casper until she had a cell signal, and called the police. He wasn’t where the girl said he was, but they followed a blood trail to a nearby barn. He was in a horse stall, passed out from blood loss. Davis says he’s going to recover.”
“He confessed? She told me he confessed. Unless I dreamed that part.”
“You didn’t. Wounds hurt, as I think you know. You got shot once. Iverson got stabbed four times, once in the cheek, once in the shoulder, once in the side, and once in the leg. He wanted painkillers. The cops wanted information. They both got what they wanted.”
“Davis told you all that?”
“She did, and asked me to tell you. I think she’s afraid to face you again.”
“I get that, but I guess in the end she did her job.”
“She stood up to Jalbert, if that’s what you mean, but that’s a story for another day. My twenty minutes are almost up. Do you remember the charm bracelet the Wicker girl was wearing?”
Danny remembers. He saw it twice, once in his dream and once in real life.
“Iverson had two of the charms in his kill-sack. As trophies. There was more stuff in there. From the other two.”
“Where’s the kid that shot me?”
“Albert Wicker is in a Manitou motel with his folks. He made bail. Or rather, his parents did. I know the lawyer who represented him at his arraignment. He says the Wickers mortgaged their house to come up with the money.”
Danny thinks about that. Daughter dead, son facing attempted murder charges, parents probably facing bankruptcy. And I’m in the hospital with a hole in my stomach, Danny thinks. The wandering plumber did a lot of damage, and that’s just the spreading circle of pain around the young woman Jalbert insisted on calling “poor Miss Yvonne.” Danny wishes the girl who got away, the fabled Last Girl, had stabbed Iverson in the balls for good measure.
“I don’t want to press charges,” Danny says.
Edgar Ball smiles. “Am I surprised? I am not. But it’s not entirely up to you. Wicker will do some time, but considering the mitigating circumstances, it may not be much.”
A nurse pokes her head in the door. “Sir, you need to let my good pal Danny rest. Plus, he needs some services you won’t want to be around for.”
“Irrigation,” Danny says glumly. “This doesn’t happen when someone gets shot on TV.”
“Five more minutes,” Ball says. “Please.”
“You can have three,” the nurse says, and leaves.
