‘Apart from that particular item and the titanium specialties, I
order exclusively from a very old Pittsburgh company called
Fortis. They make two models for me. An eighteen-inch, and a
three-footer. Both of them are three-quarter-inch section. High
carbon double-tempered chromium steel, case-hardened claws,
very fine quality paint.’
‘And it was the three-footer that was stolen,’ I said.
He looked at me like I was clairvoyant.
‘Detective Clark showed us the sample you lent him,’ I said.
‘I see,’ he said.
‘So, is the thirty-six-inch three-quarter-section Fortis a rare
item?’
He made a face, like he was a little disappointed.
‘I sell one a year,’ he said. ‘Two, if I’m very lucky. They’re
expensive. And appreciation for quality is declining shamefully.
Pearls before swine, I say.’
‘Is that the same everywhere?’
‘Eve .rywhere?’ he repeated.
‘In other stores. Regionally. With the Fortis crowbars.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself quite clear.
They’re made for me. To my own design. To my own exact
specification. They’re custom items.’
I stared at him. ‘They’re exclusive to this store?’
He nodded. ‘The privilege of independence.’
‘Literally exclusive?’
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He nodded again. ‘Unique in all the world.’
‘When did you last sell one?’
‘About nine months ago.’
‘Does the paint wear off?’
‘I know what you’re asking,’ he said. ‘And the answer is yes,
of course. If you find one that looks new, it’s the one that was
stolen on New Year’s Eve.’
We borrowed an identical sample from him for comparative
purposes, the same way Detective Clark had. It was dewed
with machine oil and had tissue paper wrapped around the
centre shaft. We laid it like a trophy across the Chevy’s back
seat. Then we ate in the car. Burgers, from a drive-through a
hundred yards north of the tool store.
‘Tell me three new facts,’ I said.
‘One, Mrs Kramer and Carbone were killed by the same
individual weapon. Two, we’re going to drive ourselves nuts
trying to find a connection between them.’
‘And three?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Three, the bad guy knew Sperryville pretty well. Could you
have found that store in the dark, in a hurry, unless you knew
the town?’
We looked ahead through the windshield. The mouth of the
alley was just about visible. But then, we knew it was there. And
it was full daylight.
Summer closed her eyes.
‘Focus on the weapon,’ she said. ‘Forget everything else.
Visualize it. The custom crowbar. Unique in all the world. It was
carried out of that alley, right there. Then it was in Green Valley
at two a.m. on January first. And then it was inside Fort Bird at
nine p.m. on the fourth. It went on a journey. We know where it
started, and we know where it finished. We don’t know for sure
where it went in between, but we do know for certain it passed
one particular point along the way. It passed Fort Bird’s main
gate. We don’t know when, but we know for sure that it did.’ She opened her eyes.
‘We have to get back there,’ she said. ‘We have to look at the
logs again. The earliest it could have passed the gate is six a.m.
255
on January first, because Bird is four hours from Green Valley. The latest it could have passed the gate is, say, eight p.m. on
January fourth. That’s an eighW-six-hour window. We need to
check the gate logs for everybody who entered during that
time. Because we know for sure that the crowbar came in, and
we know for sure that it didn’t walk in by itself.’
I said nothing.
Tm sorry,’ she said. ‘There’ll be a lot of names.’
The truant feeling was completely gone. We got back on the
road and headed east, looking for 1-95. We found it and we
turned south, towards Bird. Towards Willard on the phone.
Towards the angry Delta station. We slid back under the shelf
of grey cloud just before the North Carolina state line. The sky
went dark. Summer put the headlights on. We passed the State
Police building on the opposite shoulder. Passed the spot where
Kramer’s briefcase had been found. Passed the rest area a