In Seconds

14

Rex wasn’t sure he could do this. He’d just spent two weeks in self-imposed exile from the rest of the world, lying in the empty bathtub of a cheap motel room in Los Angeles, so he’d be close to the toilet, sweating and shaking and feeling like he was going to die. He knew going off drugs with no one else around was a dangerous way to detox. He could’ve had a grand mal seizure or some other serious complication. But he couldn’t afford a clinic, and there was no way to taper off OxyContin. Not on his own. One high only led to the next. And he didn’t want to burden anyone. As far as he was concerned, he’d gotten himself into this mess; he needed to get himself out.

“You’re ill. You should see a doctor.” Laurel, or Vivian, as everyone else around here knew her, sat in the passenger seat. She’d been silent for the duration of the drive, all thirty minutes of it, but she’d been studying him. He could tell she’d wanted to say something almost since they left.

“I’m fine.” He’d insisted on driving, but he wasn’t anywhere close to fine. He’d been crazy to show his face in Pineview. He wouldn’t have if he’d felt he had any other choice. Besides, by the time he made the decision to come here, he’d been starting to feel better for periods of time. He’d been able to come out of the bathroom and lie on the bed to watch TV. At that point, he’d believed the determination that’d kept him clean for ten days would enable him to soldier on.

But OxyContin still had a strong hold on him. His hands trembled, bouts of nausea threatened to bring up what little he’d forced himself to eat for breakfast and his craving for the euphoria he remembered so well overwhelmed him when he least expected it. There were moments when he felt certain he’d go mad if he didn’t find a source.

He should’ve kept himself sequestered until he’d recovered—or at least maintained a safe distance from Laurel. Facing her and all the feelings she dredged up compounded the difficulty of what he was going through, made it even more hellish. The regret, the guilt, the longing—they all worked as triggers. They were the very emotions he’d hoped to escape by taking OxyContin in the first place.

But someone had to come to Pineview to protect her, and he knew it couldn’t be Virgil. Virgil had a family now. Peyton was just about to give birth to their second child. So Virgil needed to stay in New York, run his business and take care of those he loved. Rex had already screwed up so badly, he didn’t have anything left to save. Except Laurel. Whether they were together now or not, she’d been the best thing in his life to date.

“You want me to drive?” she asked for the third time.

“No.” Perspiration caused his T-shirt to stick to him despite the air-conditioning blowing from the vents. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. He had enough other things to worry about. Like the cramping in his stomach. It felt as if someone was tearing his organs out with an ice pick, but stopping wouldn’t ease the pain. Nothing would. It was just there, and he didn’t know how long it would last. Going to a hospital wouldn’t help. All they could do was monitor him. And he refused to be put out of commission now, especially when there was no remedy except determination and time.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not up to it.”

He wanted to be able to do this much. He hated that she was seeing him at his absolute worst. But he couldn’t have delayed his visit, not without leaving her at risk. As much as she didn’t want to believe The Crew had found her, he trusted Mona Lindberg, the friend who’d told him otherwise, mostly because she had no reason to lie.

Laurel slid on a pair of sunglasses. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hide his eyes as easily. He’d left his shades at a hamburger stand somewhere in the middle of Missouri during his cross-country motorcycle odyssey from New York to Los Angeles. It was on that odyssey that he’d made the decision to turn his life around. Foreboding had ridden with him for those first few days, telling him that if he went back to L.A. and didn’t give up the OxyContin, he’d either fall in with the men he hated or others who were just as bad. If someone didn’t kill him along the way… If he didn’t give it up, he’d lose the only relationships that really mattered—his friendship with Virgil, Virgil’s wife and Laurel.

“Can we talk about what happened in L.A.?” she asked.

She wanted details about his stay there, but he wasn’t interested in providing them. The past two weeks were nothing more than a painful blur. “What do you want to know?”

“Why would you go back there? You know what they’ll do if they find you.”

“That isn’t true for every member of The Crew. Just certain ones.”

“Any of them could try and impress Horse by bringing him your head on a platter.”

“I was willing to risk it.” When he’d started out, he’d sort of hoped the trip would end that way, that he’d go out with a bang instead of wasting away on dope.

“For what? What’d you do while you were there?”

He hadn’t been partying quite as much as she assumed. But he wasn’t going to say that. He couldn’t cope with her skepticism. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to clean himself up. “Nothing, really.”

“You had to be doing something. You were gone for fourteen days, and you wouldn’t even pick up your phone.”

He clenched his jaw against another cramp, had to wait until it passed before he could answer. “I already explained that.”

“You didn’t explain why you couldn’t use someone else’s phone.”

And he wasn’t going to. “Let it go.”

“You were that strung out?”

She had no idea what he’d been through, how hard he was trying, but he couldn’t fault her for her disgust. He was just as disgusted with himself. “I guess so.”

“Who were you with? You don’t know anybody there except Crew.”

“I grew up in L.A. Trust me, I know plenty of people.” None of whom were very good for him, which was why he hadn’t looked many of them up.

“So you renewed friendships from the past.”

“That’s right.”

“If you weren’t socializing with your old gang buddies, how’d you find out they know where I’m living?”

“From Mona. I told you when we talked last night.”

“Shady’s girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend. They broke up before he died.”

“Are you sure she’s not holding a grudge for how he died?”

“I’m sure.”

“And yet she still hangs out with his buddies.”

Thanks to drugs, she probably always would. “The Crew keeps her supplied.”

That was why he’d tracked her down. He knew Mona would be able to replace the pills he’d thrown away or, failing that, get him some heroin. He also knew she’d be willing. So he’d contacted her sister, who was in the phone book, and her sister had put him in touch with Mona.

But he hadn’t taken the drugs she brought. Seeing what her addiction had done to her was too much of a jolt. He didn’t want to be like her. Instead of succumbing, he’d flushed the pills down the toilet and crawled back into the tub to suffer some more.

“But if they find out she told you, they’ll kill her,” Laurel said.

“I did her a favor once, okay? She felt like she owed me.”

When Laurel closed the air-conditioning vent closest to her, he considered turning off the AC. It wasn’t so hot that he needed to run it. But the cool air distracted him from his misery just enough that he could drive another mile and then another. Right now, that was the best he could do.

“What kind of favor did you do for her?” she asked.

“It’s not important.”

“I want to know.”

“I gave her a ride once. That’s all.”

The way she watched him suggested she could tell there was more to it. “You helped her even though it put you at risk?”

It was a guess. But it was close. “Not so much. I’d already assumed the risk by being where I was when I found her. I just took an interest when she needed it, gave her a shoulder to cry on and another chance to escape, and she was grateful. You must remember some of this. I’ve told you before.”

She didn’t respond to that last part. “Did you sleep with her?”

He shot her a glance. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious.”

“No. Not when I helped her out, and not when she helped me out, either.” Mona had been used by so many men there was no telling what diseases she carried. Besides, he’d never found her appealing. He’d just felt sorry for her because of the crappy way Shady and the others treated her.

Laurel kneaded her forehead. “But you’ve slept with other women since we’ve been together. Haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He knew she wouldn’t like the truth. Maybe they weren’t together anymore but certain feelings lingered.

“Wow. Where did that come from?” She gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked.”

He did. She’d asked because it wasn’t a lack of love or attraction that’d driven them apart, and that made it difficult not to fall back into bed. Not until the morning after, or maybe several mornings after, did they figure out they couldn’t get along. But it was his shortcomings that came between them, not hers. “What’s going on with you and your neighbor?”

She winced. “Don’t ask.”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you.”

“No, not ‘sleeping with him.’”

He wished he could see her eyes. “It’s not like you to lie.”

“I’m not lying, exactly.”

“So do you want to explain why you went bright red the moment he walked into the kitchen?”

She fidgeted with her purse. “We spent a few hours together at a cabin once. That’s all.”

He lowered the volume of the radio. “When?”

“Last night.”

“Oh, God. No wonder he hated me on sight,” he said with a laugh.

She turned accusing eyes on him. “I believe you were the one who started that little power struggle.”

Allowing his smile to persist—at least this subject distracted him from his illness—he gazed out at the velvet-green pine trees, the clear blue sky, the black ribbon of road. Laurel had been living in a good place the past twenty-four months. He liked knowing that. Imagining her and the kids happy here made him feel less guilty for letting them down in D.C. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You’re going to admit it?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.”

She adjusted her seat belt so she could turn a little more toward him. “Why didn’t you like him?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you think?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Damn right.”

He saw a hurt expression on her face and felt a fresh twinge of pain himself, pain that had nothing to do with his withdrawal from OxyContin.

“Will we ever get over each other?” she whispered.

The memory of making love to her, one of many such memories, filtered through his mind. “I hope not completely.”

“But our relationship is so…complicated.”

“Life is complicated, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Can you be attracted to two people at once?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“When I see you, I wish things could’ve worked out.”

He reached across the seat and took her hand, and suddenly the terrible cravings for OxyContin and the cramps he’d been feeling subsided just enough that he could relax for the first time since he’d arrived in Pineview. “We don’t have to be together to love each other.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “You helped me through a terrible time, Rex. You showed me what love could be like after the bastard I married made me feel I never wanted to be with a man again. I’m grateful to you for that.”

More guilt reared up—that he couldn’t continue to be what she needed—but he wasn’t going to let guilt or regret ruin this moment. After two years, he had her fingers entwined with his, felt a measure of forgiveness, and that was all he could ask for. He hadn’t experienced peace without the aid of chemicals in months and months. Maybe he wasn’t the man who’d become her husband and the father to her children. But he wanted her to be happy, even if it meant seeing her with someone else. “Just…let me ask you this.”

“What’s that?”

He scowled. “Does the man who replaces me have to be a cop?”

Releasing his hand, she gave him a playful slug. “I’m not getting together with the sheriff. Last night was a…a fluke. I hadn’t been with anyone…well, since you.”

That created quite an image. And not an entirely pleasant one. “So? How was it?”

A blush rose to her cheeks. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

He lowered his window so he could put his arm outside. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”

Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath. “It was good. It was really good,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.

“I wish I was happier to hear it.”

“If you’re not happy, why are you smiling?”

Because he was free. Because it felt as if he had a second chance at becoming the man he wanted to be. He wasn’t sure where this moment of contentment had come from or how long it would last. He didn’t know if he’d be able to maintain it, or if the OxyContin would try to regain control. But for now, he was happy just to be with her and have everything right between them. He was in charge of his own life for the first time in months, was exactly where he needed to be, doing exactly what he needed to do. One small victory for Rex McCready. “Beats the shit out of me,” he said.

She grabbed his hand again. “It feels great to have you back.”

He hoped he could stay “back.” That being part of each other’s lives wouldn’t get too painful to endure, like it always had before. Maybe, as close friends, they could finally achieve some stability.

They drove, windows down and hands clasped, music playing loudly until they reached Libby. Then Rex spotted a pay phone at the edge of a video store parking lot and pulled over. “There you go.”

Laurel’s smile disappeared as her mood shifted. “You believe Mona.”

“I believe Mona heard Horse talking about you. Whether or not he really knows where you are…” He shrugged. “That’s what we’re hoping your mother can tell us.”

A click sounded as she released her seat belt. “What if they showed up at her house?”

“We need to know.”

She opened her door, but turned back. “But what if she gave them the numbers I called from?”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered her. “You won’t know until you ask.”

Myles stood in the opening of Jared’s cubicle. “Grab Linda and bring her to my office.”

Jared’s eyebrows rumpled as he twisted around. “Right now? I’m still pulling my notes together.” He tapped the cheap combination calendar and clock near his phone. “See this? Our meeting isn’t for an hour.”

“I don’t care. I can’t wait any longer.” Like yesterday, Myles had spent most of the morning on the phone with the concerned citizens of Pineview, repeating himself, mollifying, placating, soothing and promising to find a killer he wasn’t sure he could catch. He and his investigators certainly weren’t going to solve this case on what they knew so far. And the more time that passed, the weaker their chances grew. He had to have fresh information, and he had to have it right away. He also needed to keep his mind fully engaged. Even with the pressure he was under, whenever he stopped moving or had half a second to himself, he began thinking about Vivian.

He didn’t like that, mostly because he couldn’t come up with a consistent reaction. One minute he was reliving last night. The next he was picturing the rough-looking character who’d been in her kitchen this morning and wondering if their time at the cabin had been some sort of game.

Rex acted as if he belonged in Vivian’s house.

But a woman who just wanted a quick lay didn’t hold back the way Vivian had done…?.

“You’re a little uptight these days, Sheriff,” Jared complained. “If you don’t settle down you’re going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m thirty-nine.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m talking about an hour. Sixty minutes. I can’t have sixty minutes?”

“I don’t need a typed report, okay? For right now, let’s bypass your meticulous but time-consuming process. I just want you to sit down in my office and tell me what you’ve got.”

“What’s the rush?” He rummaged around inside his drawer for a pen.

Myles spotted a pen on the floor and picked it up for him. Jared’s desk was no cleaner than his car. How he could create such orderly reports and detailed investigations out of this chaos, Myles had no idea. He obviously didn’t feel he could be bothered with the mundane details of life.

“I’ve got everybody and his dog blowing up my phone,” Myles told him. “And in three hours, I have to meet with the mayor and tell him that we haven’t got a clue who killed Pat. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to that. I want to be able to offer more than what I’ve been telling the people who’ve checked in with me already.”

Wearing a put-upon expression, Jared jotted a few notes on the outside of a manila folder. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“You got it.”

Myles planned to spend that time reading the coroner’s report, which the M.E. had faxed over a few minutes earlier. Instead, he received a call from Chrissy Gunther, who wanted to find out what he’d done with her tip about Vivian’s gun. He tried to convince her to trust him with the information, but she was having none of it, so he was infinitely relieved when Jared and Linda knocked on his open door. Waving them in, he told Chrissy he had a meeting. Then he hung up without even waiting for her to say goodbye.

“Sit down.” He eyed the files his detectives were carrying. Several were quite thick—a sign that they’d been doing their interviews. “So?” He rubbed his hands. “What have you found?”

Frizzy dark hair with a sprinkling of gray framed Linda’s face. The only way to tame it was to wear it in a ponytail, which she did, every day.

Dropping her stack of files in the middle of his desk, she slouched in her seat and met his gaze through a pair of glasses that always sat a little crookedly on her nose. “We don’t have a lot, but we’re making progress.”

That was a fairly standard answer. One he’d given himself at least a dozen times this morning. It wasn’t enough.

“Be more specific.”

She glanced at Jared, who nodded for her to continue. “What do you see here?” she asked, opening the top file.

Myles stared at a picture of the shoe impressions he’d already seen on the linoleum of the vacation rental. “Looks like the perpetrator was wearing athletic shoes.” Which he’d surmised when he saw them the first time. He hoped Linda wasn’t going to suggest that this was some kind of breakthrough.

“Correct. Do you notice anything unusual about them?”

He picked up the photographs so he could study each one. “No.”

“Look at the wear on the soles.”

“There is no wear.”

“Exactly,” Jared said. “All the nicks and gouges and wear patterns that make a pair of shoes unique to their owner are missing.”

The lack of imperfections suddenly jumped out at Myles. “They’re new?”

“They’d have to be, right?”

Linda seemed pleased by this conclusion, but Myles couldn’t imagine why. New shoes would only make it harder to tie a suspect to the crime scene. “And this is good why?”

“Hang on,” she said. “What else do you see?”

Tired of playing her guessing game, Myles put down the pictures. “I don’t see anything unusual. Tell me what you’re driving at.”

She set two pictures side by side. “We didn’t spot it at first, either. It wasn’t until we tried to figure out the size of those shoes that it became apparent.”

“What became apparent?”

“Pat had more than one assailant.”

Grabbing the two pictures again, Myles held them close. “That would mean two different pairs of shoes. But…every shoe impression here looks exactly the same.”

“Because they’re all from the same type of shoe. Both pairs are new. The only difference is size. Give me your ruler. I’ll show you.”

Myles searched through his top drawer. It wasn’t as messy as Jared’s, but he’d stuffed too much inside it.

Eventually he came up with a ruler and Jared measured.

“See? One is a size eleven. The other a twelve and a half.”

“You’ve verified this?”

“More than once.”

“You’re saying two men bought the same shoes at the same time.” Myles thought of the guys he’d found on the side of the road. They’d entered his mind so many times. Maybe it was worth stopping over at Reliable Auto to see if they’d picked up their vehicle. If not, maybe he could get hold of them, talk to them again…?.

Linda smiled. “They probably even bought them at the same place.”

Now they were making progress. “Where?” If they could find that out, maybe they could get the store’s surveillance tapes for the two weeks prior to the murder, see who came in to buy athletic shoes.

“According to the database, they’re Athletic Works Brand, which are sold at Walmart.”

They didn’t have a Walmart. The closest one was in Kalispell. There was no guarantee they were even bought at that location, but Myles was willing to try anything. “Have you spoken to the manager of the Walmart in Kalispell?”

“Yes. We’re going out there this afternoon.”

“Good,” he said, but his brief flash of hope had already dimmed. He tried to focus on how the shoe details fit with all the rest. “The odd thing is…this information contradicts everything we’ve established about the murder.”

Linda blinked at him from behind her thick lenses. “What do you mean?”

“If two men bought shoes to avoid leaving prints that could be traced back to them, they were planning a crime. Yet everything about the scene indicates that Pat’s murder wasn’t premeditated, from the choice of weapon to the lack of any effort to conceal the crime or dispose of the body.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, Jared clasped his hands together. “Maybe the murder wasn’t premeditated. Maybe it was meant to be a robbery.”

“You do that much planning? Get your buddy to go with you to buy shoes, then call up a Realtor and ask to see a house, just to grab a guy’s wallet?”

“Why not? It’s the perfect way to have a stranger meet you at a private location.”

“But a guy like Pat isn’t likely to carry much on him. Hitting a gas station would probably net you more.”

“They could’ve taken his car.”

“They didn’t.”

“I know. I haven’t quite figured that out,” Jared admitted.

“Maybe Pat fought them, like you were saying earlier,” Linda said. “Maybe he hurt one, and it really pissed him off.”

“If someone else was hurt, there should’ve been some evidence of it at the scene.” “Ron Howard” and his sidekick hadn’t been sporting any scratches or gouges. At least not that Myles could see. But maybe there were marks he couldn’t see. The lame guy had been covered from head to toe. His excessive tattoos had reminded Myles of prison inmates. Did they have a couple of violent ex-cons on their hands?

Jared jumped in again. “Not necessarily. Maybe the injury didn’t bleed. And they didn’t take the car because they knew it would link them to the murder.”

That made some sense. Myles rocked back. “What about the partial thumbprint on the door?”

“Turned out to be Gertie’s,” Jared told him. “After Pat died, she wasn’t thinking straight. Instead of using the phone right there on the counter, she stumbled outside and ran down the street to C.C.’s. Or so she said. I can’t imagine walking away from a phone that’s right in front of you, but…there you have her side of the story.”

Myles could imagine Gertie doing precisely what she’d said. He remembered how disoriented he’d felt when Amber Rose passed away, and he’d been expecting it, watching death’s inexorable approach, for months. “Her husband had just died in her arms, Jared.”

Jared cleared his throat and Linda shifted as if his words had reminded them both why he’d know about this particular situation, and he clenched his jaw, trying to contain his irritation. He hated dealing with the discomfort his loss created in others. That made it so hard to ever be normal, to carry on without feeling as if he was constantly being examined under a microscope. If the good citizens of Pineview perceived him as acting too distraught over Amber Rose’s death, they whispered things like, “He’s got to pick up and go on, for the sake of that little girl. You can only mourn for so long.” And if it seemed to them that he didn’t care enough, as if he was putting her death behind him as so many suggested, they began to doubt that he was being honest about his grief or that he’d ever really loved Amber Rose to begin with. Her death was bad enough. The extra attention he’d had to suffer over the past three years made it worse.

Or maybe, given that he’d made love with someone else for the first time last night, he was especially self-conscious today. Did the fact that he’d wanted Vivian so badly, that he’d thought of Amber Rose and yet that hadn’t lessened his desire, somehow take away from what he’d felt for his wife? Was he capable of moving on in an emotional sense? Had he finally reached that point after all the lonely months since he’d buried her? Or was it only hormones?

Trying to regain his focus, he thumbed through the rest of the files they’d brought until he came to the diagram of Pat’s many injuries. He’d already seen it, briefly, in the autopsy report, but this reminded him of the missing can opener. “Any more news on the murder weapon?”

“A little,” Jared replied. “The wounds Pat sustained are consistent with the electric can opener that’s missing.”

“You mean a can opener. You haven’t found the can opener.”

“No. But Gertie took me to the store to show me the brand, and I bought one. The dents in Pat’s skull match perfectly.”

“Could there be other objects that match?”

“I doubt it. I took a short video of the coroner’s demonstration—” Linda searched through her purse and withdrew a very small video camera “—if you’d like to see it for yourself.”

When she had the camera powered up and ready, she passed it across the desk to him, and he watched the coroner use the can opener like a rock against a Styrofoam head to simulate what had happened to Pat. The indentations clearly matched the protruding magnet.

Poor old guy, Myles thought. Pat didn’t deserve to die, especially like this. It was even more tragic that he’d been killed for less than fifty dollars. “Does Gertie know you’re investigating her?” he asked as he returned the camera.

“She knows I’m doing all I can to find out who killed her husband,” Jared said, “and she appreciates it.”

She’d probably appreciate it a lot less if she knew he’d been snooping around in her personal affairs, looking for a motive. Investigating her added insult to injury. Feeling protective of her, Myles was somewhat offended by Jared’s attitude. “I can’t believe there isn’t any blood at the scene belonging to someone other than Pat,” he mused. “Could we have missed something?”

“No.”

“No trace evidence under his fingernails?”

“No.”

“What about that smear on Pat’s shirt?”

“That was his,” Jared said.

Myles decided he was definitely going to Reliable Auto. He wanted to find “Ron Howard” and Peter Ferguson. They’d given him a bad feeling, and all those clothes “Howard” had been wearing seemed even more suspect now. “Damn, I’d like to think Pat got in a swipe here and there.”

“Against two?”

Myles rolled his eyes at Jared’s heavy skepticism. “You can’t allow me the comfort of one harmless fantasy?”

Puzzled by his response, Jared leaned forward. “How does it bring you comfort if it isn’t what really happened?”

“Forget it.” Myles gave Linda a look of exasperation, but he knew she wouldn’t necessarily agree with him. Although she used to complain about Jared all the time—the mess that surrounded him, his obsessive tendencies, his literal nature—she’d gained a great deal of respect for him over the past two years. Since he had no wife or children with whom to spend his evenings, and would work 24/7 if left to his own devices, she and her husband invited him over for dinner probably twice a week. Other times, she brought him leftovers for lunch.

“I must be hanging out with him too much,” she admitted, “because what he just said actually makes sense to me.”

Myles threw up his hands. “Fine. Let’s face the bitter truth, shall we? Pat had no chance from the beginning. Now tell me about your interviews.”

When they exchanged a questioning glance, Myles had to acknowledge that he was the one acting strange today. He was as tense as Jared had accused him of being, and had been ever since he’d seen Rex standing in Vivian’s kitchen only hours after he’d made love to her at the cabin.

“No one in the other rentals saw anything,” Jared explained. “C.C. is the closest neighbor, but there are trees secluding both residences. And she was vacuuming, had no idea Pat was even showing the cabin.”

“Wouldn’t you know it? With all the folks in Pineview who pay a little too much attention to their neighbors, our murder occurs next to someone who pays no attention whatsoever.”

“It’s a rental. One of several in the area. She sees a lot of people come and go,” Linda said.

“Did anyone along the drive to the cabin spot a vehicle that didn’t belong? That seemed to be going too slow or too fast?”

Jared shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

Myles glanced longingly at his coffee cup. After being amped up on adrenaline for so many hours, he was hitting the skids, but he’d had enough caffeine for one day. “Delbert called me yesterday. Said you already talked to him.”

“Yes. A few times,” Jared said. “He’s been very cooperative.”

“He has an alibi?” Myles hadn’t wanted to ask Delbert where he’d been at the time of his stepfather’s murder, not when he didn’t really consider Delbert a suspect and he had investigators who could do it for him.

Linda took over. “He was at work. Several people have confirmed his presence there, including his boss. But he let me take pictures of his bare torso to show there isn’t a scratch on him.”

Myles rearranged the piles of paper on his desk as he digested what he’d been told. “What about Gertie?”

“No alibi.”

“She’s still in the running for number-one suspect?”

Jared stood. “Why wouldn’t she be? I don’t rule anyone out until I have a reason.”

Myles massaged his temples. “I know.”

“So…do you have what you need for your meeting with the mayor?”

He’d hoped for more. “If that’s all you’ve got.”

“That’s it for now.”

Jared reached for the files, but Myles said to leave them. He wanted to read the interviews himself, get a feel for what people were saying.

He was alone in his office and in the middle of Jared’s notes about his first conversation with Delbert when Deputy Campbell appeared. “Hey, you got a minute?”

Myles looked up. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Trace over at the auto shop wants to know what to do with that Toyota truck Harvey brought in.”

Myles had been planning to go there. “The owners haven’t shown up?”

Campbell popped the top of the soft drink he’d carried in with him. “Trace hasn’t heard from them.”

Myles closed the folder. “Didn’t they ride back with Harvey?”

“No. They said they had a friend picking them up.”

What friend? When he’d been there, they acted as if they were going to ride with the tow. Damn. Had they slipped away already?

“Thanks.” Once Campbell left, Myles went out to retrieve the pad of paper he kept in his car. He’d found “Ron Howard” and Peter Ferguson suspicious enough that he’d written down their registration information. Maybe he could contact them through Quentin, Peter’s older brother…?.

It took minimal time and effort to access a reverse directory. Soon he had the phone number for the residence in Monrovia and a man on the phone who claimed to be Quentin. But, judging by his voice, he was at least fifty years older than Peter.

This couldn’t be the brother Peter had referred to, could it? Maybe it was his father.

Myles explained who he was and what he wanted, but he didn’t get any farther before the man said, “You must’ve run across the fellows who stole my truck.”

The hair on the back of Myles’s neck stood on end. “What are you talking about? It didn’t come up as stolen when I ran the plates.”

“Because I don’t drive it much anymore. I didn’t realize the damn thing was missing until this morning.”