“Just like you, I wanted to know what happened to it.”
“If you had located it before me, would you have destroyed it, or turned it over as evidence?”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “The point is moot. It’s no longer in the evidence room.”
“You checked?”
“Damn right. I couldn’t find a trace of it. It probably hasn’t been there for years. Most likely, it was thrown out because the case was.”
“Out of consideration to the Collins family, wouldn’t someone have offered to give it back?”
“I have no answer for that.”
“Was it ever dusted for fingerprints?”
“I took the liberty of asking Judge Wallace that.”
“I’m sure you did, Sheriff. What did he say?”
“He said no.”
“Why not?”
“The handle was bloody. Gooney Bud’s prints were all over it. It was hardly necessary to dust it.”
They regarded each other with so much animosity that Pat Chastain broke out in a sweat. “Well, we’d better give these people back their treatment room. Your car is trashed, Alex, so I’ll drive you to the motel. Are you up to walking to the car, or should I call for a wheelchair?”
“I’ll take her to the motel,” Reede said, before Alex could respond to Pat’s offer.
“A
re you sure?” Pat felt obligated to inquire, though he was obviously relieved that Reede was taking her off his hands. “Since the sheriff has offered,” she told Pat, “I’ll let him drive me.”
The D.A. scuttled out before either could change his mind. Alex watched his rapid departure with derision. “It’s no wonder crime is so prevalent in this county. The D.A. is as chicken-livered as they come.”
“And the sheriff is corrupt.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She slid off the edge of the examination table and braced herself against it long enough to get her balance. She tried to take a step, but swayed unsteadily. “The doctor gave me a painkiller. I’m so woozy, maybe you’d better ask them for a wheelchair.”
“Maybe you’d better check in for the night.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Suit yourself.”
He scooped her into his arms before she could protest and carried her out of the examination room. “My purse.” She gestured weakly toward the check-in desk. Reede retrieved it. Then, with the emergency room staff enthralled by the sight, Reede carried her out and deposited her in the front seat of his Blazer.
She rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. “Where were you this afternoon?” she asked, once they were underway.
“I told you already.”
“You were riding even after sundown?”
“I ran some errands.”
“You couldn’t be reached on your radio. Where were you, Reede?”
“Lots of places.”