“They still could have shot Grayson and made it to Missoula.”
“First they’d have to ski off the hill, find their vehicle, presumably change, as I asked, and Rose said Edie was in a short skirt and tights, but yeah, it could happen.”
Pescoli tapped her pencil on the desk. “I wonder what they drive?” She remembered the Buick, sans tires, gathering dust in the carport, but hadn’t remembered seeing another vehicle.
“I checked. He did have a truck, big-ass Dodge, but he totaled it six weeks ago. Probably where he got the money for the ring. And she has a twenty-year-old Honda Civic.”
“Which could have a ski rack.” But she knew she was pushing it. “Check on that and also the Millers, the neighbors of the judge. They’re supposed to be back in town, so maybe they can tell us if she was seeing anyone or if anyone suspicious was around and, oh, the phone number of Donna Goodwin. I think she may be their housekeeper as well as the judge’s. And do we have any leads on a boyfriend, whom she might have been seeing?”
Sage shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her face. “Not yet, but we’re still running down some cell phone numbers. There’s one that she called quite a few times and it’s untraceable, one of those disposable ones. Someone called her from it as well. It was bought from a store in Spokane and we’re trying to run down the owner.”
“Let me know when you find out who it is.”
“If I do,” she said. “But you’ll be the first to know.”
“Mom, er, Detective,” Jeremy said, knocking on the partially open door. He stuck his head inside. “There’s a Mr. Douglas here to see you. Says he’s with the paper.”
“He is.” She shot Sage a knowing glance, then said, “Don’t send him back. I’ll meet him up front.” Having made the mistake of being cooped up in her office with Manny once before, she wasn’t going to put herself through it again. His gaze had been everywhere, on her computer monitor, checking her cell phone, which she’d left on the desk, eyeing files spread on the top of her short cabinet. Nope, not again.
“I’ll get back to you,” Sage promised and scooted by Jeremy, who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“Okay, let’s go,” Pescoli said and followed her son to the front of the building where Joelle was seated at the front desk, talking on the phone, and Manny Douglas waited on the outside of the reception counter, on one foot and then the other, in front of the department’s Christmas tree that had definitely lost all its luster. The star on the top was listing dangerously, and some of the decorations had fallen onto a fake, glittery carpet of snow and equally fake unopened presents. Considering the current state of the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department, the decorations seemed almost gauche, brushing on obscene. Even the silver sign in block letters strung from the exposed beams of the ceiling felt tacky and irreverent when Dan Grayson’s current condition was considered.
The letters spelled out: merry christmas and happy new year!
Not a prayer, Pescoli thought as she caught Manny’s eye. Today he was wearing rain gear straight out of an outdoors men’s catalogue: solid blue Gore-Tex pants and jacket, unless she missed her guess.
Snow was melting on the shoulders of his hooded jacket and his eyeglasses had fogged. As she approached, he took off the glasses and cleaned them with a cloth he’d withdrawn from one of his many pockets.
Mission accomplished, Jeremy peeled off to sit on a stool near Joelle’s desk. She, apparently, was his mentor, and even thinking of her in the capacity of teacher just seemed wrong. Other than Seymore, the part-time maintenance guy, Joelle was the least likely person to be a cop in the building, maybe in the whole damned department, but there she was, pointing painted nails at maps and information packets, flashing her brilliant smile at Pescoli’s I-wanna-be-a-coplike-my-dad son.
She couldn’t worry about it now. “Hi,” she said to the reporter and forced a smile. “What can I do for you, Manny?”
He snorted. “I think it’s more like what I can do for you.”
“Fair enough.”
The front door opened and in with a gust of wind came a middle-aged couple who quickly approached the desk. As the woman shivered visibly, her face red, her lips a little blue, the man with her zeroed in on Jeremy and said, “We need help, or someone to call AAA. The car is broken down about three streets over and we’re from out of town.”
Manny watched the exchange as Jeremy stepped up to help them. “Look, we need to go somewhere where we can talk.” As if to accentuate his point, the door opened again and a woman bundled head to foot in a long down coat, hat, and scarf called, “Do you have public restrooms here?”
There was no reason to argue. “Fine.” She led him down the hallway but veered away from her office and found a free interrogation room. Indicating a straight-backed chair on one side of the table, she slid into the spot across from him. “What have you got?”
His eyes fairly gleamed. “I’ve got something important to the case, but for it, I want an exclusive.”
“Exclusive?”
“On the case surrounding Judge Samuels-Piquard’s killer.”
“You know I can’t do that. We’re asking for the public’s help, using all the media resources. An exclusive is out.” What kind of BS was this?
“Then give me something extra, okay? First crack at a new angle on the story or a new piece of evidence.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m going to help you. A lot.”
“How?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.