He looks at the open book. “Doesn’t look spewed.”
“That’s because you arrived at the right time, as I’m organizing the mess into helpful categories and tables. You want to see spew?”
I leaf back and lift the book. It’s an entire page of questions, almost all crossed out.
He leans closer. “Trying to narrow down the subpopulations of suspects.”
“Yep, same damn thing I do every time. And the same damn thing that fails every time.”
“It doesn’t fail. It just doesn’t work as neatly as it does down south. We’re a unique situation up here.”
I snort a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.” I flip onto my stomach, and he stretches out beside me as I point to the list. “I initially tried to figure out who Garcia came for. That’s when I was still half asleep and forgot it doesn’t matter. So anything he may have told us about his target—which is precious little—is meaningless.”
“Not meaningless. Just because his target may not be the killer doesn’t mean I don’t want to know who his target was.”
“He didn’t specify gender. Didn’t specify how long the person had been here. He said the crime was violent, but as you pointed out, that might be bullshit. The point, however, is that the killer thought they were his target, which gives us a bit to go on. At first, I thought, ‘Ah-ha, that means they’re American!’ But no, Artie isn’t, and he thought he was the target. So, ultimately, we are left with kno
wing only that our killer has committed a crime that would warrant someone—US marshal or bounty hunter or hired killer—coming after them. I’ll just say that I’m really glad Will and I are off the list, because otherwise, we both fit. So do about a dozen people in that little black book of yours, plus God knows how many whose real stories we don’t know.”
“Huh. So it’s like one of those murders in the city where you find a body and don’t have a line of suspects queued up behind it.”
I knock my shoulder against his. “Yes, smart-ass.” I move forward in the book. “Which is why I gave up trying to narrow my suspect pool and started compiling a list of physical evidence. First and foremost is the bullet. We have a limited number of guns here and a limited number of people who have access to them. As soon as my sister digs out that bullet…” I catch his expression. “She already has, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah. Last night. You were busy, so I handled it, and then after Paul, there wasn’t a chance to talk. It’s a nine-mil.”
“Wait. What? The only person who carries that caliber is me. You were there. There’s no way in hell I shot Garcia.”
“There’s another nine-mil in town. Just not one of ours.”
“Who…? Garcia. Right. He brought a nine-mil. It was in lockup.” I see his expression again. “No, not in lockup. In our house.”
“Yeah. When we let him go, I stashed it in the drawer, along with his sat phone. I meant to get it to the locker that night. Then he came back to town, banging on doors, and I got busy hunting him. Yesterday, I took the gun and the phone and put them into the locker. Which means, not only did I leave a gun out to be used in a crime, but I fucked up your scene by moving it.”
“I forgot all about the gun myself,” I say. “As for messing up the scene, your prints were already on the gun. You just added more, and you aren’t a suspect anyway. Did you notice anything when you opened the drawer? Was the position changed?”
“The other day, I was just concerned with getting it out of sight. I didn’t pay attention to how I put it into the drawer.”
“So who knows it was in our house? Me, you … Oh, and Diana. Did you tell anyone else?”
He shakes his head. “I mentioned it to Will, when I took it to the locker, but that was after the shooting.”
“So only Diana knew. She has a solid alibi. She was with Kenny and April in the clinic. She must have told someone the gun was there.” I snap my book shut. “There. I have a lead.”
When I get up, Dalton says, “You might want to dress first. Not that anyone would object to you walking around like that, but it’s a little nippy out.”
“Ha ha. I’m not that distracted.”
As I head for the stairs, he says, “You want this coffee I’m making? I’d insist on breakfast too, but I know that’d be pushing it.”
I pause. “Actually, now that I have a lead—and it’s not going anywhere—yes, I’ll take the coffee and the breakfast.” I walk back over, eyeing him, still stretched out by the fire. “Anything else on offer?”
“You’re heading this investigation. I play support staff. So just tell me what you need.”
I grin. And then I do.
TWENTY-TWO
I’m on the case forty minutes later. I may have a lead, but it’s not like I’m going to fritter my afternoon away, however much fun the frittering might be. I leave the house, rested, caffeinated, fed, and back on my game.