I thought things through. “Well, if he really is the author and used Griffin as his source, then their association could explain how Griffin got his hands on the Oswald cuffs. And it could explain why Browning hand-delivered the Oswald files today. He was coming to town anyway.”
“To meet with me,” Calvin said.
“To meet with you.”
“A tit for a tat,” he mused. “Browning obtains the information he needs for his books, then in exchange, he gives Griffin access to evidence. Criminal symbiosis.”
It was becoming clearer to me that even though all the threads weren’t ostensibly visible, everything in this investigation was linked, inextricably, beneath the surface. My kind of case.
I recalled the photos Browning had on his desk of him serving at different police departments in the state throughout the years. “Browning’s been around a long time. He could probably get access to other evidence rooms without too much trouble.”
I wondered if he knew anything about Griffin’s involvement in Mindy’s and Jenna’s murders. It seemed like a stretch that he would’ve known and not done anything to apprehend him, but if he was relying on Griffin for information for his books, he had a dog in the hunt and it was possible.
Motives.
You just can’t untangle people’s motives.
“He only gave me the name Slate,” Calvin noted. “I didn’t actually ask to see his driver’s license, so I can’t confirm if he really is this detective.”
I asked, “What exactly did he say?”
Calvin filled us in about their meal. Slate-or Browning, if it really was him-was researching Mindy’s case and wanted to apply some of Calvin’s geographic-profiling theories to try to postulate where the killer might live.
“I told him that he would need more locations for the calculations to be effective. He had certainly done his research-his knowledge of the intricacies of the case was impressive. Patrick, you mentioned the jacket just now in your account of what happened at the Griffin home. Slate mentioned it too.”
“What did he say?”
“Just that it was found with the child, but he had a crime scene photo of the inside of the tree house.” Calvin evaluated that for a moment, then tapped the table lightly. “I’ve been thinking, the timing of his contacting me might not have been because of your connection to the case, but because of my visit to Milwaukee for the lecture series. It would make sense that he would try to speak to me while I’m here.”
“Well,” I said, “if Browning really is Slate, we need to have a little talk with him.”
“I’ll take care of that first thing in the morning.” Ralph’s words were iron and I knew I would not want to be in Browning’s shoes during that little exchange.
Ralph finished off his pint. “By the way, Pat, Griffin’s subscription list didn’t yield anything. So it looks like that’s another dead end.”
“Well,” Calvin remarked. “That’s helpful.”
We both looked at him. “It’s helpful that we ran into a dead end?” I asked.
“Every dead end shows you more clearly the pattern of the labyrinth. You now have one more piece of information that will help you fail your way to success.”
That was an interesting way to put it.
But actually, I kind of liked it.
“I’ve been thinking about Indiana,” Calvin added. “I have some ideas, but I’d like to check on a few things first. Perhaps I can share them with you in the morning?”
“Great.”
“Ring me at eight.”
“Will do.”
It was only after Calvin had left and Ralph and I were on our way to the door ourselves that he brought up the topic of Taci. “How are you doing, man? You okay?”
Truthfully, I’d been so consumed with this case and what’d happened with Griffin that I hadn’t been thinking much about the breakup-at least not as much as I would’ve expected. “Better than I thought,” I told him.
“Yeah, well, you’ll be tempted to do it, but don’t.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Dwell on it. Let pain become your home.”
I hesitated. “Okay. Thanks.”
“I’m saying this because you brood. I can tell.”
“I brood?”
“Yeah. You brood. You’re a brooder.”
“I’m not a brooder.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you are.” We came to the door and he paused, eyed me up. “I’ll bet you’re Mr. Brooder when no one else is around.”
“Really?” I opened the door, led him outside. “And who are you, Captain Sunshine?”
“That the best you can come up with?” He stopped beside me, folded his Herculean arms. “I’ll wait. Go on. Try again. I’m in no hurry.”
I thought hard, but no clever comebacks came to mind and that just annoyed me worse.
“Thought so.” He turned his collar to the wind. “Go get some sleep, man. You and Radar nailed Griffin. That’s a good thing. Tomorrow we go at this again. Be ready. Things are starting to heat up.”
“Right.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you tomorrow, Ralph.”
Then I went home to watch the video footage that Browning had left us, and to read the notes Calvin had given me at the pub, and to page through Heather Isle’s-or Detective Browning’s-book: anything to keep me distracted, to keep me from thinking about Taci.
No, I told myself. I wasn’t going to brood.
I was going to solve this case.
DAY 4
Wednesday, November 19
The Hospital Room
70
4:42 a.m.
Joshua’s bedside phone rang.
Sylvia was asleep beside him, her arm draped lovingly across his chest, and she jerked involuntarily when the phone jangled. He was already awake, however, thinking about what would happen at First Capital Bank in just under twelve hours.
Surprised by getting a call at this time of night, he slid out from under Sylvia’s arm to answer the phone. She rolled in the other direction with a soft, sleep-infused sigh.
Joshua spoke into the receiver. “Yes?”
“Someone has not been playing well with others.”
“What?”
“I know what you were doing in that train car, Joshua.”
An initial, almost debilitating chill swept over him, but it dissolved quickly with the revelation that this did not sound like something a cop would say. “Train car?”
“You’ll learn it’s not smart to leave that much evidence behind. Remember, everything you touch is an arrow leading back to you. You have to leave arrows that point somewhere else.”
Words that might have come from the mouth of Joshua’s own father, if he were not dead.
