Dwight stared at them in frustration. Impossible to
know who really knew what, but he was willing to bet
that Senora Sanaugustin knew more than she was willing
to admit. Wives usually did. True to his word, though,
he turned them all loose at two o’clock and reached for
his phone to call Richards and bring her up to date on
what he’d learned.
She sounded equally dispirited when she reported
that they had come up pretty dry as well. “But we did
learn that Mrs. Harris was out here on the farm that
Monday,” she said. “And at least it’s stopped raining.”
225
C H A P T E R
25
% No sooner did Juan Santos and the two women
leave, than Dwight’s phone rang. It was Pete
Taylor.
“Sorry, Bryant, but Mrs. Harris’s daughter is flying in
this afternoon and she can’t make it up to Dobbs today.
What about tomorrow morning?”
“Fine,” said Dwight. “Nine o’clock?”
“That’ll work for her. And . . . uh . . . this is a little
gruesome, but she was asking me about funeral ar-
rangements for Harris. The daughter’s going to want
to know. But his head’s still missing, isn’t it?”
“ ’Fraid so, Taylor,” he said, seeing no need for the
daughter to know what else was missing. “I know it’s
weird for her, but we may not find it for months. If ever.
The ME’s probably ready to release what we do have,
though.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” said Taylor. “See you
in the morning. Nine o’clock.”
226
HARD ROW
With his afternoon unexpectedly clear, Dwight called
McLamb and got an update on the Mitchiner case.
Because the two deputies would not be speaking to
the old man’s daughter till five, Dwight sent them to
question some witnesses about a violent home invasion
that had taken place in Black Creek over the weekend.
“While you’re in that neighborhood, try dropping the
name of Mitchiner’s daughter. See if she has any en-
emies who might have thought that they’d hurt her if
they hurt him.”
After attending to a few more administrative details,
