“I’ve been in touch with the medical examiner’s of-
fice,” said Pete Taylor. “They’ll release his body for
burial this afternoon.”
“But they won’t tell us when he died,” Mrs. Harris
said. Frustration smoldered in her tone. “All they’ll say
is sometime between the afternoon of Sunday the nine-
teenth and Wednesday the twenty-second. That’s not
good enough, Major Bryant.”
“What Mrs. Harris means,” Pete Taylor interposed,
“is that we don’t know whether or not he died before
their divorce was final.”
“I know,” Dwight said. “And I’m sorry you’ve been
left hanging, ma’am. Despite all those forensic programs
on television, unless we can find a witness or the killer
confesses, there’s no way to say with pinpoint accuracy
when it happened. I understand you were out on the
farm that Monday morning? The twentieth?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him that day?”
“No.”
260
HARD ROW
“When
“I have no idea. If we needed to communicate, it was
either through our attorneys or by email. I don’t think
we spoke directly to each other in almost a year.”
“Yet you went out to the farm where he was stay-
ing?”
“Until everything is divided, that farm is as much
mine as his and it’s my right to see that our workers are
properly housed and treated.”
“Does that mean Mr. Harris mistreated them?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t you?”
She glared at him and clamped her lips tight.
“Who hated him enough to kill him like that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Any mistreatment of the workers?”
“Not that I heard anything about and I believe I
would have. The crew chief, Juan Santos, knows their
rights. Besides, we only keep a skeleton crew during the
winter and they’re free to hire out as day laborers when
things are slow.”
“I understand that Harris Farms was cited for an
OSHA violation six years ago?”
Her hazel eyes narrowed.
“I believe you were fined a couple of thousand dol-
lars?”
She gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Who was responsible for the violation? You or Mr.
