persuasively as he could, he said, “I told you, son, that your dad and I played ball together. Are you sure there’s not something more you can tell me about your sister’s death?”

Charlie met his gaze without blinking. “You played ball with Malcolm, too,” he said bitterly; and without waiting for Dwight to reply, he took the phone and left.

Puzzled, Dwight went back to his office. Was Charlie somehow implying that Malcolm was involved with Mallory’s death? When everyone said he idolized his daughter? Would have lain down in a mud puddle so that she could walk across without dirtying her shoes?

It didn’t make sense.

The squad room was semi-deserted by now. Everyone expendable had taken off for the holiday. Richards had straightened her desk and already had her jacket on. He knew that she would be spending tomorrow with Mike Diaz’s extended family because her own family members were still hostile to their relationship.

“Okay if I leave now?” she asked.

“Denning gone yet?”

“I don’t think so. I know he wanted to run some fingerprints through IAFIS—”

Before she could finish the sentence, Percy Denning hurried in, excitement and triumph gleaming in his eyes. “Guess what, ya’ll? I ran the prints off the beer cans and the chicken box and got a hit. Jason Wentworth! So then I checked our own records and the other multiple prints are his brother Matt’s! So that bright light the Johnson girl was screaming about?”

“Faison’s halogen flashlight!” Mayleen exclaimed. “Of course! They were sitting there next to the woods with their lights off, getting ready to jacklight the field for deer.”

“And when a car came zipping along, they probably thought it’d be a hoot to jacklight the driver.”

They could all picture it in their minds. The seemingly deserted road, the girl talking on her cell phone, angry at her brother, oblivious to any dark truck parked next to dark trees. Then suddenly a blinding light, that seemed to come from out of nowhere and at such an odd angle that she must have thought it was in her lane. No wonder Matt had been so shaken up when word came that Mallory had died. No wonder he’d skipped school Friday and gone out to talk with Jason.

“So the Wentworths killed Mallory, but then who killed the Wentworths?” said Dwight.

Even as he said it, he had a sinking suspicion that he knew. “Sorry, Richards,” he said, “but I need you to check the gun records. See if Malcolm Johnson ever applied for a permit for a thirty-two. And find out what kind of car he’s driving these days. Denning, hop upstairs and see if there’s a judge still around to sign us a search warrant. I don’t know how the hell he knew the Wentworths were there, but—”

“I know,” said a voice behind him.

Dwight turned and saw Deborah standing there, white-faced.

CHAPTER 30

“—I dreamed me and Rosita was married instead of her and him; and we was living in a house, and I could see her smiling at me, and—oh! h--l, Mex, he got her; and I’ll get him—yes, sir, on Christmas Eve he got her, and that’s when I’ll get him.”

—“A Chaparral Christmas Gift,” O. Henry

Lunch with Reid was as informative as I had hoped. I had a name now to go with a conversation I’d had back in June, but I still didn’t know what it could mean until I remembered Saturday morning and how irate Isabel had been when she realized that Jane Ann’s college friends had dropped her off at my house to bake cookies rather than taking her straight home.

Once again, Isabel was my go-to person, only this time, by the time we finished talking, she realized what I was asking. “Oh, Lord, honey. You gonna tell Dwight?”

“I think I have to, Isabel. Don’t you?”

*      *      *

Now I stood in the doorway of the detective squad room. I had heard enough to realize that the Wentworth boys had blinded Mallory with that flashlight and that Dwight and his deputies now suspected Malcolm of gunning them down on Friday morning.

I heard Dwight say, “I don’t know how the hell he knew the Wentworths were there, but—”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Deb’rah?”

“Jessica said she’d heard that Malcolm was so torn up and half mad with grief that he was out walking that road the next morning, trying to figure out why Mallory swerved. He was probably looking for a dead dog or something. Instead he found fresh chicken bones and probably a piece of junk mail with Jason Wentworth’s name on it. I can’t swear he was in my courtroom the day I confiscated Wentworth’s rifle and hunting license for jacklighting deer, but I can’t swear he wasn’t. Doesn’t matter, though. The Clarion ran his name when they did that article about illegal hunting practices last fall, remember? Malcolm would have jumped to the same conclusions y’all did in a heartbeat.”

I turned to Deputy Denning. “If you can’t find another judge upstairs, I’ll sign a search warrant for that bastard’s house.”

Dwight frowned at me.

“Sorry,” I said, realizing a little late that I probably ought not to go blabbing the rest of my suspicions to the world. “All the same, I will sign one if all the others have left for the holiday.”

I let Dwight lead me into his office and close the door.

“What’s all this about, Deb’rah?”

“Charlie Barefoot thinks Malcolm killed Jeff. I do, too.”

“What?”

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