'I'm sorry, Sheriff,' Cab told Felix Reich. 'It's hard to lose a friend this way.'
Reich sat in the driver's seat of his Chevy Tahoe in the turnaround at the end of Port des Morts Drive. His hands were on the wheel, and he stared into space down the tree-lined road. His chest rose and fell with fierce precision. After a long silence, Reich's head swiveled on his neck, and Cab saw a fury so deep and bitter that blood vessels pulsed in the man's eye.
'Let me tell you something, Detective Bolton,' the sheriff growled. 'I hate to say anything bad about a brother behind the shield, but you know what? I don't like you. You race your Corvette into my county with your expensive suits and your spiky hair and your earring, and the next thing I know, a friend of mine is dead. I blame you.'
'I understand you're hurting, Sheriff, and I respect that, but let's lose the guilt trip, OK? I don't need it.'
Reich clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 'Here's the way we're going to do this, Detective. You're going to tell me everything you know like a witness at a crime scene, which is what you are. When we're done, you're going to drive down to your luxury apartment in Fish Creek and pack your bags. Tomorrow I want you to get the hell out of Door County.'
'Threats just make me more stubborn,' Cab replied.
'I gave you free rein in my jurisdiction because you were investigating a murder. Now so am I, and you're in my way. Go home.'
'If our cases are connected, we should work together.'
'If our cases are connected, it's because you didn't listen to me about
Mark Bradley. He's mine now. You're going to have to wait your turn, and that'll be a long time coming.'
'You're convinced Bradley did this?' Cab asked.
'I've assembled more evidence in an hour on this case than you've gathered since you arrived. When you live in a place your whole life, people trust you. They become your eyes and ears. They tell you things. You didn't know that Pete had a fight with Bradley near Sister Bay today, did you'
Cab raised an eyebrow. 'No.'
'I got four calls about it. Pete swore in front of a dozen witnesses that he was going to make sure Bradley paid for his crimes, and Bradley threatened to kill Pete. Bradley was also spotted in the ferry line at Northport at two forty-five. He borrowed a phone and made a call, and then he took off at high speed and came back fifteen minutes later. Guess who he called? His own phone. The one you found in Pete's pocket. This is the end of the line for that man.'
Cab wasn't convinced, but he didn't say so. 'I wish you luck, Sheriff.'
'Remember what I said. I want you heading home to Florida in the morning.'
'I'll keep that in mind, but I have one question first. What did Peter Hoffman know about Bradley?'
'I don't follow you.'
'Hoffman said he'd make sure that Bradley got what was coming to him. He told me he could help me
'If I find out anything about that, you'll be my first call.'
'I was wondering if you knew what it might be.'
'I have no idea.'
'You can't keep secrets in a small town. Somebody knew something.'
'Pete didn't talk to a lot of people.'
'What about Delia Fischer?' Cab said. 'Hoffman was close to the Fischer family. Maybe he had information about Glory. Or Tresa. Something that would tie Bradley to one or both of them.'
'Leave Delia out of this,' Reich snapped. 'I don't want you bothering her. Is that clear? Anything that involves Peter Hoffman is part of my investigation now, not yours. Stay out of my way.'
'Whatever you say,' Cab replied.
He pushed open the door of the Tahoe, but Reich reached across the truck and stopped him with a powerful hand on his shoulder.
'Before you leave, find one of the evidence technicians and give them a fingerprint sample. Shoes, too. We'll need to clear your prints on anything we find inside and outside.'
'Of course.'
'Talk to one of the deputies and go over your movements in detail.'
'Sure,' Cab said.
'What are we going to find?' Reich asked.
'Meaning what?'
'Meaning, what did you do before you called me? You knew you wouldn't get another shot at Pete's house. I assume you tried to figure out what he was going to tell you.'
Cab smiled. Reich wasn't a fool. 'I opened a few drawers. I looked in the file cabinet. That's all.'
'Did you find anything? If you did, you better tell me now.'
Cab had been hoping to hide behind a vague denial, but Reich wasn't giving him the chance. The smart thing to do was to hand over what he'd found in Hoffman's pocket. The enlarged section of Door County map. The key. If he didn't, he was committing a crime. If he did, it was also the last time he'd see the evidence, and he wasn't ready to take himself out of the chase yet.
'I didn't find a thing,' Cab told Reich. 'Nothing at all.'
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The tiger-striped cat sauntered across Delia's path as she sat on the rocking chair on the front porch. It perched on its haunches next to her and watched her with its serious dark eyes. Delia stretched out her foot and stroked the cat's short-haired back. The animal slid down on to its side and offered up its plump stomach for attention. It squirmed and purred as Delia's stockinged foot rubbed its fur, and Delia only stopped when she realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Part of Delia loved the cat, because she couldn't see it without thinking of Glory. Part of her hated the cat for the same reason.
Glory had named the cat Smokey, which she said was because of the swirls of black in the cat's fur. Delia knew better; the kitten had smelled of smoke for days after the fire. Smokey was bereft now and was constantly near Delia seeking comfort. The cat had slept in Glory's arms every night, and it didn't understand why the girl was gone. It kept looking out of windows and doors with confused longing, as if it expected her to come back.
Delia wiped away her tears and continued with her work. She had a wooden tray draped across her lap, where she crafted her costume jewelry. She'd cut narrow strips from cans of Dr Pepper and Orange Crush, and she had pliers on the tray to bend and twist the strips together into two-tone spiral earrings. She wore a magnifier on a headband over one eye for the close work. She'd done it so many times that the process was mindless now, making metal curls and buffing the edges with steel wool. On eBay, she could sell a pair for ten dollars. The local gift shops charged more, but she had to give the storeowners a cut of the money. In the past year, she'd netted almost two thousand dollars, which was a welcome boost to a budget that never seemed to be in balance. There was always one bill too many.
Even with her extra income, it would never have been enough for Tresa's college tuition. State school or not, she couldn't afford it. Thank God for Peter Hoffman. He'd paid for everything, tuition, room and board, books, spending money. He'd told her he would do the same for Glory when it was her turn, but Delia had never believed that Glory was college material. Tresa was the serious one, the introvert, with the brains to make something of herself. Glory had no patience for school. Delia had grown up the same way. A party girl. Maybe that was why she had always favored Glory, not only because of how the girl had suffered, but because Glory reminded Delia of herself in a way that Tresa never did.
Tresa reminded her of other things. Bad things.
When she saw Tresa, she still thought of Harris Bone, and she wondered. Agonized. Doubted. She'd never
