admirers.”
I found the comment odd, but didn’t pursue it.
“Good luck to you, Doc.”
Zamzow stood.
I stood.
As he turned to go, I picked up the photo of Brian Aiker. “May I keep this?”
Zamzow nodded. “Don’t be a stranger.”
With that, he was gone.
Staring at the chair Zamzow had vacated, I wondered what had just happened. Throughout our conversation, the RAC had been friendly and candid. At the mention of Palmer Cousins, the man closed up like an armadillo poked with a stick.
Was Zamzow holding ranks, refusing to speak badly of a fellow officer? Did he know something about Katy’s friend that he was unwilling to share? Was he simply unacquainted with the man?
Tim Larabee interrupted my thoughts.
“Where’s your little pal?”
“If you mean Detective Ryan, he flew back to Montreal.”
“Too bad. He’s good for your complexion.”
A hand rose to my cheek.
“Gotcha.” Larabee made a finger pistol and fired it at me.
“You’re so hilarious, Hawkins may have to roll a gurney in here when I die laughing.”
I told him what I’d learned from Wally Cagle about the Lancaster skeleton, and about my conversations with Hershey Zamzow.
“I’ll call Raleigh. See if someone can drive Aiker’s dental records down,” Larabee said.
“Good.”
“Could be a breakthrough day. Jansen called. Slidell called. Tea party in half an hour.”
“Do they have news?”
Larabee checked, then tapped his watch.
“Main ballroom in thirty minutes. Dress is casual.”
The corners of Larabee’s mouth curled upward.
“Your hair’s got a gleam to it, too.”
My eyes rolled so far back I thought they might never return.
When Larabee moved on, I checked again with Mrs. Flowers. Still no fax from Cagle.
I gathered and glanced through my message slips.
Jansen.
Slidell.
Cagle.
I tried Cagle’s cell. No answer.
A crime reporter with the
A colleague at UNC-Greensboro.
I tried Cagle again. He still wasn’t picking up.
I looked at my watch.
Showtime.
Placing the pink slips in the middle of my blotter, I headed for the conference room.
Larabee and Jansen were discussing the merits of the Panthers versus the Dolphins. The NTSB investigator was dressed in jeans, sandals, and a tan cotton tank from Old Navy. Her short blonde hair looked like it had just been blow-dried.
Slidell and Rinaldi arrived as Jansen and I were shaking hands.
Rinaldi was in blue blazer, gray chinos, and a turquoise and lemon Jerry Garcia tie.
Slidell was in shirtsleeves. His neckwear looked like something one got from a Kmart bargain table after the good ones had already been picked.
While the others coffeed up, I helped myself to a Diet Coke.
“Who goes first?” I asked when we’d all taken seats.
Larabee waved a palm in my direction.
I repeated what I’d told the ME about the Lancaster remains, described how I’d gotten the details from Wally Cagle, and explained the skeleton’s possible link to the privy head and hands. I outlined what I’d learned from Hershey Zamzow and Rachel Mendelson concerning bear poaching and about the illegal trade in rare and
