blackboard, shook his head. “No big deal. I’m short on sleep and maybe I need some breakfast.”
Price jerked his head at Johnny. “Order a couple of Lulu’s Early Bird Specials.” His grin was quick. “For me and the chief. We’ve got a job for you.”
Johnny stepped a few feet away, pulled out a cell phone, punched a number. “Police chief’s office. Send two Lulu’s Early Birds.” The call ended, he looked from Price to the chief.
Cobb’s color was better. “Thanks, Johnny. I’ll sketch out what I want you to do in a minute.” He turned toward Price. “Got a tip while you were gone. Tucker Satterlee was out on a horse—”
Price interrupted. “How’d you know? Haskins just called in. About eight-thirty this morning, he saw a horseman on a hill overlooking the pit, challenged him. Satterlee told Haskins he heard on the eight o’clock news about a car going into the pit and he rode over to take a look since the property belonged to the Flynn estate. Satterlee thought somebody from the family should check out what was happening.”
A brooding expression on his heavy face, Chief Cobb folded his arms. “So we’re too late.”
Price looked puzzled. “Haskins told him the area was closed until further notice. Satterlee didn’t get near the pit, though that wouldn’t have done any harm.”
“Satterlee was also out on a horse last night.” Cobb’s voice was grim. “Around eleven o’clock. Maybe he was out to a pasture to see about birthing a calf. Maybe he was on that hill overlooking the pit. Now we’ll never be able to prove anything. All we know for sure is that if hoof marks were left last night, they can never be distinguished from the ones his horse left this morning.” He stalked to his desk, picked up the phone. “Benson, get with Haskins out at the brick plant. Rope off the area where he saw a horseman this morning. Search the area for a rifle shell. Or for footprints or bike-tread prints. Search like you’re hunting for a silver grain of sand.” He clicked off the phone, slammed into the swivel chair behind his desk, slammed a fist on the desktop. “I don’t like to be screwed over. But Satterlee’s too clever by half. He drew a fat red arrow pointing to the place the shooter stood.”
Price dropped into a chair in front of Cobb’s desk, waved Johnny to the next seat. “Why would Satterlee take that chance? Maybe he really was out with a calf last night. Maybe he heard the news, wanted to flex a little muscle as a newly rich man.”
“And St. Nick’s going to bring me a winning lottery ticket.” Cobb’s tone was sour. “I’ll lay odds that shell casing is there. If anything’s found, you take me out for a steak dinner.”
Price’s smile was easy. “If they don’t find it—and they might miss a single casing—nothing’s proved. Anyway, a casing is meaningless without a rifle. Say that Satterlee or one of the others was out last night with a rifle. How many places could they have disposed of a rifle after they left the brick plant?”
“I’m not counting on linking a casing to him or to anybody. What I want is proof that he took his horse this morning to the place where the shot was fired. When I’ve got that, I’ll know he’s either the killer or he knows something we need to know.” Cobb’s eyes glinted. “One way or another, I’m going to find out which of them killed Kim Weaver.” Cobb jerked his head at Johnny. “That’s where you come in.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnny’s handsome face also showed little effect of last night’s late hours. His thick black hair, combed hard to corral the natural curl, emphasized the sea blue of his eyes. His uniform was immaculate. He looked eager, excited, and proud to be chosen by the chief for special duty.
The chief’s expression was thoughtful, his face somber. “We have reason to believe Kim Weaver’s murder is connected to the murder of Susan Flynn. We have a tip that Susan Flynn signed a new will and Kim Weaver intercepted it in the mail yesterday morning.”
“A new will?” Johnny’s face furrowed.
“A will that leaves everything to Susan Flynn’s grandson. That will has disappeared.” Cobb leaned forward and stared at Johnny with gimlet eyes. “Kim Weaver called each of Susan Flynn’s heirs to tell them about the meeting at Farrell’s office at two o’clock. I’m guessing she told one of them about the new will and together they agreed that she’d keep it quiet. For a price. Or maybe she called Peg Flynn’s boyfriend Dave Lewis. Whoever she called, we know she had an appointment with someone at the old brick plant at eleven o’clock and she was to bring the will. You can help us find out which of Susan Flynn’s heirs”—he ticked them off one by one—“Jacqueline Flynn, Peg Flynn, Tucker Satterlee, Gina Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond, knew Kim Weaver well enough to conspire to prevent that will from reaching Susan Flynn’s lawyer. Or maybe the contact was with Dave Lewis. Peg Flynn should know whether Lewis knew Weaver.”
Johnny stiffened. “What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Peg Flynn. Find out from her how well all of them knew Kim Weaver.”
Johnny looked uncomfortable. “I’m a police officer. I’ll interview her as a witness.”
Chief Cobb’s expression didn’t change. “You do that.”
Johnny’s face furrowed in unhappiness. “Is there anything else?”
Cobb waved a hand in dismissal.
As Johnny opened the door, Cobb spoke, his voice gruff. “Somebody’s dangerous.”
Johnny stood in the doorway, his shoulders tight, listening.
“I’ll be straight with you, Officer. I don’t think Peg Flynn’s dangerous. You have a chance to take a bead on a copperhead behind the log. Copperheads don’t give any warning. Peg Flynn might be the one that steps on it.”
Johnny looked back, his eyes anguished. “I’ll do what I can.”
When the door closed, Price shrugged. “He’ll do what he can. Which won’t be much. You struck out, Sam. You got to remember, a good-looking woman twists a man’s guts, makes him forget he’s a cop.” He spoke with the wry authority of a man who’d been down that road. “You heard him. He’s going to tell her he’s asking as a cop. That will shut her up. But we can keep looking. I’ve got Kim Weaver’s address book. I’ll talk to Weaver’s friends and try to pick up a link between Weaver and one or more of the heirs or with the boyfriend.”
Cobb thumped the fingers of one hand in a rapid tattoo near his phone. “We know more than these people realize. Maybe I can do a little poking. I want to catch Peg Flynn before Johnny Cain gets to her.” He glanced at phone numbers next to a list of names. His eyes gleamed. “I like cell phones. Puts most folks on a short leash.” He turned on the speakerphone and punched numbers.
“Hello.” Peg sounded weary.
