'I don't know,' Denton said. 'You're the cop. Or were. People tell me you're good at getting things done.'
Leaphorn didn't respond to that. He sipped his coffee.
'I'll pay you whatever you ask,' Denton said. 'Doesn't matter. Just look for her for as long as it takes. And let me know.'
The coffee was cold now. Leaphorn put the cup down.
'Is this where you shot McKay? Right here in this room?'
Denton pointed. 'There by the hall door.'
'Whether I'll try to find your wife will depend on how you answer some questions,' Leaphorn said. 'If I see any signs you're misleading me, or holding stuff back, then I'm not interested. It would be impossible. It's probably impossible anyway, unless you can tell me something useful.'
Denton's expression was quizzical. 'There's talk that you've already been looking for Linda,' he said.
'I was once. I drew a blank.'
'And there was some talk that I'd killed her,' Denton said. 'And hid the body. I was supposed to think she was in cahoots with McKay and I was jealous.'
'That would be my first question,' Leaphorn said. 'Did you kill her?'
'No,' Denton said. 'Hell no, I didn't.'
'Have you heard anything at all from her, or about her for that matter, since she left here that morning?'
'Nothing at all from Linda. Got some calls and some letters after I ran those advertisements. None of them had anything to tell. Just people trying to get some reward money.'
'Calls? How? Your telephone number's not listed.'
'I had another phone line put in. Put the number of that one in the advertisements. Had a technical man come to hook up an answering machine recorder on it. I've got the tapes if you think listening to any of those creepy bastards would help.'
'It might. You saved the letters, too?'
'In a file.'
'How did Doherty get your unlisted number?'
'Doherty? What do you mean?'
'He had it,' Leaphorn said. 'Had he called you?'
'He didn't get it from me, and no, he hadn't called me. I bet that's why the fbi has been asking around about me.'
'That, and all the stuff about gold mining he had with him. I'd guess they think there might be a connection with the McKay homicide and his.'
That didn't seem to surprise Denton. He nodded.
'Okay,' Leaphorn said. 'Now I want you to describe that day for me. Everything pertinent. I know you told it all to the police then, but give it to me again now that you've had some years to think about it.'
Denton did as instructed. The discussion at breakfast of what to do about the ground squirrels looting Linda's bird feeders, Linda's anticipation of her luncheon meeting with girlfriends—one of whom she thought was going to announce being pregnant. Linda planning to stop at the shopping mall enroute to look at possible presents. Linda leaving, saying she'd be back about three. Denton spending the morning in his office, not getting any work done because he was excited about the information McKay was to bring him—a map showing the whereabouts of the Golden Calf and the evidence to prove it was all authentic.
At that point Leaphorn stopped him.
'Evidence? Like what?'
'He said he'd bring a pouch of placer gold, copies of old letters from Theodore Mott to his lawyer up in Denver. He said they described the site—and its location from Fort Wingate—in great detail. And another copy of a letter from an assayer describing thirteen ounces Mott had brought in, and a copy of the assay report. And then he said he'd have some other stuff.'
'Like what?'
Denton laughed. 'Well, for one thing, a copy of a contract I was supposed to sign guaranteeing him fifty percent of all proceeds from the mine. And a bunch of photographs of him placering the gold he was bringing.'
Leaphorn nodded.
'I was to seal the deal with delivery of fifty thousand dollars in cash, and he'd give me a partnership contract he'd signed to a claim he said he'd already filed.'
'That was all agreed to before?'
'Right. On the telephone. Two days before. That was a Monday. He said he needed to collect the stuff and he'd be out here right after noon on Wednesday to close on the arrangement. And after we'd made the deal and shook hands on it, he'd drive me out and show me the place.'
'But you didn't go,' said Leaphorn.
'Of course not. I shot the son of a bitch and went to prison instead,' Denton said. He produced a grim smile and continued his account.
McKay had called about 2:00 P.M., said he was running a little late and he'd arrive about 6:00. He'd asked if Denton had the money there, and Denton said he had five hundred one-hundred-dollar bills in a briefcase ready to
