“Tell someone to hold off for a few days.”
He studied her a beat and then tapped the counter with his fingers. “I’ll get those pancakes.”
Hardly a ringing acceptance, but it was the best she could hope for. She knew her brokered truce with him would not last long.
She ate the pancakes once they came, proud to leave Dan a clean plate. But when she reached for her wallet, he insisted her money was no good in his establishment. She thanked him and headed directly to the Halperns’ office on State Street.
The brick building was a plain one-story structure with no distinguishable features. It looked as if it had been built fifty years ago and was in need of a major renovation. In Montana, real estate was at a premium, and she bet it was still expensive to rent.
She pushed through the front door and walked up to an empty receptionist station and waited a few seconds before knocking on the desk. “Anyone here?”
In the back, she heard papers shuffle, so she followed the sound to a small room in the back where a man knelt by a copier. He had opened the machine’s front access door and was yanking on sheets of crumpled paper jammed inside.
Joan knocked on the doorjamb. “I’m looking for Darren Halpern.”
The man glanced over his shoulder. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a face weathered by the sun, and bright-green eyes that peered over a pair of reading glasses. “I’m Darren.”
She reached for her police ID out of habit but caught herself. “My name is Joan Mason.”
He rubbed the back of his hand against his damp forehead. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m a cop and in town for a few days. I know a few things about arson, and I’m assisting Detective Bailey.”
He placed a hand on his knee and, as he rose, stifled a groan. “I’ve driven by the shop. It’s awful.”
“What’s with the knee? Looks like it hurts.”
“Twisted it while I was hiking a few weeks ago. I always underestimate the terrain out here.”
“It’s beautiful country, but it does take its toll.”
Darren was not swayed by her less-than-stellar attempt at small talk. “What do you want from me?”
“What can you tell me about Lana Long?”
“I didn’t usually see much of her when I came by the shop.”
“How many businesses do you and your wife own?”
“The beauty shop and a dozen houses in town that we’re renovating.”
“Are they doing well?”
“Yeah, sure. The beauty shop had great cash flow and was supposed to keep us afloat until the rental properties came online. Ask Becca Sullivan. She should have our bank statements now.”
“When were these properties going to be available for rent?”
“Three months, four at the latest.”
“Were you highly leveraged?”
Halpern shook his head. “Sounds like I should have a lawyer with me.”
Instead of pressing, Joan shifted her line of questioning. “I’m trying to track down Lana Long,” she lied. “Someone said she might be holed up with her boyfriend.”
“I didn’t realize she had a boyfriend, but I didn’t know her that well.”
“Apparently, she was sporting an engagement ring at the diner late last week. Dan Tucker said you two shared a booth.”
“She texted Jessica and wanted to meet.”
“But you met her?”
“My wife was packing for our trip to Chicago.”
“What did Lana want to talk about?”
“She was quitting her job and heading back to Denver.”
“Did you notice her ring?”
“I did not. She kept her hands in her lap, I think.”
Darren’s face projected a mixture of boredom and annoyance, but she could not tell if the reaction was genuine. “How much do you and your wife stand to make from the insurance company when the claim is settled?”
“You’ll have to ask my wife. She handles all the finances. I handle the renovations.”
“Would she tell you if there was a financial problem with the company?”
“There wasn’t a problem.” He tapped his index finger on the copier as his expression tightened. “I’m not answering any more questions without a lawyer.”
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door and looked back at him. “You know what strikes me about Lana?”
“No, what?”
“She looks like a younger version of your wife.”
“Get out,” Darren said through clenched teeth. “Or I’m calling the cops.”
She had hit a nerve. Good.
An express package was waiting for Gideon when he returned to his desk. It was from the warden of Montana State Prison. He shrugged off his jacket, hung it over the back of his chair, and sat. He ripped open the tab and removed the thin bundle of copied letters that had been written to Elijah James Weston, prisoner #2317104. There were letters from five women.
The warden indicated that Elijah had received many more letters in the last decade, but these were the only ones in Elijah’s file. His staff was searching for the remaining letters.
Gideon knew the letters would never be found. The warden had said Elijah had worked in his office during his last year in prison. He likely had removed the letters.
The warden also indicated that because of Elijah’s excellent record within the prison, he had been allowed six contact visits a year. These visits allowed the prisoner to hug or shake hands with the visitor and to sit across from each other at a table, not separated by glass. The women who visited Elijah Weston were Scottie Winter in 2014, Sarah Rogers in 2019, and Lana Long, who had visited him six times in 2020.
According to the warden, all the women were required to submit a questionnaire detailing not only basic facts about their lives but also if they had prison records. All Weston’s visitors had been incarcerated at one point in their lives. Infractions included prostitution, identity theft, and narcotics possession.
There was nothing of real note in any of the letters. Given the strict guidelines of the prison, the letters simply
