“The magistrate wouldn't share that information. But if you go anywhere near the site, the morgue, or any crash-related record, item, or family member, I am to arrest you for obstruction of justice. That includes this courtyard property.”
“What the hell is going on?” My stomach tightened in anger.
Crowe shrugged. “I'm not sure. But you're out of that investigation.”
“Am I allowed to go to the public library?” I spat.
The sheriff rubbed the back of her neck and rested a boot on the bottom step. Beneath her jacket I could see the bulge of a gun.
“There's something very wrong here, Sheriff.”
“I'm listening.”
“My room was ransacked yesterday.”
“Theories?”
I told her about the figurines in the bathtub.
“Not exactly a Hallmark greeting.”
“It's probably that Boyd's annoying someone.” I said it hopefully, but didn't really believe my own words.
Boyd's ears shot forward at the sound of his name. I gave him a slice of bacon.
“Is he a barker?”
“Not really. I asked Ruby if he makes noise when I'm away. She said he howls a bit, but nothing extraordinary.”
“What does Ruby say about it?”
“Satan's minions.”
“Maybe you have something that someone wants.”
“Nothing was taken, though all my files were thrown around. The whole room was trashed.”
“Did you keep notes on this foot?”
“I'd taken them with me to Oak Ridge.”
She looked at me a full five seconds, then nodded her nod.
“Makes that Volvo episode a little more suspect. You watch yourself.”
Oh yes.
Crowe leaned over and brushed off the toe of her boot, then looked at her watch.
“I'll see if I can get the DA to push harder.”
At that moment Ryan's rental car appeared in the valley. The driver's-side window was open and his silhouette looked dark against the car's interior. We watched him climb the mountain and turn into the drive. Moments later he strode up the path, his face looking drawn and tense.
“What is it?”
I heard Crowe's hat brush the top of her thigh.
Ryan hesitated a beat, then, “There's still no sign of Jean's body.”
I could read naked misery in his demeanor. And more. Selfimposed guilt. The conviction that his absence from the partnership had caused Bertrand to be on that plane. Detectives without partners are limited in what they can investigate. That makes them available for courier duty.
“They'll find him,” I said softly.
Ryan let his eyes rove the horizon, his back rigid, his neck muscles tight as twisted ropes. After a full minute, he shook out and lit a cigarette, cupping the flame in both hands.
“How did your afternoon go?” He flicked the match.
I told him about Crowe's meeting with the magistrate.
“Your foot may be a dead issue.”
“What do you mean?”
He blew smoke through his nostrils, then pulled something from his jacket pocket.
“They also found this.”
He unfolded a paper and handed it to me.
I STARED, FIRST IN CONFUSION, THEN IN DAWNING COMPREHENSION.
Ryan had given me a composite produced on a color printer. There were three images, each showing a fragment of plastic. In the first I could make out the letters
