“How's Big B?”
“Enjoying the mountain food and fauna. Are you back in Charlotte?”
“Hung up in the Hoosier state. Is he straining your patience?”
“Boyd has a unique take on life.”
“What's new?”
I told him about Primrose.
“Oh, babe, I'm really sorry. Are you O.K.?”
“I'll be fine,” I lied. “There's more.”
I summarized the interrogation with Davenport, and listed the complaints the lieutenant governor planned to file.
“Sounds like a mainline mind fuck.”
“Don't try to impress me with legal jargon.”
“This has to be politically motivated. Any conjectures as to why?”
“He doesn't like my hair.”
“I do. Did you establish anything more about the foot?”
I told him about the histological age estimate, about the racial classification, and about the formerly and currently missing Daniel Wahnetah and Jeremiah Mitchell.
“Mitchell sounds like a winning candidate for the foot.”
I described the photo of Charlie Wayne Tramper's funeral and my phone call to Raleigh.
“Why would Midkiff lie to you about doing a dig?”
“He doesn't like my hair. Should I get an attorney?”
“You have one.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
Next, it was Ryan. He and McMahon had finished late and would be returning to the reassembly site at dawn, so they were overnighting in Asheville.
“Problems with your phone?”
“The media are scenting blood in the water, so I've had it turned off. Besides, I spent a lot of the day in the library.”
“Learn anything?”
“Mountain life is hard on old folks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know. Seems like a lot of seniors drown, freeze to death, or end up in the food chain around here. I'll take the flatlands, thanks. What goes with the investigation?”
“The chemical guys are picking up weird traces.”
“Explosives?”
“Not necessarily. I'll fill you in tomorrow.”
“Have Bertrand and Petricelli been found?”
“No.”
Lucy Crowe beeped in at that point, and I clicked over. She had little to report and no warrant.
“The DA doesn't want to second-guess the magistrate without something more solid.”
“What the hell do these people want? Miss Scarlet in the library, candlestick in hand?”
“She finds your argument contradictory.”
“Contradictory?”
“The VFA profile says something died during the summer. Mitchell disappeared in February. Madam Prosecutor is convinced the stain is from an animal. Says you can't bust in on a citizen for aging meat in his backyard.”
“And the foot?”
“Crash victim.”
“Anything on Primrose's murder?”
“Turns out Ralph Stover is no hayseed. The gentleman owned a company in Ohio, holds patents on a number of microchips. In eighty-six Ralph underwent a metamorphosis following a cardiac event. He sold out for megabucks and bought the Riverbank. Been a country motel owner ever since.”
“Any police record?”
“Two DWIs back in the seventies, otherwise the guy's clean.”
