“Not much else in his ride,” Carlos said. “His glove box has the manual, and nothing else. His center console has some coupons for a juice place. A hundred bucks hidden in an envelope. Probably emergency cash.”

“Will more time help?” I asked.

“Always.” Carlos nodded. “But I’m not hopeful. How about I tell y’all anything new by two p.m.?”

“Deal,” I said.

I told Remy what I’d learned from ATF about the weapon and where Harrington had bought the .38.

She stripped off her latex gloves. “You wanna drive out there?”

“ATF’s already doing the legwork, partner,” I said. “Plus, we got Ginnie Tanner coming in five minutes. That’s why I came to grab you.” I wasn’t going to do our interview with the wife of the dead teacher alone.

Remy nodded, and looked to Carlos. “Two p.m., C. We need something big,” she said.

Carlos nodded. “Then how about giving me ’til end of day?”

8

Ginnie Tanner was in her thirties with jet-black hair and muscular arms. She wore a black blouse and tan pants, the athletic but stocky build of a soccer goalie.

Remy and I sat across from her in Interrogation Room B, and Abe watched from the window. The skin around her nostrils was raw.

We apologized for her loss and got background first. Found out that she and Leaf had met through friends and were married for the last five years.

“I don’t know what else you want to know,” she said, offering a blank stare.

I’d seen this look a dozen times on the spouses of victims. The pale skin. The resigned attitude. Abe called the ones left behind “flickers,” since they were like traces of themselves. Copies of the original.

“I talked to the guy in uniform yesterday,” Ginnie continued, referring to Patrolman Gattling. “I told him already. It wasn’t any special day. Just another school day.”

“Your husband hadn’t had any trouble with anyone?” Remy asked.

Ginnie Tanner’s eyes were flat and black like buckshot. “Like who?”

“Anyone at school?” I said. “A parent? Another teacher? A coach or administrator?”

“Nope,” she said. “Now these reporters are calling all our friends and family. They give some line about honoring Leaf’s memory, but they’re like maggots, digging through our lives.”

“Our press information officer,” Remy said. “She may be able to give you some advice on how to handle reporters.”

Ginnie Tanner barely heard Remy. “I loved him,” she said, “but it’s gonna come out. And I’m gonna look like a monster.”

Remy reached out and held Ginnie’s hand. A good move. “What’s gonna come out, hon?”

“We were getting divorced,” the wife said. “So naturally I’m confused. I mean, I cared about Leaf, but we argued every day. I wouldn’t want him dead. But he was so friggin’ mean. Just—all the time. Always some agenda.”

“Was he physically violent?” Remy asked.

“No,” Ginnie said.

I thought about the prospect of a divorce, and if this changed anything. “Was there infidelity?” I asked.