Mac’s is a little place, a bar really, but the food isn’t bad in a pinch. It isn’t busy tonight, not even any cops hanging out having a cold one after their shifts. Mac himself, the big wide-shouldered owner, who played a couple of seasons for the Patriots a million years ago, is pouring drinks. All his former muscle has morphed into fat, and his belly strains his knit shirt.

He leans on his hands, takes a raspy breath. “Bob, Rita.” He nods. “How’s it going?”

“Just dandy, Mac. You?” I ask.

“Couldn’t be better.” He grins. “Angela’s pregnant. Did I tell ya that?” About ten times. His daughter, his only child, beams from a framed photo hanging behind the bar. “Gonna be a grandpa this summer.”

“Congrats,” Bob says. “Nothing like grandkids.”

Mac nods again and rubs his hands together. “Yous in for a drink or a meal?”

“I could do with both,” I say. “Should we seat ourselves?”

“Yeah. Anywhere you want. As you can see, the place is packed,” he says sarcastically, but with a smile.

The chief and I sit in a dark booth in the back. Mac’s a great guy, but he’ll talk your ear off if he’s not busy, and Bob and I’ve got business to talk about.

I fill him in on everything Lauren and I have discovered. He takes a long pull on his bottle of Bud Light. “Jesus, Rita. You think Dr. Bradley was involved in that girl’s disappearance?”

I shrug. “Who knows? But there’s some reason he had her necklace locked in his filing cabinet. The most innocent reason is that he found it while out on a walk in the mountains, picked it up, and decided to keep it, but that’s a stretch. Why hide it?”

Bob dips a tortilla chip in a bowl of chunky salsa. “You think that’s what the perp was after when he came back?”

“Maybe.” I sip my wine. “Worst case, as I can figure it, Dr. Bradley and another man were involved in Ms. Robb’s disappearance. The killer was worried that the good doctor was growing a conscience and going to turn them in, and so he killed him. The necklace was what tied them to the crime, so the perp wanted it.”

Bob nods. “Could be. You find anything in the doc’s background that might predispose him to criminal activity?”

“Nothing official. When we ran him, he didn’t even have a speeding ticket in the last ten years.” Our server slides steaming plates in front of us, bubbling fajitas for Bob, a cheeseburger and fries for me. “His partner at the therapy practice said he’s a good guy. Squeaky clean. And she seems to know him about as well as anybody.”