“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t one,” he adds. “It might have been stolen by whoever did this.”

“And we don’t know if this is a homicide.” I’m just going to keep saying it. “We don’t know anything yet.” I return his phone to him.

“How many people have you had to chase off since you got here?” Marino asks him what’s gone on since the call was broadcast over radio.

“A handful have wandered in or tried to.”

“How close did they get?” Marino has yet to really look at him while they talk.

“They didn’t get anywhere near.”

“At least not the ones we know about.” Marino abruptly walks off in the direction of the twins.

“A couple of students, three to be exact,” Barclay tells his retreating back. “I turned them away before they could see anything. They couldn’t see there’s a dead body,” he directs this at me, and I wonder what he was doing before he showed up here.

CHAPTER 15

HE’S SLEEK AND QUITE an eyeful in parachute pants, a polo shirt, and leather high-tops, everything black.

His pistol is holstered on his right hip, his detective’s badge displayed on his belt, and Investigator Barclay looks like the star of his own TV show with his lean muscular build, Ken-doll face and buzz-cut blond hair. I can smell his cologne from several feet away, and I know his type, what we used to call a hotshot.

Marino has cruder terms for vain young bucks like Clay, as he hails him. I can’t imagine the two of them are friendly with each other or would be under any circumstances imaginable. As this is going through my mind I have second thoughts about Barclay’s nickname. Or better put, something comes to me as a warning.

“Does everybody call you Clay?” I ask, but what I’m really wondering is if anybody does besides Marino.

“I don’t know why he suddenly started doing that unless it’s to tick me off as usual.” He watches Marino talking to the twins. “My first name’s Tom, my middle name’s David. People call me Tom. It’s just another one of his stupid jokes that he thinks are so brilliant. I guess his point is to encourage other corny bullshit. First it’s Clay. Then it’s Dirt. Or Play-Doh. Or if I do something wrong my name will be Mud. But it goes with the turf when you get promoted to working major cases.” He shrugs. “You get picked on.”