“Lance, Don received a call from Langley in the late afternoon on the day of his death. Whoever called used an Agency WATS line. Can you find out who made the call?”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to ask the state police to get Don’s phone records, so we can find out who he might have called at Langley.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Lance said.

“Why not?”

“Because he would have called in on the WATS line and asked for a name or an extension. All the Agency would have would be a record that he called in, not which extension he asked for. It’s a deficiency, I know, and it’s being corrected, but it hasn’t been done yet.”

“Whatever you say.”

“That’s not to say that Don might not have made local calls in Maine that might be significant, so I’d ask the cops for his local records.”

“Thanks. When will you get back to me about the WATS line?”

“Later today, if I can.” Lance hung up.

Stone called Sergeant Young and asked for Don Brown’s phone records, and Young promised to fax them to him.

“I guess that’s all we can do for the moment,” Rawls said.

“A thought,” Stone said. “Did Don have an ex-wife who hated him?”

“No, his wife died less than a year ago. They were married for more than fifty years, and I don’t think she had learned to hate him yet. I’ve got a couple who hate me; so does Harley. Mack is a lifelong bachelor.”

“What was the medical condition that required Don to use the wheelchair?”

“It was some complication of diabetes, I think,” Rawls said. “He could get around a bit, not much more than a few steps. I mean, he could get to the bathroom at night, and he could get his scooter in and out of the trunk of his car.”

“Do you know where he kept the .45 that was used to kill him?”

“Bedside table drawer,” Rawls said.

“So it wouldn’t have been hard to find. The murderer could have come in with another gun and found it easily.”

“Yeah, especially if Don tried to go for it.”

“Who knew this house well, besides his housekeeper?”

“Harley, Mack and me; we played poker over here one night a week. Probably a few locals: repairmen, those sorts of folks.”

“So we don’t have any more to go on than we had with Dick’s murder.”

“Looks that way, don’t it.”

“Maybe Lance will be able to tell us something.”

“You’re grasping at straws,” Rawls said, “but then, that’s all we’ve got to grab at.”

“I know.”

“We’re having a little ceremony to scatter Don’s ashes at the yacht club tomorrow morning at ten, if you’d like to join us. I think Don would like that.”

“I’ll be there.”

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