He went to the file cabinet in the den, got the phone number of their local insurance broker, and made the call. After several branching options, the automated answering system gave him another number to call “to report an accident, fire, or other loss covered by your homeowners policy.”

As he was about the enter the new number, the phone rang in his hand. He glanced at the ID screen, saw that it was Hardwick. He debated the choice for about three seconds and decided the insurance call could wait.

The instant he pressed TALK, Hardwick started speaking.

“Shit, Gurney, everything you ask for is a pain in the ass, you realize that?”

“I figure your lazy ass needs the exercise.”

“I need this like I need a vegan diet.”

“What do you have for me, besides bullshit?”

Hardwick cleared his throat with his customary thoroughness. “Most of the original autopsy notes are buried deeper than I can get to today. Like I said, this is a giant—”

“I know what you said, Jack. The question is what do you have?”

“You remember Wally Thrasher?”

“The ME on the Mellery case?”

“The very one. Arrogant, wise-ass bastard.”

“Like someone I know.”

“Fuck you. Among his other fine qualities, Wally is obsessively-compulsively organized. And it just so happens that he did the autopsy on the big, flashy real-estate lady.”

“Sharon Stone?”

“The very one.”

“And?”

“Bull’s-eye.”

“You mean—”

“Entry wound was dead center in the side of her head. I mean, dead fucking center. Course, the exit wound was a whole other thing. Hard to find the center of something when there’s nothing left to find the center of.”

“It’s the entry wound that matters.”

“Right. So now you have the two bull’s-eyes you already knew about, plus one more. You think that’s good enough to prove whatever brilliant point you want to prove?”

“It just might be. I appreciate the input.”

“I exist only to serve.”

The connection was broken.

Chapter 26

An Explosion of Threats

Gurney was energized by the wound data, even though he wasn’t sure yet what its full implications might be or how he might use it in his Sunday meeting with Trout. But his thoughts seemed to be moving faster now, as though he’d had a double espresso, and he turned quickly to a new question.

He placed another call to Kyle, but this time got his voice mail. Apparently the motorcycle was back on the road.