‘Right.’ She tapped the file with a finger. ‘I asked for an employee list and he’s mailing that over to me, so it should be in the office by the time I get back. But I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Klein had a blue Fairmont. He’s never been employed by this place, Caraca BuildIt. The witness that puts a station wagon at the motel in the first place is …’ She paused, thinking of the Star Inn manager. ‘I don’t think he’s lying to me, but I don’t think he’s completely credible. I guess what I’m saying is, I get what you’re telling me about Klein, and I agree, but I can’t prove it.’ She smiled. ‘Yet.’

A smile retraced the corner of Callson’s lips too, and then he blinked some of the sweat away from his eyes. ‘That binder you got there, I haven’t put all of what’s written in it into the system yet, which is probably why you didn’t get a hit on the teletypes for the acid when you were looking for it yesterday, or on the NCIC. I’m sorry about that. I’m old, set in my ways. I’m sure computers are gonna make our lives a whole hell of a lot easier in the future, but I’m a paper guy. I started with paper back in the fifties and I’m going to finish with it. I prefer to get it down in black and white because it helps me to see straight, and once I can see straight, I can see what’s off. So when I started to get the scent something wasn’t right here, I picked up the phone and called your office because I figured, if there was no link to any open-unsolved we had, the Sheriff’s Department was a good next bet. My only hope – when I picked up that phone – was that, if someone in your place had something for me, it would be someone like you.’

‘Someone like me?’

The light gradually started to vanish from Callson’s eyes, and something else moved into its place: a cloud, pregnant with pain.