“So, sue me. My gut tells me it’s a big story, and I’m going with it.”

“Good for you. It is a big story.”

She freezes with a shrimp in midair.

I take my Corona from Jenny the waitress before she can set it down. “How would you like an exclusive on the solution?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“There’s one condition. You print absolutely nothing until I give you the okay.”

“You know who killed him?”

“Maybe. But even if I do, proving it could be difficult.”

She pops the shrimp into her mouth and chews for a few moments. “I don’t get it. If you don’t want me to print anything, why bring me in at all?”

“Because I need your help.”

“For what?”

“Research that I don’t have the time or resources to do.”

“What do you need to know?”

“You haven’t agreed to my condition yet.”

She mulls it over some more. “Why should I muzzle my paper to help you? How do I know you’ll solve the case any faster than I could?”

“Do you have a copy of the original police file?”

“No. But I’m working on a request for his FBI file under the Freedom of Information Act.”

“Don’t bother. You won’t get it. J. Edgar Hoover sealed the Payton file in 1968 for reasons of national security.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I smelled a Pulitzer the minute you told me about this case. Okay, deal. Tell me what you want, I’ll get it. Fast. But I want in on everything.”

“Fair enough,” I say, wondering if I mean it. A half hour ago Cilla called from Houston. After spending hours tracing the names on Peter Lutjens’s list, and finding most retired or dead, she lucked into a fan of mine. He hadn’t worked the Payton murder, but he remembered it. More important, he numbered Special Agent Dwight Stone, the field agent Althea Payton recalled so fondly, among his old friends. Stone is retired and living outside Crested Butte, Colorado. Cilla called him and found him friendly enough until she mentioned Del Payton, at which time Stone bluntly stated that he would not discuss the Payton case with me or anyone. I intend to test his resolution very soon.

“So, what do you want to know?” Caitlin asks.

“I need everything you can get on Leo Marston. You know who he is?”

“Sure. A big-time attorney everybody calls Judge because he served on the state supreme court. I tried to get a comment from him for my Payton story, but I couldn’t get through. His secretary’s a cast-iron bitch.”

“You should meet his wife.”

“The woman who baptized you at the cocktail party?”

“That’s her.”

“No, thanks. Why Marston?”

“You don’t need to know that yet.”

She doesn’t like this response. “Who else?”