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Chapters (38)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Chapter 1 - Wednesday afternoon, April 6, 1988
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3 - DEBORAH UNRUH
  8. Chapter 4 - Thursday morning, April 7, 1988
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6 - DEBORAH UNRUH
  11. Chapter 7 - Thursday afternoon, April 7, 1988
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9 - WALKER MCNALLY
  14. Chapter 10 - Friday, April 8, 1988
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12 - WALKER MCNALLY
  17. Chapter 13 - Monday, April 11, 1988
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15 - JON CORSO
  20. Chapter 16 - Wednesday, April 13, 1988
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18 - JON CORSO
  23. Chapter 19 - Wednesday afternoon, April 13, 1988
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21 - DEBORAH UNRUH
  26. Chapter 22 - Thursday night, April 14, 1988
  27. Chapter 23 - Friday afternoon, April 15, 1988
  28. Chapter 24 - WALKER MCNALLY
  29. Chapter 25 - Monday, April 18, 1988
  30. Chapter 26
  31. Chapter 27 - JON CORSO
  32. Chapter 28 - Wednesday afternoon, April 20, 1988
  33. Chapter 29 - WALKER MCNALLY
  34. Chapter 30 - Wednesday evening, April 20, 1988
  35. Chapter 31 - JON CORSO
  36. Chapter 32 - Thursday, April 21, 1988
  37. Chapter 33 - Thursday, April 21, 1988
  38. EPILOGUE

He said, “I have to talk to the detective sergeant. I’ll call you back.” I wasn’t sure how long we’d have to wait, but it was clear I needed to stay put so Cheney could get back to me, if need be. “You want coffee? I can make a pot,” I said.

“No thanks. I’m wired as it is. You have a bathroom I could use?”

“Take a left in the hall. It’s the only door on your right.”

“Thanks.”

It was 3:15 and I couldn’t remember if I’d eaten lunch, which probably meant I hadn’t. I opened my desk drawers in turn, but there wasn’t so much as a Tic Tac in the way of nourishment. I picked up my shoulder bag and went into search-and-seizure mode, peering into every crack and crevice. I like a big bag with a lot of nooks and crannies—outside compartments for magazines and books; inside pockets, some with zippers, some without; and a pouch on one end for car keys. I found two red-and-white-striped peppermints in clear cellophane. They’d been in my bag so long, the mints had softened and were now welded to the wrapping. I could have popped one in my mouth as it was and made it last for days.

I heard a toilet flush, and moments later Sutton reappeared.

“Want a mint?” I asked.

“No, thanks.” He resumed his seat and watched me peel the cellophane off the mint. He stirred restlessly. “So what happens next?”

I laid the mint on my tongue. It was heavenly to feel the sugar surge through my mouth. I tucked it in against my inner cheek so I could talk without spitting. I said, “No idea. I guess it depends on how seriously they’re taking this.”

We sat there in silence. I picked up a letter opener and tapped the point against the edge of my desk, practicing to be a drummer in case the private eye biz dried up. Sutton spent his time looking around the office at the bad paint job and the so-called wall-to-wall carpeting that had seen better days. I could tell he wasn’t impressed. I make enough money to support myself, but I’m not big on “day-core.” Then again, neither was he. Given what I’d seen of his place, he was hardly one to offer decorating tips.