Joe watched Davis slip a small plastic bag from the pocket of her dark uniform. He could see a half sheet of paper inside. Was that the note Ryder had brought in earlier? But why bring it here? It was already logged in, and Lindsey had already seen it. The look on Davis's face was one of half annoyance, half amusement. As she handed Dallas the small evidence bag, Joe slipped silently along the edge of the roof until he was just above them.
Whatever this was, it wasn't the letter Ryder had brought, this wasn't hand printed, but typewritten on smooth white paper.
"Brennan found this at the back door this morning," Davis said. "Just after change of watch. No one saw who left it, and there are no latents." The look between the two detectives was one the tomcat knew well, that wry glance of frustration that heralded another anonymous tip, both welcome and highly frustrating.
But this wasn't Joe's tip. Nor, surely, anything Dulcie or Kit would have taken to the station. Edging farther over the lip of the roof, Joe read the letter over Dallas's shoulder, watched Dallas glance across the grotto at Lindsey, much as Davis had done.
Lindsey was watching them, the end of her scarf thrown back over her shoulder, her tan very appealing against the white tank top. At that moment, Joe would have given a brace of fat mice to know her thoughts.
But he would give a lot more to know them if the detectives shared the letter with her.
Police Chief Max Harper:
Regarding the reopened investigation of Carson Chappell's disappearance: When Lindsey Wolf reported Chappell missing, she lied to the detective about where she was. She was not in the village. She rented a car from Avis and was gone all week. Here is a photocopy of the dated rental receipt in her name. I do not know where she went. Good luck in this investigation.
The letter was indeed like something the real snitches might have discovered and stolen and taken to the detectives, and that angered Joe. He wanted to know who had left this, wanted to know if the message was true or if the killer had written it to lay the blame on Lindsey.
He didn't want to think she'd killed Carson. Despite his uneasy questions about her, he wanted to believe her. Wanted her to be telling the truth. Below him, Dallas was saying, "I'd like Lindsey to read this."
Davis said, "You think that's wise?"
"In this case, yes."
She nodded, and he motioned Lindsey and Mike over. They read the printout together. Lindsey stood a moment staring at it, then looked up at the detectives, flushed and scowling.
"Who gave you this? Where did you get this?"
"It was left at the station this morning," Davis said. "We don't know who left it."
"Can you fingerprint it?"
"I tried," Davis said. "There's nothing-we'll see what the lab can pick up."
"It's not typed," Lindsey said, examining the paper through the plastic. "It's too even. Looks like a printout. Is there some way you can trace a printer?"
"We'd have to have something to go on," Davis said. "Another example from the same printer, and even then…Were you out of town the week Carson disappeared?"
"No. That was the week of the wedding. May I see the receipt?"
Davis turned the plastic over, to show the Visa receipt. Lindsey looked at it, and nodded. "That's my credit card number. But there've never been any forged charges against it, I check carefully. I've never had any theft."
"Would you still have that Visa bill?" Davis said, clearly not expecting that she would.
"I would if there were any business expenses on that one," Lindsey said. "And there usually are. It would be in my tax returns for that year." She looked at Dallas. "They're in the locker, in the file cabinet." Her hazel eyes were still angry, her cheeks flaming. "This is…What's he trying to do?"
"Who?" Davis said.
"Ray Gibbs," Lindsey said, looking at Davis. "If that body is Nina, then this note has to be from Gibbs. Or…" After a moment, she said, more quietly, "Or…Oh, not my sister?"
"What makes you think it was Gibbs?" Davis said. "Or your sister? This could have nothing to do with them."
"It has to do with Carson's death, and maybe with Gibbs's wife, with Nina," Lindsey said, glancing away, toward the grave.
Davis said, "Why are you so certain the body is Nina?" Davis had taken over the interview, and Dallas seemed content to let her run with it.
"She always wore that bracelet, I don't think I ever saw her without it. Wore it all the time, just as her aunt did, before her. Unless…," she said, "unless the story about there being only one bracelet wasn't true, unless there was another."
"Or," Davis said, "unless Nina gave it to someone."
Lindsey frowned at the detective. "That doesn't seem likely. Nina seemed to place some special, almost mystical value on it."
"Can you explain?" Davis said.
"I don't really know. Maybe sentimental value. I think she was truly fond of her aunt. She said once that the bracelet was the one thing that Olivia Pamillon treasured." She looked toward the now empty grave. "Olivia's bracelet, circling that bare bone." She shivered. "Like a manacle holding Nina there." And she turned away, into the shelter of Mike's arms.
Above, on the roof, Joe watched her intently. What a strange thing to say, to read into a simple bracelet with an innocent cat embossed on the band. Below him, both detectives watched Lindsey without expression. And Joe thought, A bracelet embossed with the emblem of a secret that Olivia Pamillon carried all her life? And as Clyde and Mike and Ryan turned to leave, the tomcat, staying out of sight, headed fast across the roofs toward Clyde's roadster, Lindsey's words repeating in his head, Like a manacle holding Nina there…like a manacle…
But, galloping across the roofs trying to put Lindsey's comment in perspective, he stopped suddenly and crouched, very still, watching the jutting wing of the mansion beyond the grotto, where he'd glimpsed a figure slipping away. Darkly dressed, visible only for a second, moving fast. Someone near the grotto, listening, and watching.
There! He saw the figure again moving swiftly to vanish beyond the broken walls, moving toward the old shed, and then gone.
27
ALONE IN THE BARN, wishing Sage would hobble out and apologize to her and say he'd been wrong, say that Stone Eye had been an evil tyrant and the clowder was better off without him, and knowing Sage would never do that, Kit began to smell a lovely aroma from the kitchen. Charlie's delicious shrimp casserole. Crouching in the straw feeling lonely and neglected and sniffing that heady scent, growing hungrier and hungrier but unwilling to go in the house and face Sage and make up-he'd have to apologize first-she waited. Maybe Charlie would come out and would understand and would maybe bring her some nice shrimp to eat and tell her she was right and Sage was wrong. Listening across the yard to little sounds from the kitchen, she longed to hear the door open and Charlie's footsteps approach. She felt sure Charlie could make everything all right.
But Kit waited a long time before Charlie appeared in the barn, calling out to her. Then she waited a long time more, letting Charlie call and call, before she came out from her hiding place in the pile of straw.