Looking across the big room to the front windows, they could see neat piles of papers stacked on Ryan's desk but they couldn't see much of the kitchen, just the end of the table and Dallas's shoulder. They could smell, besides fresh coffee, the greasy-sugar scent of doughnuts, and could hear the occasional cup clink against a saucer. Dallas said, "I wish your dad were here."
"Please don't call him, there's no need for him to think about the murder just now, to take his mind off what he's doing. I'll tell him when he gets home, when he's done with this training. You're my dad too, you and Scotty. Except, you can't play that role just now."
"I can play any hand I like. But it would be nice to have Mike here. You sure you don't want to stay with me or with Hanni, not be alone?"
"I'm fine. If the killer had wanted me dead, he'd have come after me instead of Rupert. I need to do a ton of desk work, clean up a stack of letters, pay my bills. I did manage to do the Jakeses' billing, I have that almost ready to mail."
"I'm glad you've got this big guy." The cats heard Dallas patting the silver dog.
"What did Captain Harper say when he called, when you told him there'd been a murder? I can imagine he wasn't happy."
"He didn't say much, took it in stride. Said he and Charlie are having a great time in the city. They're taking a couple of days to drive home, through the wine country. And before they leave San Francisco he's going to make a contact for me. Something I'd rather he did in person."
"About Rupert?"
"A couple of guys on the force owe me. Good friends. You remember Tom Wills and Jessie Parker."
"Of course. They were partners. Tom's wife teaches second grade."
"I'm giving them a list of the women I know Rupert was involved with. They can do a rundown on them, and on their husbands and boyfriends. Here's the list. Anyone you'd care to add? Or any facts that would help?"
The cats heard paper rattle, then a little silence. Then, "You were very thorough, all these years. I don't know half these names. Barbara Saunders? Darlene Renthke? June Holbrook? Martie Holland? I haven't a clue, I never heard of these women. My god. How many were there? And you never told me. This makes me feel so unclean. Well here are five I know, all right. And you can add Priscilla Bloom. She drives a little red Porsche with, very likely, marks from a tow chain on the rear bumper, and a citation on record for blocking traffic on the street in front of my house."
Dallas laughed.
"So Max will spend his honeymoon getting that line of the investigation started," Ryan said. "And on the way home, they'll swing through San Andreas to check on the Fargers? I'll bet Charlie's thrilled, having to cancel a dream voyage."
"I imagine they made that decision before they left the village. Doesn't matter," Dallas said. "Those two will have a long and happy honeymoon no matter where they are."
There was longer silence, broken by doggy chuffing as if someone was feeding the weimaraner doughnuts. Ryan said, "I feel so stupid not to have heard anything that night, not to have waked up. You're going to make him sick with doughnuts."
"Why don't you call Charlie on their cellular, see if she'll let you put up a fence out back. It's not the optimum yard but it'll do."
"I told you, I don't plan to keep him."
"Of course you'll keep him. I wouldn't want to try to take him away. When I touch him, you're jealous as a hen with chicks."
"Why does everyone in the family always know what I'm thinking! And what I intend to do!"
"He's a stray, Ryan. He's been abandoned. You going to take him to the pound, like you told Curtis? If he'd been lost, the owner would have been looking all over San Andreas for him."
She sighed. "You look tired. Have you eaten anything this morning besides doughnuts? Did you have breakfast?"
"Eggs and bacon. I'm fine. Davis took the evidence up to the county lab herself, the casts of footprints, the dried mud she bagged, the garbage. She wasn't happy with Bonner walking through the mud behind the garage. Between the gun and bloody rags in the trash, of course the footprints were important."
The cats had heard that before, that police officers were too often the biggest contaminators of a crime scene. Cops walking through the evidence, maybe in a hurry to apprehend a prowler. It just went to show, life wasn't perfect. What was a cop supposed to do, fly around on little angel wings?
"Davis did a good job photographing the prints," Dallas added. "She stayed out of the mud."
"You're stalling. Was it my gun that killed him?"
"It's Sunday, Ryan. I had to get a ballistics man off his fishing boat. He wasn't happy. The only reason I did was to keep from having to arrest you and set up an arraignment."
"If it wasn't my gun, you'd have told me right away."
"I'll have the full report tomorrow. But ballistics turned up enough to keep from booking you."
"What! It wasn't my gun? Why didn't you tell me!"
"The two bullets in your garage wall were fired from your gun, but ballistics doesn't think they killed Rupert. There was no blood or flesh on them."
"But how…? Those holes in the wall were so small. They couldn't be my loads, mine would have done more damage. The holes in the back of his head…" she said sickly. "What am I missing here?"
"Forensics says Rupert was shot at about six feet by a hard case thirty-eight bullet or maybe a thirty-two."
"But I load hollow points. You know that."
There was a long silence.
"What?" she said. "You know I load with hollow points."
Another silence. They heard the dog's toenails on the linoleum. Dallas said, "Are you sure of your load? Are you certain what you loaded?"
"Of course I'm sure."
Another heavy pause as if each word took great effort. "Your thirty-eight, registered to you, with your prints on it, was loaded with hard case. Four rounds and two empty cylinders."
"No. I loaded hollow point, that's all I use except on the range."
"Maybe you forgot to reload out there? Left the…"
"You know I use wad-cutters for practice. You know I wouldn't leave those loads in."
"Anyone can make a-"
"Didn't," Ryan said. "I remember reloading-with hollow point."
The cats well understood about hollow-point ammo and why Ryan used it. If she ever had to shoot in self-defense, a hard shell could travel an incredible distance, the bullet might go right through the intended and hit someone beyond. They'd read about such cases. But a hollow point would stop in the object or person hit, and would be more certain to halt an attacker-and that was what defensive shooting was about. The only reason Ryan would shoot someone was if her life were threatened and she had no choice.
"Someone not only took my gun from the locked glove compartment," she said in a shaky voice, "they reloaded it."
"You want the last doughnut?"
"Eat it. Don't give Rock any more, you know better."
"We searched every inch of the garage again, came back while you were with Hanni, went through every piece of that damned stuff you have stored down there. Did you ever think of taking that clutter to the dump?"
"That stuff's valuable, sooner or later I'll use every piece of those wonderful old details. I'll use it if I… if I'm still in the free world to use it."
"Come on, Ryan. Your prints weren't on the trigger of the Airweight, though it had been fired."
"Whose prints…?" she began excitedly.
"None. No prints on the trigger. Your prints were on the smooth parts of the grip and on the holster we took from the glove compartment."
"I cleaned the Airweight last week. Scotty and I spent the afternoon at the San Andreas range, while we were waiting for the plumber. Cleaned it, loaded it with hollow point and holstered it. I did not," she said as if Dallas was staring at her, "reload with practice ammo."