Dayan looked sympathetic. “You guys were really lucky, you know that?”
“I think so.”
“You were up here on suspicion that Zeigler might have been murdered and his remains buried here?”
“That’s exactly right, Frank.”
“Why would he do it? Fulkerson, I mean?”
Estelle shifted position painfully. “Right now, we think that it has to do with Kevin Zeigler’s intent to negotiate with a private contractor for landfill services.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. I’m not. We think that on Tuesday, shortly after noon, the two of them met here, and that some sort of argument ensued.” She shrugged helplessly. “And that’s all we know.”
“Wow. I talked to the DA a bit ago. He said that he was really proud of the job you did.” Estelle didn’t respond, and Dayan added, “Is Bob going to be all right, do you think? I hear he’s a mess.”
Estelle reached out and touched Dayan on the arm in lieu of smiling. “You can quote me on that,” she said.
“We’re going to bring out a special edition as soon as we can,” Dayan said. “I think we can be on the streets tomorrow afternoon.”
“Have at it,” Estelle said. She looked toward the gate and saw the large figure of her husband crossing the landfill apron. “I don’t have a whole lot of time, but I’ll tell you everything I know for sure. But we need to talk fast. My ride’s here.”
“The girl,” Dayan said. “Carmen Acosta. Fulkerson attacked her?”
“We think so.” She pushed herself away from the Bronco. “We’ll be waiting on DNA confirmation of blood evidence left at the scene, Frank. Everything points that way, though. We think that Fulkerson returned Zeigler’s truck to his house. Carmen saw him.”
“So he tried to kill her?”
“Why not? He’d already killed once.”
“What about Bart Kurtz?”
“At this time,” Estelle said slowly, choosing her words with care, “Mr. Kurtz is not suspected of any involvement.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“That’s not what I said, Frank. Replay that little tape, there.” She patted his arm.
“Okay, let me get the basics now, and then maybe I can give you a call this afternoon?”
Estelle shook her head. “Phone won’t work, Frank. I’m on administrative leave. That’s standard procedure after a shooting. Talk to Captain Mitchell, or District Attorney Schroeder.” She turned as her husband reached them and let Francis envelop her in a gentle hug. “Come on,” she said to Dayan. “Walk with us to the car. I’ll tell you all I can. After that, talk with Eddie. He’s going to be running things for a while.” She paused in sudden inspiration. “Bobby should be coherent by this afternoon. He’d enjoy a visit.”
“The sheriff doesn’t talk to us,” Dayan said.
“Oh, he will, I think. Just tell him that if he doesn’t, Linda Real has some photos of him that she’ll let you have.”
Dayan looked both hopeful and surprised. “Really?”