I knew all of this from my trips to India, but I’d never taken the time to teach my stepdaughter Indian table etiquette.
“Cool,” Tessa said. She began to eat with her fingers. Out of instinct, she used her left hand.
Cheyenne smiled. “But always use your right hand.”
A slightly offended look. “What about left-handed people?”
“Well,” I said. “Indians use their left hands for other… chores.” I kept my description purposely vague, hoping Tessa would be able to fill in what I left unsaid.
“Chores?”
Cheyenne leaned forward and said softly, “Most rural villages don’t have adequate sewer systems, so the people don’t use toilet paper.”
Stunning dinner conversation, this was.
“What do they…?”
“Water. They wash.”
Tessa stared at her plate. “Well, that’s informative.” I sensed that she was about to ask a follow-up question, but she held back and instead wiped her fingers on a napkin.
All three of us ate for a few minutes, then Cheyenne swallowed some of her vegetable curry and asked Tessa, who was now eating with her right hand, “So what did they look for?”
“Who?”
“The Indian authorities.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Tessa punctuated by stabbing a finger into the air. “Timing and location.”
“Just like Patrick,” said Cheyenne admiringly.
“Not exactly-” I began.
“Yes,” Tessa said. “Just like Patrick.”
What has gotten into her?
“They studied how far a person could travel on foot at night, and then reduced the search area to include only those villages within that radius.”
She alternated between taking bites of her dinner and expounding on her answer. “Then they evaluated the most likely travel routes, studied land use patterns, and compared those to the proximity of the crimes and reduced the suspect pool even more. Finally, they considered the culture and traditions of the region.”
“Culture and traditions?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yes. They knew that the men in the gangs wouldn’t attack members of their own caste, so that eliminated even more suspects. At that point they started to look for physical evidence, eyewitness identification, confessions, etc… But they started by looking at timing and location.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed. Where did you learn all that?”
Tessa pointed her gooey, rice-covered fingers at me. “Patrick’s books. They’re very engaging and informative. Well-researched too.”
OK, this was just ridiculous.
I was about to explain that any investigator could have figured out the same approach by just using logic and rational deduction, but Tessa shoved her chair back from the table. “Well. I think I need to use the little girls’ room.” She paused, then said, “Um, they do have-”
“Yes,” Cheyenne said. “They do here.”
“Perf.”
Tessa wove between the tables on her way to the restroom, and I just shook my head. “I have no idea what’s going on with her tonight. I’m really sorry.”
“For what?”
“She’s not usually like this. Most of the time she’s a lot less. .. um, forthcoming.”
“She’s proud of you, that’s all.” Cheyenne took a drink, then set down her lassi. “I like her. She’s got spunk.”
“Yes,” I said. “Spunk.”
We ate for a few minutes, then I set down my fork. “Cheyenne, let me ask you something.”
“Yes?” She took a small bite of her vegetables.
“Back at the barn when you shot the chain…” I took a moment to collect my thoughts so it wouldn’t sound like I was questioning her judgment. She chewed her food. Swallowed. Waited for me to go on.
“Why didn’t you shoot it when you were beside me? You know, before the horse started running. It seems like that would have been a much easier shot than hitting a three-centimeter-wide chain from a galloping horse.”
“You’re right. It would have been easier.”
“So then, why?”
She took one last bite of her meal, then slid her plate toward the middle of the table and dipped her fingers into the small metal bowl of water that the server had provided for patrons to clean their fingers. “I would have needed a few extra seconds to aim, but the fire was spreading so fast I didn’t want to chance it. I wasn’t confident the horse would make it if I waited.”
That seemed to make sense, but I got the impression there was still something more she wanted to say.
“On the horse it was all instinct,” she explained. “That’s the way I work best-gut instinct. A person can overthink things, you know.” In the amber light of the restaurant she looked more attractive than ever. “You trust your head, Pat, and I admire that. I trust my gut.”
The ambient sounds in the restaurant seemed to fade away. “And what’s your gut telling you right now?”
A gleam in her eye. “That it’s hungry for dessert.”
Then she let her gaze drift past my shoulder as Tessa reappeared from behind me and plopped into her chair. “Did you say dessert?”
“That’s right. As soon as you two are finished.”
While Tessa and I worked at our meals, Cheyenne told her about some of the horses she’d owned over the years, and considering Tessa’s love for animals, I could see that Cheyenne was making a new friend.
At last Tessa took one final bite, swished her fingers clean, and looked brightly at me. “I’m hungry for tiramisu. They don’t make Indian tiramisu, do they?”
“Not usually,” I said.
Cheyenne eased back from the table and stood. “Tiramisu sounds perfect. Let’s go.”
61
Even though she should have been expecting him, when Reggie showed up at the safe house after working a crime scene “in the mountains,” it annoyed Amy Lynn. She’d been hoping he would stay at their home, leave her some space to work. Typical for their marriage-she was always looking for more space, he was always looking for more of “an intimate connection.”
“You doing all right?” he asked after the two federal agents stationed in the house had stepped into the other room.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He picked up Jayson, lifted him playfully above his head. “You sure you want to be here?”
“It’s been good.”
And it had been. She’d been able to throw something together for her weekly column and fudge her way through the steroids piece in time for her four o’clock deadline. Then she’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening researching the killer. And even though she hadn’t found any leads on John’s identity after looking through the entire Denver News staff and freelance contributors directory as well as the other local newspaper, TV, and radio station staff listings, she was confident she would, given a little more time.
Jayson giggled as Reggie lifted and lowered him. “Maybe after I put this little rascal to bed we can, you know, spend some time together.”
“I’m not a wascal!” Jayson said with a playful smile.
“Mmm, that’d be nice,” Amy Lynn said, but her thoughts were somewhere else.
A few minutes later while Reggie was in the bedroom tucking Jayson in, she went online and researched websites of true crime publishers. Ideally, she would have been writing a series of articles for the Denver News about the killer, but since Rhodes wouldn’t give her permission to work on the story and the execs were trying to play it safe, she decided on a slightly different approach.
There were other ways to scoop a story than just through print media.
In fact, posting it online would give her a bigger audience, more exposure, and she could update the information more quickly. Plus it would help her stay ahead of the other news outlets. Keep her out front.
Of course, she would need to write it anonymously or under a pseudonym, but eventually, when the time was right she would reveal her true name.
She was at her computer when she heard Reggie’s footsteps. The article was not something she wanted him to see, so she quickly minimized her Internet browser.