"Would he have shot Carson?" Lindsey asked. "Because he was trespassing? But if he never went there…Or could someone…" She went very still, her body rigid, but she was still holding on to Joe.
"Did they find Carson 's backpack?" she said. "I guess there was no billfold, or they could have identified him. Did it look like he was robbed?"
"The backpack had been torn into," Dallas said, "the contents scattered, but apparently by animals."
"The paper said a bobcat."
Mike looked at her as if he wanted to hold and comfort her. Lindsey remained still, except for her left hand, where she was kneading Joe's shoulder too hard. He felt her shiver but then she seemed to take herself in hand and relaxed, watchful and waiting.
"Now that we have an ID on Carson," Dallas said, "this is no longer a cold case. Our department will be handling it in cooperation with Oregon."
She nodded, gripping Joe harder.
"There's something else," Dallas said. "The deputies found a second backpack."
Again her hand clutched Joe so tightly he had to stop himself from slashing out at her.
"A backpack," Dallas told her as gently as he could, "containing a woman's clothing and makeup kit."
"I see," she said softly. "Then if he was shot…did a woman shoot him?" She gripped Joe so hard that he wondered if a cat could record these reactions as accurately as a lie detector. There were cat therapists for the ill and lonely. Why not cat interrogation assistants?
"Can they identify the gun?" she asked hesitantly.
"They haven't found a gun," Dallas said patiently. "They've sent the bullets to ballistics, to record the rifling, but they have no gun to match them to. Did Carson own a gun?"
"He never mentioned one. He never talked about guns, and I never saw one."
"Would you have any idea of a gun that might have been used?"
She shook her head.
"Do you have a gun? Have you ever owned one?" Dallas asked.
"I've never…I guess I'm a little afraid of guns."
Dallas was quiet for a long time. Mike sat, watching them, his expression unreadable.
"One other thing," Dallas said, rising and coming around the desk. He handed her the plastic-wrapped letter. "Do you recognize this? Have you ever seen this?"
She turned the plastic over and back again, examining the letter within; it was addressed to her. As she read the handwriting through the clear plastic, so did Joe Grey.
"It's written to me, to my name, but I never received this. This is dated just after Carson disappeared. Have you had it all this time? Do you have the envelope? Why would…" She looked up angrily at Dallas. "Why didn't someone do something about this? This might have saved his life!"
Her left hand was trembling against Joe. "Who sent this? Why did no one show me this?" She studied the printing with rising anger. "Why wasn't I shown this when Carson disappeared?"
"We didn't know about it," Dallas said. "It was brought to us today."
She looked again at the date. "But where has it been? For nearly ten years! My God. If I'd received this and brought it to you, Carson might still be alive. If you didn't have it, where was it?" She withdrew her hand from Joe, balling it into a fist, pressing her fist to her mouth. She was silent for a very long time. Neither Mike nor Dallas showed any expression.
At last she seemed to gather herself. When she looked up again at Mike and Dallas, her voice was uncharacteristically harsh. "Ryder?" she said. "Did Ryder give you this?" She looked from Mike to Dallas. "Ryder gave you this. But why? Why didn't she bring it to you then? Why would she keep it all these years? She knew? Ryder knew where he was? All this time?"
Dallas shook his head. "Ryder said she'd just found it. You're sure you've never seen it?"
"No," she said, her voice catching again. "No, never."
"This is a fresh investigation now," Dallas said more gently. "And very likely a murder case. You'll need to expect this kind of questioning, and more, until it's resolved."
She nodded and sat quietly.
"Would you feel like going over the file now?" he said. "Over the things we need to clarify?"
"Yes." She swallowed. "That's fine."
Easing back into the leather cushions and pulling Joe gently up into her lap as if for support and comfort, she glanced at Mike and reached to take his hand. Behind the desk, Dallas leaned forward.
"Carson Chappell and Ray Gibbs were equal partners in Chappell and Gibbs?" he said, taking a new and different tack.
"Yes, equal partners."
"And you worked for them?"
"Yes, until Carson disappeared. Afterward, I couldn't stay there, it was too painful. After a few months, I left the firm. Later that year I started my own accounting business."
"When Chappell didn't return, what happened to the firm?"
"After twelve months the court put Carson 's half into a trust for Irene, his mother, in case he should reappear. Irene Chappell became the silent partner, and Ray Gibbs ran the firm."
The detective knew all this, as did Mike. Joe had seen it all in the file. Was Dallas giving her a breather from the more painful questions? Or did he think that even these straightforward questions might trip her up? Was he checking her story from ten years ago against what she'd choose to tell him now? This was not only Dallas 's case, now, but an interdepartmental, interstate investigation.
"And Ray Gibbs seemed to manage the firm in a professional way?"
"No," she said quietly. "After Carson disappeared, Ray didn't run the business well. That was another reason I left, I didn't like to see that. He let things go, little details that soon multiplied into problems. I heard much of that from employees with whom I stayed in touch.
"Finally," she said, "Irene's trustees forced Ray to sell his share. Under the trust agreement, she had the right of first refusal. She bought the business and created a new trust to manage it, using the same three trustees. Her health wasn't good, she had diabetes with several complications, and her trustees hired someone new to run the firm."
"And the trustees were?"
"George Walker, who was a local bank president; Alan Seamus, who managed one of the golf courses; and her attorney, Marvin Wells."
Dallas nodded, scanning the notes in the file. "And the manager they hired? How did he do?"
"Apparently, only passably well. About a year later, the trustees liquidated the business. I was in L.A. by then."
"And you had no share in the business at that time?"
"I never did, I'd been only an employee."
"How much did Irene get for the business?" Dallas said. "And where is she now?"
"She died last year, you must know that, Detective. She was an old, sick woman. I don't know how much she got, I was in L.A. "
"The original interview says she was very fond of you. When she died, how much did she leave you?"
"She didn't leave me anything," Lindsey said, stiffening. "Except for Carson 's personal belongings, which I don't think are of any monetary value. I was fond of her, and when I lived in the village we had lunch now and then. But we didn't talk about personal business, certainly not about money. She was a very private person."
Joe supposed that, after Carson disappeared, the department had checked Lindsey's bank accounts and net worth. He knew Dallas would now do that again.
Soon Dallas finished with his questions, checked his watch, and rose. Shoving some papers in his briefcase, he told Lindsey he had an appointment, thanked her for coming in, nodded to Mike, and left the office.
Mike and Lindsey remained only a few minutes, idly talking, and then followed Dallas out. Joe thought Mike should be more relaxed with her now, since he wasn't running an investigation, but instead he seemed ill at ease.
But then, as Joe followed them up the hall, Mike said, "You want to have dinner tonight? Maybe Lupe's Playa-if you still like Mexican?" And Joe didn't know whether to read romance into the question, or whether Mike wanted to pursue more questions on his own, or whether he had doubts, maybe new ones, that kept him operating in cop mode.