“What are you…?” Her face was a model of incredulity. “Chris, this has really gone far enough.”
I watched his eyes as he did the calculus. She was a big campaign donor. Did he have enough of a lawman in him to let me finish?
He said, “You two can go. Deputy Mapstone and I will be in touch if there’s anything further.” He said it in the tone of a servant dishing out afternoon tea.
Diane stood and clutched her Barney’s handbag close. Zephyr didn’t.
She said, “What are you saving, David?”
“I’m saying that I found a booking photo of your mother from 1981. She was arrested for possession of heroin but the charges were dropped. It was a small amount. I showed this photo to three of Tom Frazier’s former colleagues and they are willing to testify that Diane was his girlfriend. They described her as hot, impulsive, beautiful, but couldn’t kick the brown sugar. They said Tom was crazy about her. He’d do anything for her. They identified her from the booking photo. The photo of you, Diane.”
“I…” She made herself stop and pursed her lips.
After a minute of silence, I pushed Tom’s photo toward her.
“He must have meant something to you, Diane, to have kept that wallet all these years. You were in that snapshot with Tom, weren’t you, Diane?”
“We’re leaving, Zephyr.” Diane patted Melton on the shoulder. “Thank you, Chris.”
Melton tried to lean in and scoop up the files but Zephyr stopped him.
“I want to know!”
I said, “Ask your mother what happened that night in the desert. Did they go out there to make love, and she talked him into trying the heroin, only she botched the dose? Or was it something more sinister? Maybe he was breaking up with you, Diane, and this was revenge.”
“Is this true, Mother?” Zephyr’s eyes were wide with anger.
“You can’t prove anything,” Diane said.
“If I could prove it at this point, I’d be reading you your rights. But it doesn’t look good. It must have been an awful thing to watch him die out there.”
Her large eyes filled with tears and they dropped heavily down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away.
“It’s up to the sheriff to continue this investigation,” I said. “I’ve always felt we owed it to the dead to make sure justice is done. Maybe he sees things differently.”
He glared at me and undid his top shirt button, pulling aside his tie.
I looked at him. “Zephyr came to me a few days ago with copies of checks her brother wrote to county officials. We used to call them bribes back when Mike Peralta was sheriff.”
“Diane told me to bring those,” she said. “Anyway, Chip is an ass.”
“I didn’t get it,” I said. “But I drink with lawyer friends at Durant’s and I learned that there’s a huge fight over Elliott Whitehouse’s estate. He left money to Zephyr, her brothers, and his former wife. He left nothing to Diane. Not a dime. She’s been fighting it in probate for a year.”
Zephyr said, “I didn’t know any of this…”
I gathered up the files. Then I brought them down between my hands with a hard smack, using the top of the desk to make them a neat stack. I slid a thick rubber band around them.
“If the sheriff got a subpoena, he might find that your father’s will has a morals clause. I don’t have any special knowledge here. Only questions. If Whitehouse were such a homophobe, would being a closeted gay breach the clause? Homicide certainly would. Elliott being officially implicated in the death of Tom Frazier, by no less than the Sheriff’s Office historian who worked for Mike Peralta. That would have been a neat package. What if that morals clause could be invoked to invalidate the will? That might give Diane a shot at the entire…”
“You son of a bitch.” Her voice was a whisper. “I was a good wife to him, all those years. All those slaps and punches he gave me when he was drinking.”
I shrugged and stood, gently lifted my portrait of Carl Hayden from the wall, and pulled out my badge case.
I looked at Melton.
“This is yours.” I set the badge on top of the files. “And those are yours, too.”
I zinged a black flash drive at him. His eyes widened but he caught it.
“Paperless office,” I said, and walked out.
“Mapstone, wait…”
I ignored Melton.
Instead, one more time, I took in the lovely hallway. I would so miss this place. But the price for being here was too high.
Footsteps, running behind me.
“David.” Zephyr fell in with me. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I might be wrong,” I said.
She put her arm around me and we walked, descending the wrought-iron staircase with its Spanish tile and ending up outside the building, before the Swilling fountain. The water bubbled and sang, rather like the east fork of the Verde in snow.
We stopped and faced each other.
“What should I do?” she asked, eyes exquisite and wounded and her mouth tilted toward mine.
I bent toward her and cupped her face with my hands. “Grow up.”
Epilogue
Lindsey is home now.
She spent more than three weeks in the hospital, fighting like a tiger to walk around the nurses’ station, go through in-patient physical therapy, and address all the difficult and messy stuff that people never think about. The docs and nurses sanitize it with jargon. Lindsey is a lady entitled to her privacy.
It is mid-February now. I always thought this was the sweetest month in Phoenix. Soon we’ll smell the citrus blossoms.
Lindsey sits outside while I work as her surrogate gardener. She’s not quite physically ready to be digging in the dirt. So it is up to me to plant the tomatoes and herbs, go to Whitfill’s for petunias and geraniums that will go in the sun and impatiens to fill the shady beds.
So I dig and plant, the timeless alluvial soil of the ancient river valley precious in my hands. My love watches and instructs.
Lindsey is back to her familiar long pageboy. She had her hair washed and cut the afternoon she was released from Mister Joe’s. Even once she was moved out of the ICU, the showers and haircuts offered by the hospital left much to be desired.
I take her to physical therapy twice a week. She works hard and gets stronger every day. It is amazing seeing the ways the body can heal itself. We are now able to walk to the end of the block and back without her using a cane. She is the bravest person I have ever known.
She can’t sleep on her stomach. Doctor’s orders. That had always been her favorite sleeping position.
The scars on her chest are healing nicely. She is much more conscious of them than I am. To me, she has never looked lovelier.
Her next goal is to get completely off pain meds so she can enjoy a martini. Next week, she promises.
Mike and Sharon visit every few days. Lindsey appreciates their kindness and I…well, for me it’s complicated. I have known and cared about them almost my entire adult life, long before I met Lindsey. But the lies told this time and their consequences ruptured something between us. We are finding our way back.
The office is closed. The private detective trade will have to wait awhile. In the meantime, we have given depositions about what happened in Payson. Amy Russell will be tried in federal court for the murder of Cartwright.
Melton has disappeared from my life. I have read nothing about Diane Whitehouse. For all I know, she will prevail in the fight for the estate, and Melton will keep his donor. At the least he can avoid humiliation by not pressing the case I began, the one he foolishly passed my way.
The one we failed was Tom Frazier. I think of him often and all the years I was allowed to live, years denied to him by what happened in the desert that long-ago night. I feel guilty when I look at the mountains to the west. As a historian, I can provoke memory. Absolution and benediction are beyond my means. So, apparently, is justice. I could try to take the case to the state attorney general, but he’s a friend and political ally of Melton. This is Arizona, at least for now.