His eyes on the pad as he quickly and neatly printed a list of names, Justin said calmly, "Then you might want to find out who ended up with Adam Ramsay's car."
NINETEEN
To get an answer from Justin unaccompanied by any religious or bombastic trimmings was so unexpected it took Miranda several seconds to respond. "There was no car registered to Adam Ramsay."
"That doesn't mean he didn't have one." Justin sent her a wry look "Seventeen-year-old boys might not be able to legally own cars, but surely you don't expect that to stop them. I imagine his father probably registered the car in his name."
"Adam's mother specifically said he didn't have a car. That's why we never looked for one."
"Julie Ramsay doesn't have the sense to raise a pup, much less a boy. There was a lot she didn't know about him."
"How do you know about the car?"
"Cars were my business, remember? I notice them. I remember them. His was a green '89 Mustang."
Miranda looked at Bishop, who said, "Why do you believe the car is important?"
"Because it's never turned up, I suppose. And because whenever I saw the boy around that car, I always thought there was something sly about him, something sneaky. I raised two of my own, and I can tell you that boy was up to something."
"Anything else? Anything definitive, I mean?"
Justin pushed the pad across the desk to Miranda. "If there was anything definitive, I expect you would have spotted it by now."
Miranda honestly didn't know if that was a dig at her, the investigation, Bishop, the FBI — or merely Justin's way of slamming all of them.
Justin got to his feet. "I assume I can go now?"
Miranda pressed the buzzer on her intercom and stood up. "There are a few things we need to check out. I'm going to ask you to wait in one of our interview rooms, Justin."
He scowled. "You mean a cell."
"No, I mean one of our interview rooms." She nodded to Carl, who'd opened her office door and stood waiting. "Carl will get you some coffee and whatever else you need to make yourself comfortable, and I'll talk to you again later."
Justin protested bitterly but had little choice except to accompany the burly deputy.
When they were gone, Bishop said, "What surprises me most is that he raised two sons."
"Neither of whom chose to stay and make a home in Gladstone," Miranda commented dryly.
"Now, that doesn't surprise me." Bishop smiled faintly. "You may have to move him to a cell eventually."
"And I can only hold him for twenty-four hours without charging him. After that, he's out of here. And our killer will know for certain we haven't taken the bait."
"Before that happens, we'll make sure Bonnie is protected. This is hardly the most interesting place for a teenage girl, but—"
"But," Miranda finished, "she's better safe and bored. I won't take the chance of leaving her out in the open much longer. Gossip's probably even more garbled, and Liz's murder will make her involvement look more likely than not, but..."
She'll be all right.
Yes. Yes, of course she will.
But on some level far deeper than thought, Miranda was afraid for Bonnie. Because of this flesh-and-blood killer walking among them and because of a spirit so desperate to live that it had nearly destroyed the first vulnerable psychic to cross its path.
Their killer was, as Bishop had said, the more immediate and direct threat, and Miranda was second-guessing herself every moment for not immediately having thrown a cordon of protection around her sister even if it did draw too much attention. She knew she wouldn't breathe easier until Bonnie was here under her eye, as safe as she could make her.
Except. . . Had Bishop realized, Miranda wondered, how it was tearing at her not to reach out with her shields and wrap Bonnie in psychic protection? It wouldn't protect her from a living killer, but it would protect her from a determined spirit intent on finding itself a living vessel in which to exist again.
It was a choice Miranda had made alone without talking to Bishop, but she knew he would have agreed, however reluctantly. She could not shore up her shields and extend them to protect Bonnie without psychically blinding herself — and now Bishop. And that was a possible edge they simply could not abandon if they were to prevent more murders.
Bonnie's own shields would have to be good enough to protect her, at least for the time being.
As they walked together to the conference room, Bishop said thoughtfully, "Interesting about the car, if it's true. It shouldn't take long to find out if Adam Ramsay's father did register one for him."
"I would say it's odd that nobody else mentioned a car, but we certainly didn't bring it up. Half the town could have noticed it at one time or another, and nobody said anything simply because we didn't ask the right question." Miranda shook her head. "His mother said there was no car, there wasn't one registered to him — so we never gave it another thought. Never asked anyone if they'd seen him driving or even knew that he owned a car."
"No reason you should have."
"Maybe, but — " Miranda broke off as the mayor appeared suddenly from the hallway leading to the front of the building. "John, what are you doing here?"
MacBride sighed heavily. "What do you think? Justin called me the minute your people showed up at his house."
Miranda looked at Bishop. "No wonder he wasn't eager to call his lawyer. He'd already brought in the big guns."
"You have to admire his consistency," Bishop said.
"Has he been arrested?" MacBride demanded. "Justin?"
"He's being held here while we check out a few things, that's all," Miranda replied calmly. "Certain evidence at the most recent murder scene points to him."
"Evidence? What evidence?"
"John, you know I can't discuss that with you. Look, if you want to talk to Justin, go ahead."
"Of course I don't want to talk to him," MacBride said hastily. "I wouldn't even have come if I hadn't needed to go to the office anyway. But. . . Liz gone . . . Jesus, I couldn't believe it. Surely you don't think Justin could have—"
"I think I have to investigate every possibility, John. That's what they pay me for." Her tone was perfectly polite, but she had made no effort to invite him to her office or to join them in the conference room. "And I'm glad you're here, it'll save me a phone call." She looked at the legal pad containing Justin's list. "You were at Liz's coffeeshop Saturday night, weren't you?"
"For a few minutes, yeah."
"Did you happen to see Justin's Bible?"
Startled, MacBride said, "His Bible? Well, since it's always with him, I imagine I did. But if you're asking me if I remember actually seeing it... then I can't say that I do."
Bishop sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that'll be everybody's response?"
"Because nothing's been easy so far," Miranda told him.
"I wouldn't mind a little easy about now."
"Neither would I, but we aren't likely to get it."
"No, I suppose not."
MacBride glanced from one of them to the other, his mouth twisting, but his voice was easy when he said, "Can we talk for a minute, Randy? In private, if Agent Bishop doesn't mind."
"I'll be in the conference room," Bishop said agreeably. He took the legal pad out of Miranda's hands and went on without waiting for a response.
"What is it, John?"
"I just wanted to know how you were," he said with a touch of awkwardness. "We've barely talked in the last week, and—"