High Country Nocturne - [31]

“I know.”

“Maybe it’s for the best, give you a distraction during the wait for Lindsey. And she is not dying, David.”

She squeezed my hand.

“I remember when you left Phoenix to become a professor,” she said. “We were all young then. You would visit us at Thanksgiving and Mike would always try to convince you to come back to the Sheriff’s Office. And he finally got you and everything seemed right.”

“I failed in academia and my first marriage. He took pity on me.”

“You didn’t fail,” she said. “You put your skills to their best use. You solved the first case, where the woman got off the train and disappeared?”

I nodded. “Rebecca Stokes. She was a victim of a serial killer that had never been identified before.” If anything, the victims deserved for us to remember their names.

“And you sure didn’t fail personally,” she said. “Patty was never right for you. Here, you met Lindsey and you were a big success clearing old cases.”

Then her tone changed. “I’m not sure this PI business is good for either of you. This violence…” She shook back her hair and stared down the dim hallway. “It’s worse than when you both were at the Sheriff’s Office. When Mike lost the election, he could have become a consultant, pulled down six figures, and never worn a gun again.”

“I know.”

“Why did he want to become a private eye? Why did you go with him?”

I didn’t answer.

“It started with your first case, that girl that was murdered in San Diego. When the bad guys took Mike prisoner, you killed both of them.”

“They drew on me.”

“And there was no other way? No other way to de-escalate the situation.”

“No. Have you ever had a gun in your face?” I forced my voice back to normal. “Civilians think you can shoot the gun out of their hands or divert the poor misunderstood person into social services.”

“I’m hardly a civilian, David. I lived with a cop for forty years…”

“With a break here and there.”

She smiled weakly.

“Anyway, they were domestic terrorists. I’m all out of compassion considering what they did, and what they would have done if we hadn’t stopped them.”

I couldn’t tell her the rest of the story, how I had called in Mike’s old friend Ed Cartwright, an undercover FBI agent who lived out in the desert and sold weapons to the survivalist crowd and gangs. He was a full-blood Apache and in their twisted way they trusted him as the Noble Savage. Cartwright took the gun I had used and made me leave, saving me trouble from the police. I wasn’t a deputy anymore.

“David, promise me your first reaction won’t be violence.”

I promised. There were too damned many promises out there.

After another dozen steps in silence, she said, “Why don’t you go back to teaching? When this is all over. Lindsey could do anything with computers. It would be a good life for you both. And Mike could become a consultant.”

I said, “That sounds like bargaining.”

“I’m not on the clock. Psychologists are human, too.”

“So you’re telling me you had no idea he was going on this diamond run?” Even I was surprised at how quickly I had shifted gears.

“I already told you, no.” Her voice had an edge and she dropped my hand.

“But he calls you on the phone. He says I need to watch my ass. Something went wrong.”

“David, if I had realized that he meant you and Lindsey would have this woman show up at your door, of course I would have…I’m not a goddamned mind reader here. He’s not exactly the most forthcoming man in the world. He doesn’t talk about his work. What did he tell you about the diamonds?”

“Nothing.”

“And now he’s gone and he’s in trouble.”

We reached the expansive new lobby, where a janitor was running a floor-polishing machine. Such a pleasant job, nobody shooting at you.

I asked if the FBI was still outside their house.

“Two SUVs,” she said, “and a Crown Vic that tailed me all the way here. I’m very safe, David. I have a Glock 26 subcompact in my purse. Why wasn’t the FBI watching your house?”

I shook my head.

I told her that Strawberry Death was somehow connected with her husband and the diamond theft. She had first appeared after the crime, when we were on our way to Ash Fork.

“That was the DPS officer?”

“Yes. Same woman. This was not a coincidence. When she confronted me on the front lawn, she said, ‘Where are my stones?’ She said she’d made Mike a promise. What the hell does that mean?” I described her and asked Sharon if she remembered Peralta mentioning anyone like that.

“Does she sound like anyone you know? Anyone you remember seeing?”

“No, David. Why are you badgering me?” She started crying again, but when I reached out she pushed my hand away. “I’m trying to help you. I think I understand the stress you’re under but you need to let the FBI and the police do their job.”

“Well, the FBI is officially labeling Mike an armed fugitive.”

“That’s absurd!”

“I believe that. I think he’s working undercover. But if he is, this new Special Agent in Charge doesn’t know about it or he’s a damned good liar.”

I didn’t know who to trust. I said, “You need to go back to the Bay Area. It’s not safe here. This woman who shot Lindsey deliberately came after me. She’s still out there. You are probably next on her list.”