Deputy Badger made an additional note for himself and then tucked his little book in his pocket with the pencil in the coil of wire. “I guess that’s it then. I’ll pass this information on to the deputy works days.”
There was conversation outside the door and Rafer LaMott appeared. He shook hands with the deputy, who soon excused himself and disappeared down the hall. I could see Rafer’s wife out at the nurse’s station, her body language suggesting that she was well aware of his presence. I wondered if she’d called him herself. He looked freshly showered and shaved, natty in a pair of tan corduroy trousers and a soft red cashmere vest with a dress shirt under it. His expression was neutral. He put his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the wall. He looked like an ad in a menswear catalog. “Cecilia was tired so I told her to go on home. As soon as you’re finished here, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
ELEVEN
It was six A.M. by the time Rafer finally put me in the front seat of his car. The offer of a ride was as close to an apology as I was likely to get. No doubt his true motivation was to quiz me about the current state of my investigation, but I really didn’t care. The sun was not officially up and the early morning air was curiously gloomy. I was at a loss where to have him deliver me. I couldn’t bear the idea of being in the cabin by myself. I didn’t think Selma would be up at this hour and I couldn’t believe Cecilia would welcome my further company. As if reading my mind, Rafer said, “Where to?”
“I guess you better drop me at the Rainbow. I can hang out there until I figure out what to do next.”
“I’d like to check the cabin. I’ve got a print tech from Independence coming up at seven, as soon as he gets in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out your intruder left his prints.”
“Perform an exorcism while you’re at it. I don’t expect a good night’s sleep until I’m out of there.”
He glanced over at me. “You thinking about going home?”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since I arrived.” He was silent for a while, turning his attention to the road. The town was beginning to come to life. Cars passed us, headlights almost unnecessary as the sky began to alter in gradients from steel gray to dove. At one of the intersections, a restaurant called Elmo’s was ablaze with light, patrons visible through the windows. I could see heads bent over breakfast plates. A waitress moved from table to table with a coffeepot in each hand, offering refills. Out on the sidewalk, two women in sweatsuits were absorbed in conversation as they jogged. They arrived at the corner as the light turned red and began to run in place. We moved forward again.
Rafer finally spoke up. “Last time I had anything to do with a PI. guy claimed to be working a missingpersons case. I went to quite a bit of trouble to follow up, taking two days of my time to track his fellow down in another state. Turns out the P.I. lied to me. He was trying to collect on a bad debt. I was pissed.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. I began to rack my brain, trying to remember if I’d lied to him myself.
“You have a theory about last night’s attack?”
“I’m assuming this was the same guy who followed me from Tiny’s,” I said.
His gaze returned to the road. “I heard about that. Corbet made sure we got a copy of the report. I passed it on to the CHP so they could keep an eye out as well. Anything missing?”
“I didn’t even bother to look. I was too busy taking care of this,” I said, lifting my hand. “Anyway, I doubt the motive was theft. I think the point was to discourage my investigation.”
“Why?”
“You tell me. I guess he feels protective of Tom Newquist. That’s the best I can do.”
“I’m not convinced this has anything to do with Tom.”
“And I can’t prove it does so where does that leave us?”
“You could be mistaken, you know. You’re single and you’re attractive. That makes you a natural target-”
“For what? This wasn’t sexually motivated. It was plain old assault and battery. The guy wanted to cause me great bodily harm.”
“What else?”
“What else, what? There’s nothing else,” I said. “Here’s a question for you: Where’s Tom’s notebook? It’s missing. No one’s seen it since he died.”
He shot me a look and then shook his head blankly. I could see him casting back in his mind. “I’m trying to remember when I last saw it. He usually kept it somewhere close, but I know it’s not in his desk drawers because we cleaned those out.”
“The CHP officer doesn’t remember seeing it in the truck. It didn’t occur to him to look for it, but it does seem odd. I know it must irritate you that I’m pursuing the point-”
“Look. I was out of line on that. I get huffy about Selma. It has nothing to do with you.”
I could feel the distance between us easing. There’s nothing as disarming as a concession of that sort. “It may not be relevant in any event,” I said. “What’s the procedure on reports? Wouldn’t most of his notes have already been written up and submitted?”
“Possibly. He kept his own copies of every report in the particular file he was working. The originals are sent to the records section down in Independence. Reports are submitted at regular intervals. Newer officers seem to be better organized about this stuff. Old timers like me and Tom tend to do things when we get around to it.”
“Would there be any way to work backward by checking to see what reports were missing?”
“I don’t know how you’d do that and it wouldn’t tell you much. You’d have no way of knowing where he’d been and who he’d talked to, let alone the content of conversations. It’s not uncommon to have a file with a couple of reports missing . . . especially if he was working a case and hadn’t typed up his notes yet. Besides, all notes wouldn’t be incorporated, just the information he judged relevant. You might scribble down a lot of stuff that wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans when you get right down to it.”
“Suppose he was developing information on a case of his?”
“He probably was. It also might have been a case someone else had worked that he was reworking for some reason.”
“Such as?”
Rafer shrugged. “He might have picked up a new lead. Occasionally, there’s a case in the works where the information is sensitive . . . might be an informant in another state, or something to do with Internal Affairs.”
“My point exactly. I mean, what if Tom was privy to something he didn’t know how to handle.”
“He’d have told me. We talked about everything.”
“Suppose it concerned you?”
He made a little move that indicated agitation. “Let’s get off this, okay? I’m not saying we can’t talk about this further, but let me think about it some.”
“One more thing. And don’t get all testy on me. Just tell me what you think. Is there any possibility Tom might have been involved with another woman?”
“No.”
I laughed. “Try to keep your answer to twenty-five words or less,” I said. “Why not?”
“He was a deeply moral man.”
“Well, couldn’t that explain his brooding? A man with no conscience wouldn’t be at war with himself.”
“Objection, your honor. Purely speculative.”
“But Rafer, something was troubling him. Selma’s not the only one who saw that. I don’t know if it was personal or professional, but from what I gather, he was truly distressed.”
We pulled into the parking area between the Rainbow Cafe and the Nota Lake Cabins. Rafer put the car in park and then opened his door. “Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast. I got a daughter works here.”
I struggled with the handle and then gave up. I sat while he walked around the car and opened the door on my side. He even offered a helping hand as I emerged. “Thanks. I can see this is going to be a pain.”
“It’ll be good for you,” he said. “Force you to deal with your dependency issues.”
“I don’t have dependency issues,” I said stoutly.
He smiled in response.
He held the cafe door open and I entered ahead of him. The place was bustling, all men, clearly the stopping-off place of early risers, ranchers, cops, and laborers on their way to work. The interior was, as usual, overheated, and smelled of coffee, bacon, sausages, maple syrup, and cigarettes. The brown-haired waitress, Nancy, was taking an order from a table full of fellows in overalls while Barrett, behind the counter, was focused on a griddle spread with pancakes and omelettes in the making. Rafer took the lead and found us an empty booth. As we passed the intervening tables, I could see we were attracting any number of stares. I was guessing the jungle drums had already spread the news about my assailant.