hand. It cost a hundred bucks to get back to the hotel, but he got to ride in an old Trans Am. The whole way, Elliott watched out the back window, but nobody seemed to follow.
Once in his room, he bolted his door and left a message on the rental-car company’s tape. He could take a shuttle to the airport. Let them deal with their vandalized car.
It’s him, he kept thinking. He’s letting me know. He wants me to shut up and go home.
Fingers shaking, he called downstairs for the shuttle number.
5
SATURDAY, AN INDIAN-SUMMER DAY: NINA wore hiking shorts and a tank top to the office, with a light sweater in deference to the changeable season. At least she could pretend she wasn’t working. And, indeed, she would be shopping at Costco at the foot of Spooner Pass that afternoon. With any luck, she and Bob could also take a quick hike around Spooner Lake late in the afternoon to take in what remained of any fall foliage.
Sandy had already come in and brought along Nina’s new investigator. Wish Whitefeather, Sandy ’s son, stepped forward shyly, waiting for his hug.
“I heard you needed a real pro.” He smiled, white teeth a bright contrast to the brown of his skin. At six-four, a hundred sixty pounds, Wish was all smile and big nose. He had gone back to his old ponytail and familiar denim shirt, but he had passed through the difficult late-teen years and now, entering his twenties, his face had toughened and his body, once so gangly, had knitted itself together. He had finally finished his criminal-justice program and, only a month earlier, received his license to work as a private investigator in California.
He was an old friend and Paul’s assistant. Wish had worked down in Monterey with Paul for a few months but decided he missed the mountains and his family too much, so he had come home to roost and start his own business. Wish didn’t have Paul’s experience, but he was tireless and devoted. Paul, the master, had trained him well.
They sat down at the conference table, Paul’s absence as active as a poltergeist in the room. But lovers break up, and they don’t often work together afterward, and Nina had high hopes for Wish. She knew how important he considered the work, and how excited he was.
“Mom already gave me the files,” Wish said. Sandy nodded. “I have some ideas.”
“Go ahead,” Nina said.
“Point one, the obvious thing, we find out who shot Sarah Hanna two years ago, locate the individual, and collect evidence against him. But at the moment, we don’t have a description. We don’t have anything on this individual. Our client doesn’t seem to remember a thing about him.”
“Except that he was masked.”
“Right, even though this all happened in October, he wore the good old ski mask. Except at Tahoe it doesn’t look totally crazy, even in early fall. People just think he’s some skidoggy who rents helicopters to take him to the top of Job’s Peak or some other ten-thousand-footer so he can keep skiing through spring and maybe even into summer.”
“The shooting happened after midnight,” Sandy reminded him. Sitting across the table from him, she took computer notes just in case something important was said. “It can get cold any time of the year.”
“My point is that anyone seeing this individual on the street wouldn’t automatically call 911, not up here in the mountains,” Wish said.
“He entered the parking lot of the Ace High,” Nina said, “and probably slipped on the mask then. The motel clerk was instant-messaging her boyfriend in Thailand from the cybercafe next door, so nobody saw him.”
“Except the three individuals he proceeded to rob, who gave fake IDs to the motel to start with, and split in a hurry. I recommend we start with the witnesses.”
“Be my guest,” Nina said. “Book ’em, Danno.”
“If the police couldn’t find them, where do we start?” Sandy asked.
“First, we contact the authorities. Try Sergeant Fred Cheney of the South
Once in his room, he bolted his door and left a message on the rental-car company’s tape. He could take a shuttle to the airport. Let them deal with their vandalized car.
It’s him, he kept thinking. He’s letting me know. He wants me to shut up and go home.
Fingers shaking, he called downstairs for the shuttle number.
5
SATURDAY, AN INDIAN-SUMMER DAY: NINA wore hiking shorts and a tank top to the office, with a light sweater in deference to the changeable season. At least she could pretend she wasn’t working. And, indeed, she would be shopping at Costco at the foot of Spooner Pass that afternoon. With any luck, she and Bob could also take a quick hike around Spooner Lake late in the afternoon to take in what remained of any fall foliage.
Sandy had already come in and brought along Nina’s new investigator. Wish Whitefeather, Sandy ’s son, stepped forward shyly, waiting for his hug.
“I heard you needed a real pro.” He smiled, white teeth a bright contrast to the brown of his skin. At six-four, a hundred sixty pounds, Wish was all smile and big nose. He had gone back to his old ponytail and familiar denim shirt, but he had passed through the difficult late-teen years and now, entering his twenties, his face had toughened and his body, once so gangly, had knitted itself together. He had finally finished his criminal-justice program and, only a month earlier, received his license to work as a private investigator in California.
He was an old friend and Paul’s assistant. Wish had worked down in Monterey with Paul for a few months but decided he missed the mountains and his family too much, so he had come home to roost and start his own business. Wish didn’t have Paul’s experience, but he was tireless and devoted. Paul, the master, had trained him well.
They sat down at the conference table, Paul’s absence as active as a poltergeist in the room. But lovers break up, and they don’t often work together afterward, and Nina had high hopes for Wish. She knew how important he considered the work, and how excited he was.
“Mom already gave me the files,” Wish said. Sandy nodded. “I have some ideas.”
“Go ahead,” Nina said.
“Point one, the obvious thing, we find out who shot Sarah Hanna two years ago, locate the individual, and collect evidence against him. But at the moment, we don’t have a description. We don’t have anything on this individual. Our client doesn’t seem to remember a thing about him.”
“Except that he was masked.”
“Right, even though this all happened in October, he wore the good old ski mask. Except at Tahoe it doesn’t look totally crazy, even in early fall. People just think he’s some skidoggy who rents helicopters to take him to the top of Job’s Peak or some other ten-thousand-footer so he can keep skiing through spring and maybe even into summer.”
“The shooting happened after midnight,” Sandy reminded him. Sitting across the table from him, she took computer notes just in case something important was said. “It can get cold any time of the year.”
“My point is that anyone seeing this individual on the street wouldn’t automatically call 911, not up here in the mountains,” Wish said.
“He entered the parking lot of the Ace High,” Nina said, “and probably slipped on the mask then. The motel clerk was instant-messaging her boyfriend in Thailand from the cybercafe next door, so nobody saw him.”
“Except the three individuals he proceeded to rob, who gave fake IDs to the motel to start with, and split in a hurry. I recommend we start with the witnesses.”
“Be my guest,” Nina said. “Book ’em, Danno.”
“If the police couldn’t find them, where do we start?” Sandy asked.
“First, we contact the authorities. Try Sergeant Fred Cheney of the South
Similar Books
