The Dead List by Martin Crosbie

and he will, we’ll decide whether we’re going to charge him with anything. The trail from the dead man to the boys and then to Franco is too obvious. Nobody’s that stupid. This man wasn’t killed for his fifteen bucks and credit cards.”
    Sergeant Thiessen glanced around the room and then wrote something in his notepad, cupping it in front of himself so no one could see.
    Ryberg turned to Myron and asked him to relay details of his visit with Robinson’s mother.
    Myron looked up from his notes. He spoke in a tired, heavy voice and shook his head as though he’d failed. “This was not a productive interview, and it did not end well. Quite honestly, it was difficult to question her in depth about any details of her son’s life. There were no grief counselors available, so I was on my own with a uniformed officer. When I told her what had happened, she became very distraught, so we made a phone call to her minister. I allowed him to sit in on the questioning, but that really didn’t help. She kept breaking down. When I asked about her son’s habits, all she could tell me was that he occasionally enjoyed having a few beers with his friends at the pub. Every time I prodded for names or asked whether he owed any money to anyone or had any enemies, she started sobbing and couldn’t get the words out. She said she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him. She kept saying that she’s all alone now – without a husband or a son.”
    Sergeant Thiessen spoke up. “Minister’s name please, Corporal.”
    Myron gave the name of the local clergyman, and Thiessen nodded and wrote in his notebook, still cupping it close to his chest. “I know Greg, he’s a good man.”
    Ryberg took control again. “When do you think we can revisit – later today, or this evening perhaps?”
    Myron continued in his defeated, tired voice. “She was unintelligible when I left and could barely speak. This is a proud woman, but she fell apart when I told her the news. Her doctor was en route to see her. I think it may be some time before she’s any use to us, Sarge.”
    “Did her son have a suite in the house, or just his own area?”
    “It’s just a room. She cooked his meals, and they shared the rest of the house. Big house by the way, there’s money there for sure. She let me look at his room while she sat with the minister. There was nothing significant that I could see – some brochures for a car that I’ve never heard of were on his desk, a couple of pornographic magazines under the mattress, oh, and a bible in the drawer by his bedside.” The investigator deferred to his notes once again. “And she did not see her son that day at all. He told her the night before that he would not be home for dinner, and she wasn’t sure what he had planned to do after work. She didn’t even know if he had made it to his workplace.”
    Ryberg smiled. “Well, he did work yesterday. Constable Drake and I met with his manager. John, tell the group what we found.”
    The only other person who had called him by his first name since he’d arrived in Hope was Brandon Van Dyke, and that was just because he was unnaturally polite. He was Drake to everyone else. It felt unfamiliar, but he appreciated the effort the investigator was making, and now he understood why he hadn’t talked to him in the car about the question he’d asked the sales manager. He wanted to give him his moment of glory in front of the other policemen.
    Drake summed up the interview, relaying how Robinson’s sales had been down, and that his company vehicle was parked in the parking lot at the dealership. Ryberg interrupted to tell the group that he was having the car towed to the police impound yard so that the Ident team could analyze it. Then Drake told the other officers how the manager gave them a little more information at the end of the interview.
    “I recognized Parker, the sales manager, from my walk-throughs at the pub. I was pretty sure it was the