Page 82 of Deadline

“His or whoever’s. To have delivered a blow that vicious, the perp wanted her dead, no question. But we haven’t determined why.” He motioned them through another turn. “Almost there.”

He went ahead of them and stopped in front of a door with a square window in the top half of it. In order to reach it, Amelia had to take what seemed the longest walk of her life. Then, for several moments after coming even with the door, she couldn’t bring herself to look.

Finally, Tucker prompted her. “Ms. Nolan? Do you recognize him?”

She took a deep breath and turned her head toward the window.

He was sitting at a table, talking to Deputy Wills. Just as Stef had described him, he had a beard. Elaborate tattoos extended from his wrists up into the short sleeves of his shirt. His hair was buzzed so short, it showed up as more of a shadow over his scalp.

She fell back against the wall and expelled a gust of breath. “It’s not him.”

Dawson and Headly moved up to the window to take a look.

Tucker was completely flummoxed. “Not who? Who’d you expect?”

Feeling profoundly foolish, she stammered, “I thought…thought if I saw him, I might recognize him, but I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve never seen this man before. I apologize for wasting your time, Deputy Tucker. But, please, keep me informed on the progress of your investigation. I want you to catch the person who killed Stef.”

“We’ll catch him.” He hitched his thumb toward the one-way window. “Maybe we already have. We combed Miss DeMarco’s clothing and your car for trace evidence. Collected some. Everything’s been sent to the lab.”

“A lot of people have ridden in my car. I have two little boys who track things in.”

“I’m aware of that. Would you be opposed to supplying us with hair, saliva swabs from the three of you?”

“Of course not.”

He looked at Dawson. “You, too.”

Dawson held up his hands in surrender. “Anytime.”

“May not be necessary,” Tucker said, somewhat grudgingly. “I’ll let you know.” Coming back to Amelia, he said, “I hate that you’re being put through this. Especially after, well, I know what you went through when…Your husband, and all. You testified at Strong’s trial this morning, right?”

“Yes. It’s over now.” She paused a beat. “I don’t think I can find my way out.”

He took the hint, and they retraced their path through the intersecting corridors. Tucker went as far as the lobby door with them. Holding it for her, he thanked her again for coming. With escape in mind, she walked toward the exit. Dawson stayed even with her. Headly followed.

Dawson’s theory had been debunked. The possibility of Jeremy’s still being alive was just so much hooey. Dirk Arneson wasn’t a reincarnation of Jeremy. Jeremy hadn’t seduced and then murdered Stef. He hadn’t lifted photos from beneath her doormat or repaired a beach ball. He wasn’t monitoring her every move. He wasn’t a threat. He was dead. It was preposterous to think otherwise.

So why didn’t she feel vastly relieved?

Because even though the matter should have been settled the instant she laid eyes on Dirk Arneson, it didn’t feel settled. Instinctively she knew there was something she was missing. Something vital. She felt it simmering between the two men, who were talking to each other in a furtive manner that made her pause just as she was about to push open the exit door.

&n

bsp; She caught Headly asking Dawson, “Disappointed or glad?”

“You tell me. They’re your obsession.”

Abruptly she turned to face them. They drew up short and ceased talking. She gave each of them a hard look, growing angrier with each loud tick of Dawson’s saucer-sized wristwatch. Looking him square in the eye, she said, “It’s time you explained to me just what the hell is going on.”

Chapter 15

Dawson and Headly followed her in Headly’s rental car to a restaurant that was preparing for its lunch trade. A line had already formed for people who desired tables, but they secured a small round one in the bar, which was separate from the restaurant. It was quieter and dimly lighted. The darkness provided a sense of privacy and fit their somber mood.

Amelia and Headly ordered iced tea. “Bourbon on the rocks,” Dawson told the waitress, and when she moved away to fill the order, he read the censure in two pairs of eyes. “I went cold turkey on the pills. Cut me some slack.”

No one said anything until after they’d been served. Headly stirred two packets of artificial sweetener into his tea. Dawson rattled the ice in his drink, then took a sip. He noticed that Amelia didn’t touch her glass, but kept her hands clasped together in her lap as though holding on for dear life. In that small, quiet way, she was bracing herself. Dawson doubted the measure would be sufficient for what was coming.

Headly folded his forearms on the edge of the table and leaned slightly toward her. “Have you ever heard of Golden Branch, Oregon?”