Page 154 of It Happened on the Lake

“Maybe it’s not so open and shut,” she said, lifting a page and scanning it, though he sensed it was for show, that she’d already read the case notes and autopsy report at least once. “The strange thing is that I checked the evidence room, hoping to find anything associated with the case.”

“And?” he hated to ask. Something in the gleam in her eye warned him.

“And the weapon’s missing.”

Rand felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten.

“Missing?”

“Uh-huh. No pearl-handled revolver anywhere to be found.” She took a long swallow of coffee. “What do you think about that?”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” She cocked her head. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

Her gaze told him she didn’t buy it.

“But there’s a record of who checked it out,” he said, his mind spinning. He didn’t want to think about Evan’s death. Ever.

“Yeah, I know. That’s just it. Back then, all the records were on sign-out cards. The card for Evan Reed’s case is missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yep.”

His stomach clenched.

“I talked to the officer in charge. Of course she’s as baffled as you are. But she’s only been at the desk for three years. And the officer before her?”

“Dead,” Rand said, remembering Fred Chambers and the stroke that took him out. “So what you’re telling me is that there’s no way to find out who was the last person to look in the file?”

“That’s about the size of it. It was way before we had cameras mounted near the evidence room.” She asked, “What about the old man’s death? What’s the story there?”

“What old man? You mean George Dixon?” he clarified.

“Yeah.”

“I think he died in a car crash. Single vehicle. The story was that he was drunk and had a stroke or something, driving home.” He thought back. “I was a teenager at the time, about to get my license, and my father sat me down, told me about it, and warned me about drinking and driving.”

“1965.” She was nodding.

“You think Harper was involved in that one, too?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. And this time she didn’t find the body. But, big surprise here, Gunderson didn’t have all of his facts straight. Yes, alcohol was involved. But it wasn’t a stroke but shock. Anaphylactic shock.”

“He was allergic to something?”

“Severely. Venom hypersensitivity. In layman’s terms, insect sting allergy,” she said, nodding, then glanced up, checking the clock. “Uh-oh. We’re already late for the morning briefing. Katz won’t like that. Let’s go.” But she didn’t wait for him, just finished her coffee in one swallow, then shot out the door as gung-ho as ever.

Rand tried to pull himself together.

Evan Reed’s death? She wanted to look into that, too?

Damn.

But it made sense, he supposed, because all the people she was talking about were connected. And at the center of the web?