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“Don’t even think of moving,” she told me.
I fumbled in my head for a few lines that might appeal to Mallinger’s gentler nature. The best I could come up with was “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Shut up.”
“See about Tapia,” I said.
Mallinger rushed to the front door of Fit to Print. Jace was kneeling next to Tapia’s body, hugging his shoulders and weeping. He was still holding the carton on his lap.
Mallinger took the place mats out of Tapia’s hands and set them aside. She opened Tapia’s jacket to examine his wounds. Only there were no wounds.
I watched as Mallinger sat back on her heels and contemplated the carton. She turned it in her hands. The bullets had gone in one side, but not out the other. She spun back to Tapia. She checked his pulse and smiled broadly. She began gently patting the back of his hands. Gradually, Tapia opened his eyes.
“What happened?” he said.
More statements. It seemed like I was making a lot of them lately, this time to Mallinger, an impossibly young county attorney, and a Nicholas County deputy with chevrons on his sleeve. With both Jace and Tapia backing me up, it was decided that I had probably not committed a crime, but I could be sure that all the parties involved would investigate thoroughly before they returned my gun. As Mallinger put it, “This used to be a nice, quiet town before you arrived, McKenzie.”
I carefully explained that the man who shot at us—whom I most likely shot in return, in case they wanted to check neighboring hospitals and emergency rooms—was named Norman—“I don’t know if that’s his first or last name”—and he was employed by Mr. Muehlenhaus of Minneapolis. Neither Mallinger nor the deputy tumbled to his name. But the eyes of the young county attorney grew wide and shiny. I knew phone calls would be made. I doubted that Norman would ever be found, much less arrested.
Kevin Salisbury, on the scene with his ubiquitous camera, had arrived before anyone else. He took photographs of Tapia, Fit to Print, the carton of place mats, Mallinger, the deputy and county attorney, assorted officers, me, and Jace—at least a half roll. Everyone gave him a statement but me. He was upset about that and reminded me that we had an agreement. I gave him a wink and a smile and brought my index finger to my lips in the universal sign of conspiracy. He whispered, “I’ll talk to you later.”
Eventually, Salisbury, the attorney, and the deputy left me alone in the parking lot of Fit to Print with Mallinger. The kids had been whisked off to Nick’s by Axelrod, where, he assured Tapia, a cure for whatever ailed him could and would be found. I would have liked to go with them, but I wasn’t invited.
I was cold and wet with slush and Mallinger asked me, “Are you satisfied?”
“Satisfied?”
“Do you have what you came here for?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“So you’ll be leaving us soon.”
Mallinger allowed me to take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips. I kissed her middle knuckle.
“I’m sorry I complicated your life,” I said.
“I’m a big girl. I can deal.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Who didn’t?”
“Barrett. He didn’t kill Elizabeth Rogers. Chief Bohlig and the Seven and the rest of Victoria—everyone jumped to a conclusion thirty years ago, and so did I this morning.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, Jack didn’t have a car. How could he have dumped Elizabeth’s body along the county road if he didn’t have a car?”
“An accomplice?”
“That would suggest premeditation and we know there couldn’t have been.”
“That’s thin, McKenzie. What’s the second reason?”
“The second is a lot more conclusive. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. Not unless it is absolutely essential and it isn’t because . . .”
“Because Barrett will never be charged, right?”
“Right.”
“You don’t want to embarrass the governor if you don’t have to.”
“That pretty much covers it.”
“Whatever it is that you know, it can’t possible be worse than the rumor that he killed a girl.”
“Sure it can.”
“How?”
“Because it’s not a rumor. Listen, I just wanted you to know that Barrett is innocent.”
“So it doesn’t haunt me that he got away with murder.”
“I like you, Danny.”
“I like you, too, McKenzie.”
“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened.”
“I’m not. At least not about everything.”
“I’d kiss you if we weren’t in public—a nice, long, noncomforting kiss, if you get my drift.”
“Maybe I should put the cuffs back on and drag you off to a holding cell.”
“Maybe you should.”
“McKenzie, if the governor didn’t kill Beth, who did?”
“I have some ideas about that.”
“Feel free to share.”
“What are you doing for dinner, tonight?”
“That depends. Am I going to be in uniform?”