“Lincoln Perry and Joe Pritchard,” Scott said as she strode toward us. “I’ll be damned. I remember when you used to be with the good guys.” She eyed the corpse. “Now it doesn’t look that way, does it?”

“Unfortunately, we didn’t kill him,” Joe said.

“That’s what all the murderers say.” She dropped into a crouch beside the body as I had done and studied Hartwick carefully, shaking her head and making a soft clucking noise with her tongue, like a scolding mother. Eventually, she got back to her feet and looked at me.

“Long time, eh, Perry?”

“Too long,” I said with mock sincerity. “I’ve missed you, Janet.”

“I’ll bet. Let’s see, when was the last time I saw you?” She frowned and looked at the sky as if she were trying to recall something. “Oh, right, shortly before you beat up one of the city’s most prominent lawyers and got axed for your stupidity.” She smiled sweetly. “How could I have forgotten?”

“It’s funny how easily things can slip your mind,” I said. The lawyer had been involved with my fiancée, and I’d been drunk at the time, but basically she had the facts right.

“So what have you been doing since then, Perry?”

“Working as a massage therapist in Belgium. I just got back to the States today.”

She gazed at me with unfriendly eyes. “Don’t get too cute, Perry. I’ve got all night to deal with you. And, thanks to your pal on the pavement, it looks like it’ll be a long time before you get to sleep.”

She turned away then and went to consult with Eggers. The medical examiner had arrived now to deal with the corpse. I looked back down at Hartwick and swore softly. He’d been ready to talk. Ready to do some answer-sharing, as he’d put it. Now he’d never share any answers with anyone. Someone had been awfully afraid of what Hartwick knew. It was up to us to find out what that had been.

CHAPTER 12

IT TOOK Scott ten hours to turn us loose. She held us at the scene for a while, and then she had some of the uniforms take us to the station to wait for questioning. We were there the rest of the night. Scott pressed us for details about Hartwick, but we didn’t have much to provide. Kinkaid told her he knew Hartwick only as Wayne Weston’s friend, and he didn’t mention Hartwick’s involvement with weapons smuggling. Joe and I admitted we’d come across Hartwick while working on the Weston matter. Scott’s eyes lit up at that news, and I knew she was dreaming of the headlines and prestige that would come with the case. I also knew she wasn’t going to see any of it. The FBI was calling the shots on it now. Even though the Hartwick murder was under CPD jurisdiction, they’d keep Scott out of the loop and away from the Weston case, no matter how intertwined the two seemed.

For a while Scott tried to bluff as if we were suspects in the murder. Probably she thought she could scare us into giving up more details about Hartwick. It was a stupid ploy, considering Hartwick had been taken out at long range with a rifle. They questioned us separately and then brought us together for more rehashing. After that session, Kinkaid left to go to the restroom, and Scott left to make a phone call, leaving Joe and me alone with Eggers.

“Hey, Tim,” I said, “you might want to check out Kinkaid.”

He frowned. “You think he shot the guy?”

Joe looked at me, too, eyebrows raised. I shook my head. “I don’t think he shot Hartwick, but I do think it would be worth taking a look at him. Kinkaid was in position for the shot, and we don’t really know much about him yet. He lied to Joe originally, or he says he did, then showed up in our office offering to help. It was a nice gesture, but we haven’t had time to check him out yet. For all we know, he could have been scared of what Hartwick was going to tell us. Maybe scared enough to kill him.”

“Why does he care what Hartwick tells us?” Joe asked. “The guy hasn’t worked with Weston in years. Hell, he hasn’t even been in the city in years.”

“I’m not saying it’s likely, I’m just saying he deserves a careful look.”

Eggers shook his head. “I’m sure we’re going to find the dead guy was killed by a rifle bullet. Kinkaid’s carrying a Colt Python revolver. It’s a damn big gun, but it’s not going to be the gun used in this killing.”

“He’s carrying a Colt Python,” I said. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t have another gun with him.”

“You’re saying he might have used a rifle from the cemetery, dumped it back in his car, and then ran out to meet you?” He shrugged. “We’re going to check all the cars, don’t worry, but I doubt that’s possible. It’s a hell of a run across that cemetery.”

Joe nodded. “Kinkaid didn’t do it,” he said. “To make that run and show up right after the shooting would have been impressive, and he wasn’t even out of breath. Besides, if he dumped the rifle anywhere in the cemetery, they’ll find it.”

Kinkaid stepped back into the room, his face clouded with anger. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pritchard,” he said, then pointed at me. “And, you, Perry, are an asshole.”

I felt a flush creep into my neck and face. “I’m sorry, Kinkaid. I’m not saying I think you killed him, okay? But the fact is, we don’t know much about you, and you were in a position to make the shot.”

He shook his head at me, his lip curled up in distaste. “Whatever, Perry.” He turned to Eggers. “Where’s the men’s room? I couldn’t find it the first time. Good thing, too, or I might have missed out on that conversation.”

They finally cut us loose around five in the morning. By then we were all exhausted, and we had to call a cab because the police had impounded Joe’s Taurus and Kinkaid’s car.

“Look, Aaron, I apologize,” I said as we stood outside waiting on the cab. “It wasn’t anything personal. It’s just an old detective’s reaction of trying to consider who might have been in position to do the crime.”

He nodded without looking at me. “It’s all right, Perry. I understand. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care, because it pissed me off, but I’m also not going to let it get in our way. I want to find Julie Weston, and we’re going to need to work together to get that done.”

“You’re already booked into a hotel?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, I made reservations before I came in today. I was planning on staying in town for a few days.”

“Go get some sleep, then. When you wake up, come down to the office, and we’ll get started. Someone killed Hartwick because they didn’t want him talking to us, and we need to find out who that person is.”

“We’ll hear from Cody tomorrow,” I predicted. “He’ll be full of questions when he finds out about this.”

“I’d imagine,” Joe said.

“We’re stirring things up now. That’s obvious. Someone’s concerned by our investigation.”

“So why didn’t the shooter take you out, too?” Kinkaid said. “Or at least try?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t know. But let’s not complain.”

Kinkaid took the first cab that arrived, and Joe and I remained on the sidewalk, waiting for another. I watched the taillights of Kinkaid’s cab disappear down the street and then turned away as they grew smaller. I’d seen enough glowing red dots for one day.

When I woke later that morning, the ache that had crept into my neck and shoulders the day before had intensified, and I groaned as soon as I moved. My back muscles felt like guitar strings after a Jimi Hendrix solo. A glance at the clock told me it was almost eleven, which meant I’d had four hours of sleep. I needed a long, hot shower, but I knew Joe would already be at the office, and I didn’t want to delay. I got dressed, splashed some cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and headed out.

Joe was at the office, of course. He was sitting behind the desk and talking on the phone, dressed in khakis and a shirt and tie, looking like a man who’d just returned to work after a week’s vacation, refreshed and invigorated. I shook my head. Joe was amazing. When I’d worked with him as a narcotics detective, I’d learned just how long he could go without much sleep, or any sleep. And, somehow, he never seemed to lose his mental edge. His ability to avoid-or ignore-physical fatigue was incredible.