truck?”
“Yeah—a dark-blue pickup with a cap. Could’ve been the one the old guy saw.”
“God bless old bladders,” I muttered.
Sammie hadn’t heard me. “Willy checked out Ryan, by the way. As far as we can tell, he had dinner with friends, wrapped things up a little before eleven, and went home to bed, the last part being speculative. He lives alone, the neighbors don’t have a clear view of his house or driveway, and they hate his guts anyway, so they aren’t too interested. Besides that, Willy found out he has a couple of bicycles and that he likes to ride at night, probably to look through people’s windows. He could’ve snuck out on one of them after pretending to hit the sack. Nobody would’ve heard him, and he doesn’t live that far from Gail’s place.”
I nodded, half to myself, my eyes on Ron Klesczewski, who’d left his computer terminal to refill a cup of coffee at the urn near the door. I didn’t tell Sammie about my recent chat with Jason Ryan, or the fact that for some reason I’d believed him when he’d told me of his innocence.
“I suppose you heard Gail’s name is being published in tomorrow’s paper?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Sammie’s response was bitter.
“It was her choice—you might want to spread that around before everyone starts dumping on the
Reformer
prematurely. Besides, it might be helpful—we won’t have to tiptoe around quite as much, and maybe we can start pulling people in and pressuring them a bit. Thanks for all your work, Sammie. You ought to think about getting some shut-eye.”
“You too,” she said quietly as I walked over to see Ron.
“We’ve been working on the intelligence files Todd dropped off,” Ron said as I approached, “and we may have a couple of hits.”
He pulled a folder from one of his neatly arranged file boxes and read me two of the names I’d heard earlier at the intelligence meeting. “Barry Gilchrist and Lonny Sorvin. Both of them are in town, both have MOs that at least partially fit the bill, and as far as we can tell, both have daily schedules that would’ve allowed them to do the assault. I contacted their parole officers and we’re arranging for interviews tomorrow morning.”
I glanced at the files, familiar with their contents. Neither one of them had struck me as prime during the meeting, but I wasn’t going to fault Ron’s enthusiasm. My instincts weren’t infallible, and the textbook approach had put a lot of guilty people behind bars.
He reached into another box and handed me a sheet of paper. “That came from Gail—somebody dropped it by early this afternoon. It’s a list of men she thinks could have done it. Ryan’s on it.”
I felt a slight tingle at the nape of my neck as I took the sheet. “How far have you gotten on this?”
He picked up on the urgency in my voice, which triggered his dormant insecurity. “I gave it top priority—over the intelligence files even. I figured if she gave us those, she must’ve had good reason. Problem is, there’re some twenty names, and we want to do them right—not move too fast. So far, we’ve dug into about half of them.”
I pointed at the list. “I take it the ones that’re crossed off were misses?”
He looked over my shoulder. “Yeah—Dan Seaverns is out of town. I talked to him in Salt Lake City, just to make sure. Johnston Hill’s mother died two days ago, and he’s been dealing with that with witnesses. Philip Duncan was at a late dinner party, lasted till two-thirty. Mark Sumner was there, too—I think it was some realtor blast—they work in the same office. Anyhow, that checks out, too. Richard Clark was home in bed, according to his daughter—”
“His daughter?”
“Yeah. Dennis did that one. Little unorthodox, I guess, but he intercepted the daughter at school this afternoon, got into a big conversation, and found it out.”
“How would she know where her father was at two in the morning?”
“They sleep in the same
“Yeah—a dark-blue pickup with a cap. Could’ve been the one the old guy saw.”
“God bless old bladders,” I muttered.
Sammie hadn’t heard me. “Willy checked out Ryan, by the way. As far as we can tell, he had dinner with friends, wrapped things up a little before eleven, and went home to bed, the last part being speculative. He lives alone, the neighbors don’t have a clear view of his house or driveway, and they hate his guts anyway, so they aren’t too interested. Besides that, Willy found out he has a couple of bicycles and that he likes to ride at night, probably to look through people’s windows. He could’ve snuck out on one of them after pretending to hit the sack. Nobody would’ve heard him, and he doesn’t live that far from Gail’s place.”
I nodded, half to myself, my eyes on Ron Klesczewski, who’d left his computer terminal to refill a cup of coffee at the urn near the door. I didn’t tell Sammie about my recent chat with Jason Ryan, or the fact that for some reason I’d believed him when he’d told me of his innocence.
“I suppose you heard Gail’s name is being published in tomorrow’s paper?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Sammie’s response was bitter.
“It was her choice—you might want to spread that around before everyone starts dumping on the
Reformer
prematurely. Besides, it might be helpful—we won’t have to tiptoe around quite as much, and maybe we can start pulling people in and pressuring them a bit. Thanks for all your work, Sammie. You ought to think about getting some shut-eye.”
“You too,” she said quietly as I walked over to see Ron.
“We’ve been working on the intelligence files Todd dropped off,” Ron said as I approached, “and we may have a couple of hits.”
He pulled a folder from one of his neatly arranged file boxes and read me two of the names I’d heard earlier at the intelligence meeting. “Barry Gilchrist and Lonny Sorvin. Both of them are in town, both have MOs that at least partially fit the bill, and as far as we can tell, both have daily schedules that would’ve allowed them to do the assault. I contacted their parole officers and we’re arranging for interviews tomorrow morning.”
I glanced at the files, familiar with their contents. Neither one of them had struck me as prime during the meeting, but I wasn’t going to fault Ron’s enthusiasm. My instincts weren’t infallible, and the textbook approach had put a lot of guilty people behind bars.
He reached into another box and handed me a sheet of paper. “That came from Gail—somebody dropped it by early this afternoon. It’s a list of men she thinks could have done it. Ryan’s on it.”
I felt a slight tingle at the nape of my neck as I took the sheet. “How far have you gotten on this?”
He picked up on the urgency in my voice, which triggered his dormant insecurity. “I gave it top priority—over the intelligence files even. I figured if she gave us those, she must’ve had good reason. Problem is, there’re some twenty names, and we want to do them right—not move too fast. So far, we’ve dug into about half of them.”
I pointed at the list. “I take it the ones that’re crossed off were misses?”
He looked over my shoulder. “Yeah—Dan Seaverns is out of town. I talked to him in Salt Lake City, just to make sure. Johnston Hill’s mother died two days ago, and he’s been dealing with that with witnesses. Philip Duncan was at a late dinner party, lasted till two-thirty. Mark Sumner was there, too—I think it was some realtor blast—they work in the same office. Anyhow, that checks out, too. Richard Clark was home in bed, according to his daughter—”
“His daughter?”
“Yeah. Dennis did that one. Little unorthodox, I guess, but he intercepted the daughter at school this afternoon, got into a big conversation, and found it out.”
“How would she know where her father was at two in the morning?”
“They sleep in the same
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