must have left a car door open or put a window down. There wasn’t much that could keep Bea from Walt, including, apparently, an open door on a patio.
A nosy dog at any time, Bea was locked on a scent. He knew that random-looking yet methodical movement of hers—she was working. He held back his temptation to stop her as her paws tapped out on the stone and she circled the poker table, then made a Bea-line straight for Walt.
But it wasn’t to Walt. Nose to the ground, she sniffed her way directly to Wynn, then hurried to Walt and tapped his hand with her wet nose. She backed up, sat down, and looked up at her master, tail wagging.
For a moment, Walt stood there frozen, looking at his dog, then Wynn’s shoes, then back at his dog. Bea had just spoken to him as surely as if she’d used English, but the code was lost on Boatwright and Wynn. Only Walt and Beatrice understood what had been said. Walt processed the message, his heart thumping in his chest, knowing better than to speak until he knew what to say.
Boatwright and Wynn picked up on the change in Walt. A silence hung among the three, broken only by Bea’s rapid panting, and the sound of male voices coming from the patio.
“I don’t like dogs,” Boatwright finally said. “Get that thing out of my home.”
“Mr. Wynn,” Walt said, his voice eerily calm. “I wonder if I might have a look at your shoes?”
“What?” Wynn said, looking down at his hand-sewn Italian loafers.
“Your shoes.”
“No,” he said, taken aback. “What for?”
In his limited dealings with Wynn, Walt saw panic flash across the man’s face for the first time. It didn’t last long, but it had been there. “I’d like a look at your shoes, if I might.”
“You might not,” Wynn said, eyeing the dog. He gathered his wits. “You have a search warrant, Sheriff?”
“Based on the possession of marijuana, I can get one if I need one. It’s your call. We went over that.” He directed this to Boatwright, assuming the man would find the idea of jail and a crime scene team in his home repugnant.
No one spoke.
Walt broke the silence. “I should be able to have them back to you in a day. No more.”
“You want to take my shoes?” Wynn said, clarifying. “Are you out of your mind? I’m supposed to go home, what, barefoot? What the hell, Sheriff?”
“Two days at most,” Walt said.
He met eyes with Wynn, impressed with the man’s ability to so quickly dismiss the panic. He saw now only contempt and irritability, the hallmarks of a professional negotiator.
“I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”
Walt winced. “Have it your way.” He reached for his radio’s mike clip.
“Vince,” Boatwright said, “I’m not leaving that hand on the table. And I’m not putting up with some goddamned night in jail. Give the man your shoes.”
“Can’t do that, Marty,” Wynn said.
“I’ll loan you some slippers to get you home.”
Wynn’s pained expression told Walt plenty. Walt had jammed him up and both men knew it. Walt was going to have the man’s shoes.
“I will keep everyone here,” Walt explained, “and separated, until the warrant is issued and the crime scene unit is in place. The CS unit drives up from Meridian, just FYI. And they won’t begin that drive until sometime after nine a.m.”
Boatwright said sternly, “Give the man the shoes, Vince. Don’t be an asshole. That’s Mandy Halifax out there. He’s a guest in my home.”
The two men locked into a staring contest, Wynn clearly considering his diminishing options. He could anger Boatwright and make Walt jump through the warrant hoop, and still end up surrendering the shoes, or he could give them up now.
“That dog had no business being in your house,” Wynn explained to the drunken Boatwright.
Walt felt a shiver. How, exactly, had Beatrice escaped the Jeep? It crossed his mind that it might not have been accidental, in which case Bea sniffing out blood evidence could be questioned in a court of law. He kept his mouth shut.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” Boatwright told Wynn. “You’re not listening to me. These men are my guests. This is my home. Give the man the goddamned shoes.”
The frustration and anger on Wynn’s face gave way to resignation and he kicked off the loafers. But he was not a happy man.
Back in the Jeep, now driving through town, Walt finally dared to voice what had been bothering him. Beatrice stood partially between