office after we eat.”
“Why not right away?”
She shook her head. “Cooperation, Knight. That’s the way PAVAD works. The sheriff has asked that we not make too many waves in the town. Everything’s been in an uproar since the body was found, and the local boys in blue refused to release the identity. We’re here to consult, I think. Clint wasn’t exactly too clear on the request. He never has been extremely descriptive, and I heard about it from Director Dennis. I’m just following along here.”
He just grunted. “I don’t play games, Agent Talley.”
“Doctor.”
“What?”
“It’s doctor. I earned my degree a year ago.”
“Congratulations.” He had his own PhD in sociological studies. Knight knew the amount of work that entailed. And she’d been doing it around her FBI schedule, apparently. That was no small feat.
“I’m a psychologist, actually. In abnormal psych. I’ve always been interested in human behavior. It came in handy around my family.”
“Are you always this chatty?” And did she expect him to answer every time? Knight knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“Hmm. No. But you don’t talk at all. I figured I’d fill the gap, balance us out a bit until we get the ball on this case rolling. What does it hurt to talk, to get to know each other? You’re considering PAVAD?”
“Something like that.”
“What division?”
“Cold Case.”
She shot him a questioning look from those green eyes of hers. “We don’t have a cold-case division.”
“Yet. I’ve been asked to consider heading a new one.” As a personal favor to Ed Dennis. Knight didn’t know what he thought of that yet. Half the time he thought he should just pack up and transfer as far away from St. Louis as possible. Start over. Put what had happened behind him. “Keep that to yourself, though. Director’s orders.”
“I’m sure it’ll be needed. Answers from the past…they’re needed.” His companion had turned suddenly serious. As if there were memories she wanted to suppress.
“Even here in Mayberry?”
“I am afraid we’re about to find out. Somebody put that body in Luther Beise’s barn. I’m going to find out who—and why.” She stopped walking for a moment and looked back toward the town. “Murders don’t happen in Masterson County.”
“Don’t be naive, Dr. Talley. Murders happen everywhere. Even in Mayberry.”
4
Jim was sweating, and he knew it. But he didn’t let anyone see how what he’d just overheard was getting to him.
That damned Clint Gunderson had called in the FBI about the ranch case. About Helen. The FBI.
They had a lot more ways of finding the truth than Joel Masterson.
Jim hadn’t really thought out what would happen next. He’d just figured Clint would try to find the rest of Luther’s family and then just give up and move on. Like his old man had. Jim had explained to Clive that Helen had kicked them out before she’d moved in with a lover three counties over. Clive had bought it. Never bothered to follow up with that lover, either.
He’d trusted Jim’s word. Just like Jim had known he would.
But Clint wasn’t a thing like his old man. Far from it. That had been one thing Clint had made clear from the beginning. First time he’d met Clint had been in the academy. He’d put it together quick who Clint was. Tried to make a connection, using the other man’s father.
Clint had shot him down hard. Stated that no friend of Clive’s would ever be a friend of his.
Pretty soon, Clint had risen to the top of the class. Too easily. Jim had struggled with the classroom portion of things.
He’d always resented Clint for how easy he’d had it.
Clive hadn’t done anything to grease the wheels for Clint, though. Jim would give Clint that much. Jim had always wondered about that. He supposed there had been bad blood between them or something. That had made sense when Clive had been arrested for what he’d done.
No doubt, the other man had just had a rough patch. His younger son had died, Jim had heard. Around the same time. Everyone had been talking about how things had happened.
Grief could make men do some stupid things. Jim had gotten involved in drugs when he’d lost his own father.
His cousin Luther had stepped into that role for him, though.
Guilt had him almost sick to his stomach when he thought about what he’d done to repay Luther for his kindness.
Jim liked to think he’d grown into a better man than that.
He’d stopped the drugs. Become a cop. He’d helped people. Surely, that had to count for