High Country Nocturne (David Mapstone Mystery 8)

After a minute of silence, I pushed Tom’s photo toward her.

“He must have meant something to you, Diane, to have kept that wallet all these years. You were in that snapshot with Tom, weren’t you, Diane?”

“We’re leaving, Zephyr.” Diane patted Melton on the shoulder. “Thank you, Chris.”

Melton tried to lean in and scoop up the files but Zephyr stopped him.

“I want to know!”

I said, “Ask your mother what happened that night in the desert. Did they go out there to make love, and she talked him into trying the heroin, only she botched the dose? Or was it something more sinister? Maybe he was breaking up with you, Diane, and this was revenge.”

“Is this true, Mother?” Zephyr’s eyes were wide with anger.

“You can’t prove anything,” Diane said.

“If I could prove it at this point, I’d be reading you your rights. But it doesn’t look good. It must have been an awful thing to wat

ch him die out there.”

Her large eyes filled with tears and they dropped heavily down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away.

“It’s up to the sheriff to continue this investigation,” I said. “I’ve always felt we owed it to the dead to make sure justice is done. Maybe he sees things differently.”

He glared at me and undid his top shirt button, pulling aside his tie.

I looked at him. “Zephyr came to me a few days ago with copies of checks her brother wrote to county officials. We used to call them bribes back when Mike Peralta was sheriff.”

“Diane told me to bring those,” she said. “Anyway, Chip is an ass.”

“I didn’t get it,” I said. “But I drink with lawyer friends at Durant’s and I learned that there’s a huge fight over Elliott Whitehouse’s estate. He left money to Zephyr, her brothers, and his former wife. He left nothing to Diane. Not a dime. She’s been fighting it in probate for a year.”

Zephyr said, “I didn’t know any of this…”

I gathered up the files. Then I brought them down between my hands with a hard smack, using the top of the desk to make them a neat stack. I slid a thick rubber band around them.

“If the sheriff got a subpoena, he might find that your father’s will has a morals clause. I don’t have any special knowledge here. Only questions. If Whitehouse were such a homophobe, would being a closeted gay breach the clause? Homicide certainly would. Elliott being officially implicated in the death of Tom Frazier, by no less than the Sheriff’s Office historian who worked for Mike Peralta. That would have been a neat package. What if that morals clause could be invoked to invalidate the will? That might give Diane a shot at the entire…”

“You son of a bitch.” Her voice was a whisper. “I was a good wife to him, all those years. All those slaps and punches he gave me when he was drinking.”

I shrugged and stood, gently lifted my portrait of Carl Hayden from the wall, and pulled out my badge case.

I looked at Melton.

“This is yours.” I set the badge on top of the files. “And those are yours, too.”

I zinged a black flash drive at him. His eyes widened but he caught it.

“Paperless office,” I said, and walked out.

“Mapstone, wait…”

I ignored Melton.

Instead, one more time, I took in the lovely hallway. I would so miss this place. But the price for being here was too high.

Footsteps, running behind me.

“David.” Zephyr fell in with me. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”