“Ah yes, the wallet. It has amazingly turned up right before this trial was to begin. In your report you stated a...boater found it and just happened to bring it to you, is that right?”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Rockman was on the witness stand and in a courtroom, but his voice carried a cold threat.
Goose bumps popped up on Truman’s arm and he looked at the tall Sheriff. He hesitated a moment, then continued, “How on earth did you, and your men, and the FBI, miss this important item when you conducted your search?”
“It was in the water when we searched. It didn’t show up until the river level dropped.”
“Exactly,” said Truman. “I would venture a guess that the pistol in question suffered the same dilemma.”
“It’s not the same, a pistol--”
“No further questions.” Truman turned and walked to his chair beside Hunter.
Rockman’s face was red as he left the stand. He stopped before going through the swing gate and looked hard at Truman, then changed his gaze to Hunter and got her attention. Rockman silently mouthed, I need to talk to you. Hunter hesitated, then nodded.
The judge called a ten-minute recess and people got up to race to the bathrooms. Hunter walked into the hallway and saw Rockman at the far end near the windows. Ten minutes wasn’t long, and she still had to pee, so she walked straight to him.
Hunter said, “What was all that bullshit in there? She’s overzealous, she’s obsessed. Why didn’t you just cut my throat while you were at it?”
Rockman ignored her comments and said, “I warned you about Bobby Mata, now you’re calling his house every five minutes. Are you trying to get fired?”
Hunter looked at him a long moment, “So you’ve got a TitleThree on him, is that it?”
“No, I don’t have a wire tap, but I’ve had a Pen Register on his home phone since last Wednesday to monitor the numbers that call in and the ones he calls. Yours has been popping up a lot lately.”
“He’s helping me on something.”
“Christ, Hunter, he’s a damn thief!”
“Where do your informants come from, Wayne? You get them out of the Sunday church choir?”
“That’s different.”
“The hell it is.”
“Look, this is the last time I’m going to warn you. Stay away from Bobby Mata. He’s gonna wind up getting himself killed, and I don’t want you hurt when he does.”
Hunter studied Wayne’s face. “Have you got something going on you want to tell me about?”
“Nope. It’s just Mata, getting all that press about stealing farm equipment and taking it into Mexico. He’s getting too much notoriety, and I don’t like his chances of living to a ripe old age, competition being what it is.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“But you’re not gonna follow it, are you.” Wayne said it as a statement, not a question.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” Hunter walked away and said over her shoulder, “By the way, you still haven’t sent me that report on the whittled toothpick.”
“And you don’t think you’re obsessive?” Wayne watched her leave, then took off his hat and funneled the brim before resetting it on his head. “Never stops pushing.” Wayne said as he walked out of the courthouse, jingling the keys to his Ram Charger.
Hunter finished in the bathroom and still had a couple of minutes left, so she pulled the cell phone out of her purse and tried Bobby again. No answer. She thought a second, then hit the speed dial for another number.
Raymond answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Raymond.”
“Hunter? Aren’t you supposed to be in court?”
“We’re on a break. Listen, I need for you to do me a big favor.”