Carol O'Connell - Bone by Bone

"I like a nice tight case," said the CBI agent. "The beer bottle I'd most like to have has a set of prints that might surprise you. Oh, and that film? That's mine now.

In answer to Cable's sputtered, "You can't do that!" Sally Polk explained that, yes, she could-now that she had charged a Los Angeles TV producer with conspiracy to incite a riot via some creative film editing.

"You can't make that stick," said Cable. "That's ridiculous."

"Oh, dear. You think I overstepped my authority? Well, maybe you're right. But it's gonna take a while to sort out the blame. Meanwhile the scope of the case extends across county lines." She surveyed the crime scene brightly lit by lights on poles. "And all of this belongs to me." Oren decided that he liked Sally Polk.

Morning came with the smell of furniture polish and the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Oren woke up on a couch in the front room of the house on Paulson Lane. Every shard of broken glass was gone, and glaziers stood on long ladders to replace the broken windowpanes.

Swahn's cleaning lady was the mother of one of his old classmates, and now Mrs. Snow reintroduced herself as she worked around his stretched-out body. "What a night," she said. "What a mess." As he rose from the couch, she brushed him down with a whisk broom. "Can't have you tracking glass splinters through the house."

Pronounced clean, she released him, saying, "Hannah's upstairs in Mr. Swahn's room." As he climbed the steps, she called out, "Second door on your right. He's been through a lot, so don't you tire him out."

"No, ma'am, I won't."

When he came to the open door of the bedroom, he hung back to watch Hannah changing a bandage on William Swahn's right cheek, exposing a patch of skin that was red and raw. This fresh injury paled the older damage to the other side of his face. Oren backed away from the door and lingered in the hall to listen to a conversation of two old friends, who called each other Miss Rice and Mr. Swahn.

"Well, that paramedic did a real nice job cleaning the wound."

"Will I look more symmetrical now?"

She laughed. "When the swelling goes down and the bruising fades, you won't have another scar."

There was a third person in the room. Oren saw the CBI agent reflected in the mirror over Swahn's bureau.

"This'll cheer you up," said Sally Polk. "I got film of a reporter chucking the first rock, and I got his prints on a beer bottle, too. I figure he was just priming the pump-didn't want to wait around all night for his big mob scene. But the whole thing started with a nasty piece of editing on the evening news. I'm gonna bring down a TV network just for you, Mr. Swahn. Won't that be fun?"

"What about the mob? Did you get them all on film?"

"No, maybe half. But the two Oren Hobbs laid out are awake and talking. They gave up three of their friends, but they didn't even know the rest of those guys. A barmaid gave us a few more names. And then we got a slew of fingerprints off the beer bottles they tossed through your windows. Idiots. I can promise you I'll get 'em all." The CBI agent said her goodbyes and stepped into the hallway, where she met Oren with a friendly smile.

He was certain that she would seem equally friendly on the business end of a gun. "Nice work," he said. "I mean the way you stole this mob case from the sheriff."

"Well, thank you. And when I get six minutes to catch my breath, I'll find out who killed your brother."

"Will that be before or after you wind up an investigation of the sheriff's office? I know you're using Josh to get close to Cable Babitt."

Her smile was still holding, but she was stalling. Weighing the odds? Would a lie well told beat whatever cards he was holding? Her shoulders squared off, and her feet were firmly planted. The lady was waiting for proof of this theory of his.

Oren nodded his understanding. "The CBI has a field office over in Shasta. But here you are in my county, camped out with the Highway Patrol. So I know you're not investigating them. That leaves the sheriff's office. And the investigation has to be department-wide, or you wouldn't need a gang of troopers for backup."

Sally Polk adjusted her purse strap, preparing to leave him now. "If you give the sheriff a heads-up, I'll cut your balls into little pieces and feed 'em to the hogs." She said this with such warmth, such cheerful goodwill, that she left him smiling.

Oren entered the bedroom, an austere place with no personal items on display. There was a light rectangle on one wall, where a picture frame had been recently taken down, the sign of an extremely private person-or a man with something to hide. That missing picture, once positioned opposite the bed, would have been the last thing Swahn looked at when he put out the lamp at night and the first sight of each new day.

Swahn's brow furrowed as he, too, stared at that empty space, no doubt recognizing his error.

And, of course, nothing got past Hannah. She held a roll of adhesive tape in one hand and, in the other, a pair of closed shears that might pass for the lance of a tiny knight. She hovered over her patient, prepared to take on all comers-even Oren. There was conflict in her eyes, and it pained him to see it. After pulling a chair close to the bed, he turned to her. "Hannah? Give us a minute?"

"I just gave him a sleeping pill. Can't this wait?"

"It won't take a minute," said Oren. "I promise."

Hannah bent down to William Swahn, laying one hand on his shoulder, and they held the silent conversation of friends for life. She asked by a worried look if she should stay and defend him. Swahn smiled in assurance that there was no need to fight for him-but thanks.

When the housekeeper had quit the room, Oren said, "I've got a question about those pictures of you in the post office. Josh caught you passing an envelope to the librarian. You dropped it into her tote bag. If it was addressed to Mrs. Winston, I can see why you couldn't just mail it. Half the gossip in town comes from the postmaster."

Swahn closed his eyes and turned his face away. The interview was over.

When Oren came out of the bedroom, he found Hannah sitting on the staircase. She reached up to hand him a prescription. "That's for his pain. Could you have it filled at the drugstore? Your father will be here by the time you get back. So there shouldn't be any more questions about those pictures of Mr. Swahn and Mavis."

"Eavesdropping, Hannah?" He sat down beside her.

"Mr. Swahn's a gentleman. He won't tell you what was in that envelope. But I will. The judge used to do the same thing for years. The line at the post office was the best place for it. Before we had rural delivery, Mavis always picked up her mail at the same time every morning. Coventry didn't have anything as grand as welfare, and Mavis hadn't seen a paycheck for a while. You may have noticed-no one goes to the library anymore. Officially, it was closed for years. But Mavis still showed up for work every day."

"A creature of habit."

"Right. And crazy. I'm sure you noticed that, too. So, once a month, people with money-like the judge, like Mr. Swahn-they'd slip her some cash on the sly. It was done that way so she wouldn't have to thank anybody. The envelopes were labeled as donations to the library, and that was to save her pride. I know Addison was generous, too. His envelopes were the thickest ones. It took the judge a long time to force the town council into reinstating Mavis so she could get regular paychecks. But back then, she was the town charity."

Hannah shook her head, slowly, sadly. "Josh and his collection of secrets. Hanging that one out in public made your father so mad. Only a handful of people would've understood what was going on in those pictures, and maybe a year passed by before any of them caught on to what the boy had done-exposing a sick woman that way. The judge was the first one to notice. I remember when he came home from the post office-so angry. His last conversation with your brother was an argument. After that, they didn't speak for days. And then Josh was gone-dead."