“They’ll decide in your favor. It was a solid shooting.”

“Still hate the process.”

“You seeing someone?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, the department has me hooked up with a local psychiatrist. Nice lady. She’s handled problems like mine before. The county uses her.”

“That’s good. You need to feel you can talk freely to someone.”

He was silent for a long moment, and Mercy wished he’d remove the sunglasses that hid his eyes.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Art.”

He leaned more weight on the railing and sighed. “Tell me about your interview with Shane Gamble. Give my brain something else to concentrate on.”

Mercy ran through the highlights of that morning’s discussion.

Art listened closely, stopping her occasionally with questions or asking for clarifications. When she was done, he was silent, stroking the stubble on his jawline as he thought.

“You think he’s protecting someone?” he finally asked.

“Yes. Or something.”

“You don’t have any ideas of who or what?”

“Well, his parents are dead. He doesn’t have any friends. By process of elimination, I’d say he’s protecting one or more of his accomplices.”

Art continued to stroke his jaw. “Never pegged Gamble to have a sense of honor.”

“Definitely not. I’d say his motivation is financial.”

Art’s brows rose from behind his sunglasses. “You think there is money left after all these years?”

“If he’s hiding an identity, I don’t see him motivated by revenge. His motivation can’t be sexual. That leaves financial.”

“But he’s in prison for life.”

“Maybe it’s for someone else?” Mercy had also considered that fact. “Maybe he believes he’ll get out one day?”

“Could be.” Art sighed. “You said he had the reporter deliver a message.”

“A warning. I think the discovery of Ellis Mull’s remains meant something to Shane Gamble. Something important enough for him to lure a reporter with the promise of a scoop when his real plan was to use her as his delivery person.”

“I wonder if his message was delivered before the reporter’s murder,” Art speculated.

“Or did the receiver of the message kill Tabitha Huff?” Mercy stopped talking as a boy of about five flung himself at the railing beside her and climbed up partway to look down at the flowing water. Even as she tensed to grab his shirt if he climbed higher, Mercy lost a breath at the absolute joy and wonder on the child’s face. When did I last look at something like that? The boy’s dad called him as he passed by with two other small children, lifting a hand in greeting to Art and Mercy. The child leaped off his perch and dashed after the group, energy emanating from his every movement.

Not a care in the world. A family enjoying a walk in the sunshine.

And we stand here discussing murder.

Art resumed their conversation in a quieter voice. “I hadn’t thought of that . . . I wonder if Gamble thought the receiver shot the messenger? What would it mean to him if his message had been thrown back in his face like that?”

Mercy thought back to the moment she’d told Gamble of the reporter’s murder. “He was shocked when I told him Tabitha was killed. It was the first time I’d seen a true reaction from him. And he seemed to change after that. Would you understand what I meant if I said he seemed human after that point?”

“I do. He dropped the bullshit game he always plays. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it myself.”

“Exactly,” said Mercy. “And he warned me to be careful too.”

“Shane Gamble might know who killed Tabitha Huff. Why protect that person?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

“And you have no leads on her murder.”

“We should have her GPS information from the car rental company by tonight. We had to jump through their legal hoops.”

“You’ll be able to see where she went. You should get some good leads out of that.”

“I’m crossing my fingers that she visited whoever Gamble is trying to protect. I’m hoping it’s one of his accomplices.”

“I feel like your case is about to break wide open,” Art said slowly. He finally lowered his sunglasses, and Mercy was pleased to see his eyes were calm. “Congratulations.”

“Nothing has happened yet.”

He looked straight down at the river, watching three kayakers emerge from under the footbridge. “I’m out of the game again, but my gut says you’re closer than I ever was.”

Is that a bit of envy I hear?

She wasn’t surprised. The robbery had been his baby for many years. He deserved to be there at the end.

Whether he was still under review or not, she’d do her best to give Art a taste of victory.

TWENTY-ONE

“It looks like Tabitha Huff stopped at every place of business in Eagle’s Nest,” Mercy groused to Jeff.

She sat at her desk, staring at the GPS notes from the victim’s rental car, as Jeff stood behind her chair and read over her shoulder. She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Am I supposed to go talk to every shop owner? What if she was following someone and she didn’t even go into these places?”

“She was in town the day after you first talked to Shane Gamble. She didn’t waste any time at all.”

“Here’s where I met her.” Mercy pointed at an entry that coincided with the location of Rose’s preschool. “It looks like she stopped by the bed-and-breakfast in Eagle’s Nest a few times,” Mercy said, studying the map. “But she stayed in a hotel.”

“The bank is right there too,” Jeff pointed out. “Makes more sense that she went in a bank. Or used the ATM. She drove to Bend too. Looks like she was in our parking lot. She didn’t come to the door as far as I know.”

“I checked with Melissa. She didn’t talk to anyone with purple streaks in her hair.”

“She also drove to a lot of places in the countryside,” said Jeff. “What’s out in these areas?”

“Mostly a lot of nothing.” Mercy tried to visualize what was on the route Tabitha had driven. “I’d have to recreate it.”

“The second-to-last coordinate is where the car was found.”

“Yes. Before we had it towed.”

“This last route is crucial. Somewhere along the line she encountered her killer.”

Frustration filled Mercy. This is impossible.

It’d sounded so helpful—a map of where their victim had gone since she’d arrived in Oregon. It’d started as a long log of coordinates, which they’d translated into a map. The routes looked as if someone had covered the map with scribbles. Almost if the woman had deliberately obscured her route.

Would she do that?

Tabitha was part of the generation who’d never known a world without the internet. Instant information. Digital footprints. “Dammit!” Mercy sat back in her chair. “Tabitha might have been smarter than I gave her credit for.”

“She had purple dye in her hair. It was hard to take her seriously.”

Mercy silently humphed. She’d liked Tabitha’s hair and briefly wondered how her own hair would look with a bit of artfully applied purple.

“You already went through the notebook found in her car, right?” asked Mercy. “Can I take a look at it now?”

“I skimmed it. It feels incomplete to me, and I suspect she used a note-taking app on her phone for her research.”

“Like something she spoke into?”

“Could be. Or something that holds photos, links, typed notes, and voice notes,” Jeff told her.

“I could use something like that for work,” Mercy admitted.

“I have hope her cell phone turns up.”

“It wasn’t in her hotel room. Deschutes County said there was just clothes and toiletries. They also checked the hotel security cameras. On the day she died, no one else visited her room. Whoever killed her apparently didn’t need anything else of hers.”

“I’ll grab her notebook from my office.” He stepped out.

Jeff was helping the best he could, but he was also being pulled in a million directions. She’d asked for the notebook three times.

He never gave me an answer about bringing in help from Portland.

She suspected that was her answer.

He reappeared, a small spiral notebook in his hand. “You talk to Eddie today?” he asked as he handed it over.

“I did. He’s hoping to be discharged tomorrow. If he had his way, he’d be sitting in my office right this minute.”

The notebook’s cover had a big circle around the words BANG HEAD HERE.

“I just might,” she muttered.

“The recent stuff is toward the back,” said Jeff. “The pages are dated. Most are notes on older stories that are already present on the Midnight Voice website.”

Mercy flipped pages and then paused as she scanned one. “Looks like notes from her calls with Shane Gamble. She’s written a brief history of the robbery and underlined the fact that the money has never turned up.”

“Something made him move fast to contact her.”

Mercy slowly nodded as she mentally reviewed the first conversation she’d had with Gamble again. What spooked him?

Jeff checked his phone at the sound of a soft ping. “Tabitha’s autopsy report. You should have it too.”

A couple of clicks opened the report on her screen. Mercy scrolled, pausing on the generic drawing of a woman’s body. The sketch was clean except for arrows and notes near the skull. No other injuries.

“Perforating gunshot wound to the head,” she read aloud. “Entrance was left temporal region with evidence of close-range firing. Dr. Lockhart cites stippling.” Mercy remembered the tiny powder bits embedded in the flesh around Tabitha’s wound. “Someone was very close when they killed her. Exit was above right ear. Direction was left to right and downward.” She glanced at the drawing again. “Someone was taller than her or else she was in a lower position . . . sitting, maybe. No projectile recovered, of course.