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Might as well see where it — and my subconscious? — led.
Turned out to be behind the Cottonwood County Courthouse. In other words, the sheriff’s department.
My subconscious might have been tuned into something because Sergeant Shelton and Deputy Richard Alvaro came out the back door of the building and headed toward a marked truck as I parked between it and them.
I loved it when my subconscious set it up so I could return the favor to Shelton of skulking in a parking lot.
I stepped in front of them.
Shelton considered going around me, then decided not to after a look at my face.
“Any progress on the Keefer Dobey murder?” I asked.
“No comment,” Shelton said without heat.
“Close to making an arrest? Should we hold a spot in tonight’s newscasts for breaking news?”
“No comment.”
“Did you know he’d had a DNA test?”
Richard’s eyes flickered, Shelton’s did not. He truly was a tough nut.
But I had my answer.
And that was worth more than keeping the information to myself would have been.
First, because it told me the sheriff’s department hadn’t known Keefe had a recent DNA test. Which meant the DNA results had not been in Keefe’s cabin.
The sheriff’s department almost certainly hadn’t questioned Brenda and Wendy in a way that got them talking enough to mention that Keefe was excited about the DNA test results and his hope — expectation — that they would show he was descended from Oscar Virtanen.
But they would not have missed the test results during their search. And if it had arrived since Keefe’s death, they’d know about it that way.
Second, knowing about the test’s existence would set Shelton in pursuit. And he had law enforcement tools to pry the information out of the lawyers’ chronically constricted fingers.
After a long enough pause to make it clear Shelton hadn’t employed his previous answer, making it clear this was different, I said, “Don’t strain your voice — I know, no comment.”
Still nothing. But they also didn’t move past me.
“Not a paternity test,” I said, shaking the ball in front of their eyes to be sure I had their full attention.
Richard blinked, presumably at the concept of Keefe being the subject of a paternity test, indicating their victimology assessments were similar to ours.
Shelton didn’t.
“It was to look into his relations.” I used that word rather than ancestry, because Shelton would be much less interested in dead people he couldn’t get his hands on than live ones subject to a satisfying arrest.
Neither blinked. I liked to think that was because they were awed at our knowing this information.
“Robin Kenyon bought the test for him as a thank you. Well, officially, I suppose it was her father’s money and he certainly knew about it.” Tossing the ball, I added, “It was done by the HelixKin company. Keefe told several people he thought he’d have the results by now.”
Go, fetch.
Problem was, Shelton was about as good a retriever as Shadow. Did just fine on chasing what I threw, but lousy at bringing it back to me.
On the other hand, once they chased it down using the clout of the judicial system, we’d gather some of its results by their next moves.
****
