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Madoz kept talking, but Finn didn't hear him. He opened the file. There, on the top, was a picture of Robyn Peltier's dead husband: twenty-nine-year-old Damon Trent Peltier.
Thirty minutes later, Madoz had left and Finn was at his desk working when his ghostly partner returned.
"How long do you want me to sit on this - " "Trent" saw the open file on Finn's desk, and the photo in it. "Shit."
Finn didn't look up. "Is there something you want to tell me, Damon?"
"Shit." Damon slouched into the nearest chair. "I'm sorry."
"What? That I figured it out?" Finn turned his chair to face him. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
"No, I was just hoping it'd take a little longer."
"Like long enough for you to plant false leads and throw me off your wife's trail?"
"What? No. Absolutely not. I knew you'd figure it out soon, but before you did, I wanted to prove I could be useful - give you real leads. Like that one with the kid. That's totally legit. I can give you his description, the description of the officer he spoke to, hell, I can probably recite their conversation if you'd like." He walked over and sat on Finn's desk. "I'm here to help you find the truth, which I already know - that my wife had nothing to do with this. I don't need to throw you off her trail."
"Just try to sway me off pursuing her as a suspect."
"I - " He stopped. "Okay, that was stupid. Understandable, but stupid, and it won't help my cause or Bobby's."
"Bobby?"
"Robyn. Sorry. From here on, I will try to keep my opinions to myself and if I slip, you can tell me to shut up. And if I don't help you, if I mislead you or I'm a nuisance, you can tell me to get lost and I will. I just..." He shifted on the desk. "I need to help her, Finn. She's - "
Finn held up a hand. "For the next twenty-four hours, we'll see how it goes. Then you can tell me your story. For now - "
"Just shut up, do what I'm told and try to dig my way out of this hole."
Finn nodded.
* * *
ROBYN
Robyn awoke to the smell of breakfast sausage. Caught between sleeping and waking, she lifted her head with Damon's name on her lips; hot breakfasts had been his specialty. One bleary look around the motel room reminded her where she was.
Fighting the impulse to lie back down and pull up the covers, she tracked the smell to takeout boxes on the dinette, pushed aside to clear a spot for Hope's laptop. Hope sat with her back to Robyn as she read the screen. There was no sign of Karl. The bedside clock said it was past nine. So much for her resolution to jump into the investigation first thing in the morning.
Hope was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't hear Robyn approach. The file on the laptop display looked like records with dates and blocks of text. But before Robyn could get close enough to read it, Hope glanced up.
Hope closed the file window and stood. "Karl grabbed breakfast. It should still be warm."
"He's out already?"
Hope handed Robyn a coffee. "Just walking around the block, getting a feel for the neighborhood and stretching his legs."
A rap at the door.
"And there he is."
Hope checked the peephole before opening the locks. Karl greeted Robyn, then set his takeout coffee on the nightstand.
Hope's gaze followed him. "Everything okay?"
He nodded. "There's a convenience store around the corner and some restaurants a block over." He took a sheaf of pamphlets from his pocket. "I picked up takeout menus from the ones that were open." He turned to Robyn. "They all deliver. While I'm sure you're tired of being cooped up in here, you should stick to delivery for lunch. Keep the doors locked and only open them if you're expecting an order."
She glanced at Hope, who was dumping her leftover coffee in the bathroom sink. "You're heading out?"
