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“Who cares?”
“I do, RJ. Anyway, welcome to Cold Case City. Guess that makes me its mayor.” She glanced back at her computer screen. “I wish this was over. I’m only halfway through.”
“Take a break,” RJ said.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“It’s a beautiful day, Doris.”
“And the Art Walk is going on. Wish I didn’t have to miss it.” She gave him a dejected look. “Days like this make me eager to retire.”
“Really?” he asked. “You don’t look old enough.”
“Aww. Aren’t you sweet.” She mocked in amusement, too used to that kind of idle flattery to take it seriously. “But I had my first job before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”
Bannon decided to be a sport and not believe that either. “Amazing.”
“Not really. I was only a county clerk. Then I was a court reporter. And then an evidence clerk. And now, ta da, I’m a case files manager. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces, lawsuits, crime—I’ve seen it all and filled out the forms to prove it.”
“It never ends.” RJ returned his attention to the files on the table, wondering if any of his older cases were among them. They had been laid out in alphabetical order, he noticed. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
“Are you really that desperate for something to do?” She sliced him a doubting glance.
“What letter are you up to?” he asked.
“M.” She slid off her chair to come over to where he was and picked a thick, crammed folder from a group. “The Montgomery case is next. This is the main file.” She set it in front of him.
“It’s a monster.”
“You volunteered,” she reminded him and sighed. “This one’s a mess and there are ten others.”
“Mind giving me a summary of it?”
One eyebrow went up. “You can read, right?”
He grinned. “Big type. Small words. You know me, I just sit on a stump and shoot tin cans for laughs.”
“Don’t make me believe it, Detective Bannon.” She patted the file. “Get started. Do what you can.”
“How come it’s so big?”
“Oh—there are lots of Montgomerys around here, for one thing.” He noticed that she had dodged his question. “The family goes back twelve generations in this part of Virginia. The historical society even gives tours of their ancestral mansion outside of Wainsville—one of those big stately homes that got built, oh, in the eighteen-hundreds. Haven’t you seen it?”
“No. I usually get assigned to drug dealers in doublewides, remember?”
“Of course I do.” She nodded then smiled wryly. “Somehow I don’t think the Montgomerys would know a doublewide if one snuck up on them and bit their butts. They’re rich and always have been.” Her dry tone made the social divide between the Rawlings and the Montgomerys more than clear. “Still and all, they’re not as snooty as some of the newcomers around here.”
“That’s something,” he responded idly.
“I guess.” Doris turned back to her work. “Go ahead and start sorting what you can. I’ll finish the one I’m working on while you do.”
“Okay. Take your time.”
He took off his leather jacket and slung it across the back of a folding chair, then settled his long frame into the seat, ignoring a sharp twinge in his back when he sat down. RJ opened the Montgomery file and noticed that the earliest forms had been completed on a manual typewriter. He picked up the first piece of paper and read the basics.
Victim: Ann Spencer Montgomery.
Adult/Child: child.
