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“Okay, I get your point, but why are you taking such a keen interest in all this?”
“Sean and I used to work together. I owe him, shall we say. So if you’re looking for your killer, I’d look elsewhere.”
“You have any idea exactly where?”
Joan looked away. “I suppose everyone has ideas.” And with that she abruptly ended the meeting.
After Parks left, Joan took the piece of paper out of her purse. She’d persuaded one of the county deputies to let her make a copy of the note found on Susan Whitehead’s body while King and Chief Williams were occupied elsewhere. After reading through it she took from her wallet another piece of paper she’d kept all these years. She carefully unfolded it and stared at the few words written on it.
The note she was holding was one that she believed Sean had left for her in her room at the Fairmount Hotel on the morning Ritter was killed. After their vigorous night of lovemaking she slept in, and King went on duty. When she woke up, she saw the note and did precisely what it asked, even though the request carried some professional risk. After all, she was nothing if not a risk taker. At first she simply thought it bad timing, atrocious timing. Then she wondered what Sean had really been up to that morning. She said nothing back then for a simple reason: It would have ruined her career. Now this new development had thrown an entirely new angle on all of this.
The question was what to do about it.
CHAPTER
32
AS KING AND Michelle climbed into Michelle’s Land Cruiser, he looked around in surprise.
“You cleaned out your truck.”
She said nonchalantly, “Oh, I just picked up a few things here and there.”
“Michelle, it’s spotless and it smells good too.”
She wrinkled her nose. “There were some old bananas. I don’t know how they got in here.”
“Did you do it because of the hard time I gave you?”
“Are you kidding? I just, you know, I had some time to kill.”
“I appreciate it anyway.” Something struck him. “What’d you do with all the stuff? You haven’t been home.”
She looked embarrassed. “You probably don’t want to see my room at the inn.”
“No, I probably don’t.”
They got to Bowlington and met Tony Baldwin. With his and the local sheriff’s permission, they looked around Loretta Baldwin’s home.
“What was your mother living on? Social Security?” King asked as he surveyed the nice interior.
“No, she was only sixty-one,” said Tony.
“Did she work?” Tony shook his head as King looked around at the furniture and rugs, the neat little touches here and there. The kitchen had appliances far newer than the house, and a late-model Ford sedan was parked in the garage.
King stared at Tony. “So I give up. Were you supporting her, or did she have a rich relative who died?”
“I’ve got four kids. I barely make ends meet.”
“Let me guess: did she send money to you?” Tony looked uncomfortable.
“Come on, Tony,” said Michelle, “we’re just trying to find out who did this to your mother.”
“Okay, okay, yeah, she had some money. From where, I don’t really know and didn’t really want to ask. When you got a bunch of mouths to feed, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?”
“She ever mention where it might be coming from?” Tony shook his head. King then said, “When was the first time you noticed this flow of money?”
“Not sure. I mean she sent me some cash for the first time years ago.”
