Part 23 (1/2)

”Everything you can remember, everything you told me last night. When you're done we'll go down to Avenue A, and you can show me what happened.”

I started printing my name and address. ”Are you going to talk to the kid, Don whats.h.i.+sname?”

”I already did, first thing this morning. He didn't see much. Debby and Jacob Silverman are next on my list.”

I looked up. ”Jacob's last name is Silverman, too?”

”He's Debby's brother.”

My jaw dropped.

After a few moments, I managed to close my mouth. Grimaced. ”Well, c.r.a.p.”

He grinned. ”Kind of screws up your idea of Jacob as Walter's romantic rival, doesn't it?”

”Yeah. Sure does.”

”Almost done there?”

I looked down at the form. ”I've barely started.”

”I have some things to do out front. Leave it on the desk when you're finished and come find me” He went around the corner.

It didn't take long once I stopped yapping. Placing it neatly in the center of his spotless desk area, I opened the top drawer.

And, of course, Ambrose returned as I was replacing his pen. I froze like a bunny caught in the headlights.

”Finished?” he asked, his face expressionless.

”I wasn't, I mean, I just wanted to put your pen away. I swear...”

”Well, let's go then.”

I sneaked a look in his eyes as I pa.s.sed, but he didn't look upset. He didn't look anything at all. I hate it when other people have great poker faces, especially because I have more of a heylook-what-I'm-feeling-now face. And I was pretty sure it had guilt blazoned all over it right then.

And I'm not even Catholic.

TWENTY-NINE.

OUT IN THE PARKING lot, Ambrose led me toward a silver-colored sedan that turned out to be a Chevy Impala. He opened the pa.s.senger door for me before going to the driver's side.

Inside, the car had a police radio, a holster on the dash holding a radar gun, and a switch for the lights I a.s.sumed were set into the grill. I was riding in an unmarked police cruiser, the bane of motorists everywhere.

I wondered what kind of car Barr Ambrose drove when he wasn't being a detective. A big SUV? I had trouble picturing it. A compact? Nah. A pickup, maybe, or a Jeep. Something functional and without a lot of frippery.

He paused while buckling his seat belt, sniffed a couple times, and said, ”What's that scent?”

Oh, no. My nose had become inured to the lavender already, and I couldn't tell how much I reeked. ”Sorry,” I said, embarra.s.sed. ”It's the stuff I used on my bruises this morning.”

”Wow,” he said. ”I thought it was perfume.”

”You can open a window if you want.”

He shrugged. ”It's nice.” And he cracked the window an inch.

As we pulled out of the parking lot I said, ”Can I ask you something?”

”Like what,” he said.

”Where are you from?”

”Came up here from Seattle last year.”

”Before that.”

”Grew up in Wyoming. My family owns a dude ranch there.”

I nodded. I'd been close.

”I suppose the ties give me away,” he said. ”I hate to wear regular ties and the chief lets me get away with the bolos. My uncle used to collect them, left me a whole pile of them when he died. Figure I might as well get the use out of them.” He stopped talking abruptly, as if he'd said too much.

We approached an intersection and a little red pickup, lowered to within an inch of the pavement, flew by on the cross street in front of us. I didn't need the radar gun to tell me it was going way too fast.

Ambrose frowned and said, ”Idiot.”

At the stop sign we turned toward downtown.

”And your accent struck my ear as familiar,” I said.

”I don't have an accent!”

”Not really an accent. More like your diction.”

”You from around there, too?”

”Around there. Northern Colorado.”