Inside, state troopers and civilian personnel alike looked at him with either wariness or blatant curiosity. One of the clerks who worked in the driver’s license division timidly approached him at the communal coffee bar and told him that her prayer circle had put his name on their list. He thanked her, although he was afraid to ask what they were praying for—his absolution or damnation.
No sooner had he sat down in his cubicle than his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, saw that it was Conrad’s landline number, and cursed under his breath as he answered. “You had better be dying.”
“You’re not that lucky. In fact you’re about the most luckless bastard I’ve ever come across.”
“Started when I was sired by you.”
“Isn’t there a commandment about honoring your parents?”
“You’re not supposed to contact me unless it’s an emergency.”
“In my opinion this qualifies. Your roof guy was the wrong guy. That was the secret eating on you yesterday, right? You gave it up?”
“Yes and yes.”
“I admire your integrity.”
“What do you know about integrity, except possibly how to spell it?”
His father bypassed that. “As you predicted, the flub has caused an F-five shit storm, and you’re at the center of it.”
“Told you.”
“Neal Lester is catching his fair share. Is he blaming you?”
“Behind the scenes. But he can’t dispute that Rodriguez refused to disarm and opened fire on a deputy. He’s got it on security camera video.”
“So now what?”
“I ride it out and do everything I can to catch the would-be assassin.”
“Beats sitting in front of a computer all day.”
“I do important work at this computer, and it’s not life-threatening.”
“You could die of boredom.”
“There is that,” Crawford said under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I gotta go.”
“Need any help?”
“With what?”
“The shooting case.”
“Help from you?” Crawford chortled. “No.”
“I could do research.”
“Into what?”
“Possible suspects. How many enemies can the young judge have?”
“She says none she knows of.”
“Could be she’s lying.”
“Could be, but I don’t think so.”
“Anybody who was in the courthouse at the time—”
“We’re aware of that, Conrad.”
“That’s a total of—how many?”
“Over two hundred.”
Crawford had been disheartened by the head count when Neal emailed the list of names to him late last night. They were fortunate in that many who’d reported for jury duty that Monday morning had been dismissed before two o’clock. Otherwise the number would have been even higher.
“Two hundred.” Conrad whistled. “Any leads?”
“We’re pursuing a few.”
“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. You’ve got nothing.”
Actually he did have something, a small niggling inconsistency that he needed to bring to Neal’s attention. His current conversation was preventing that. “Bye, Conrad.”
“You know, this reminds me of a case I had.”
“Ancient history.”
“A woman got knifed to death on a Sunday morning in the basement of her church where she was making the flower arrangement for the altar. No apparent motive. Every suspect was a church member. Hand-waving, foot-washing holy rollers. Where do you start looking for a killer among that flock?”
“Conrad, I don’t have time for—”
“Guess who killed her?”
“I don’t give a damn. Good-bye.”
“I’m a good snoop.”
“You’re a good drunk. You’re a really good drunk.”
“I haven’t touched a drink in—”
“Sixty-two days and counting.”
“Which makes it sixty-three.”
“I’m busy.”
“That’s why you should let me do some legwork for you.”
“Don’t call me again.”
He hung up before Conrad could say anything else. He called Neal’s cell but got voice mail, then dialed the PD and asked to be put through to the Crimes Against Persons unit and eventually got Matt Nugent on the line.
Crawford went straight to the reason for the call. “How many names on your list of people who were evacuated from the courthouse?”
“Counting everybody?”
“Everybody.”
“Two oh seven.”
“Okay,” Crawford said, “now break out the police department and sheriff’s office personnel, plus all other courthouse officials and their staffs. How many names does that leave?”
“Hmm.” Nugent did the calculation as he’d done when Neal sent him the list. “Seventy-five.”
“Right. Should be seventy-six. We’re short one civilian name.”
Crawford could hear Nugent redoing the subtraction. “Borrow one,” he murmured. “Geez, you’re right.”
“If you see Neal before I can reach him, have him call me.” He clicked off and swiveled his chair around, about to go after a hot refill of coffee, only to discover his lawyer standing in the opening of his cubicle.
Crawford was startled to see him. “What brings you by?”