‘Doesn’t it?’

He is right. If we are on the money with the motive, we can use this information to direct the investigation.

A thought enters my head. ‘If jealousy is the reason she was killed, we’ve a whole lot of suspects to look at.’

Alfonse’s snort was half mocking and half derisive. ‘You flatter yourself. There can’t be that many people jealous of you.’

‘Who says they’re jealous of me? What about all the wives or girlfriends of Kira’s clients? Perhaps she had a secret admirer who somehow found out about her feelings for me?’

The dejection in my voice is echoed by the way Alfonse slumps into a chair.

With so many possible suspects it will be tough to get a handle on which, if any, of the wives or girlfriends had learned of their partner’s visits to Kira. Then it will be a case of working out if they’d taken matters into their own hands.

There is always the possibility they’d hired a killer. If the husbands can afford ten grand for sex, the wives would have twenty to hire a hitman.

While investigating this possibility we’ll be up against rich and powerful women with secrets to hide.

‘So what do we do then?’

He is really asking which direction we should point the investigation.

‘You been invited to Claude’s party tonight?’ He nods. ‘We go and hang out. Find out what we can about the guys she dated. If they’ve had any other relationships since Kira. Who they’re seeing. If they’re obsessed with Kira, they may have not bothered with anyone else.’

‘Kira did.’

I scowl at his double-edged statement. ‘Have you a better idea?’

‘No.’

A familiar look crosses Alfonse’s eyes. It’s the one he gets when his mind is travelling digital highways and is about to go off-road.

I guess he is thinking of ways he could learn more about the wives or girlfriends of Kira’s clients. Whether there is a way he can identify them without their knowledge.

Once he knows who they are, he can begin to trace their movements, both physical and financial.

I rise from my seat. ‘I’ll see you at Claude’s in an hour.’

31

I pull in behind the police cruiser and climb out. Chief Watson had called as I was driving from Alfonse’s.

So here I am. Summoned for the second time today – this one way more intriguing than the first. I doubt Chief Watson will give me a gun, although I hadn’t expected Mother would either.

The plastic crime scene tent erected four hundred yards from the car park is just visible in the fading light. Its presence confirms my suspicions about the reason for the chief’s terse call.

‘Come to the Panchtraik Reservoir public car park and ask for me. I need you.’ He’d rung off before I’d had the chance to agree or refuse.

Insects brought out by the cooling night air are starting their mating calls as I set off towards the plastic tent.

I hang back while the chief finishes his conversation with one of the Tyvek-suited examiners. Farrage and one of his buddies are off to one side talking to a young couple. From their body language and the tears streaming down her face I figure they are either relatives of the person in the tent or they had found the corpse.

Keeping well away from the lake, I skirt the area and take a look around. I’m not looking for anything in particular, just something out of place. Or missing. Or broken.

Like the branches of the dogwood bush by the side of the reservoir.

Not wanting to contaminate any possible evidence, I approach the bush from the side. Using my cell as a torch, I look at the ground to make sure I don’t trample anything I shouldn’t.

Up close and under illumination, the branch of the dogwood looks to have been broken within the last day or two. When I turn my eyes to the ground I find a tyre mark. Not wide like a car tyre but wider than you’d get from a bicycle.

The beam of light from my phone doesn’t extend far into the bush, so I can’t see if the tyre mark goes anywhere. I take care to retrace my steps backwards and grab the nearest officer and show him what I’ve found.

‘Boulder! With me please.’

Chief Watson may have said please, but there is no request in the way he’s called me over.

I match his pace as he strides back towards the car park. There is none of the huffing and puffing you’d expect from a man of his age moving so fast.

As we walk, he gives me the bare facts. An elderly woman has been found by a young couple. They’d thought she was sleeping until they saw the colour of her skin.

The initial examination has shown the woman’s throat has been cut right at the jugular. Beyond that, he hasn’t got much else to tell me. He doesn’t yet know who the woman is or why there is no blood at the scene.

‘Why did you call me, Chief?’

He stops walking and turns to me, one meaty paw massaging the deep furrows on his brow.

‘This is the third homicide victim we’ve had in as many days.’ A thumb jerks in Farrage’s direction. ‘Those assholes couldn’t find their way out of a room with one door and when I asked for a couple of detectives to be sent over from Salt Lake City I was refused. I need your help.’

‘What about the FBI?’

‘They’re not interested. Person I spoke to told me to call them when the body count reaches five. Asshole.’

‘Still, why me? Or should I say us?’ It is only right to include Alfonse.

‘Because you’ve shown more gumption than those morons.’ Again his thumb jerks towards Farrage. ‘You and your buddy achieved way more on the Niemeyer case in one day than they could hope to achieve in a month. I can’t run around wiping their asses while I’ve a whole town to run.’

I can see his predicament. Like every other sizable town on the planet there is an element of society in Casperton who’ll realise when the police are overstretched. Petty thefts will increase; one of the stores or banks may even be held up with the entire police force distracted by the homicides.

It is a balancing act and the keystone for the whole inverted pyramid is Chief Watson.

I want to help, but Alfonse and I are already out of our depth investigating Kira’s death.

‘I’m not saying yes until I speak to Alfonse, but what exactly do you want from us? I’m guessing you’re not gonna toss us a badge and declare we’re now deputies.’

My attempt at humour washes over him. ‘I want to use you in an advisory capacity. So I don’t have to think of everything myself. Those assholes have never had an original idea between them. Go phone your buddy, will ya. I need to get things moving around here.’

As I go back to my car to make the call in private, the officer I’d shown the tyre track to approaches Chief Watson.

Alfonse picks up on the third ring.

When I leave my car to go tell the chief we’ll help, I have to leap out of the way as a tan Chrysler shoots into the car park.

Despite all the police in the area, I run round the Chrysler and haul open the driver’s door. My fist is cocked ready to deliver an unforgettable warning about dangerous driving. At the moment I’m about to strike, I realise the driver is female.

A wave of eye-watering perfume hits me before her words do. ‘You the bozo I nearly run down? You should learn to watch where you’re going.’ She has one of those unmistakable Jewish New York accents. She points at my fist. ‘We both know you’re not going to use that so you may as well put it down and get out of my way.’

When she climbs out of the car the top of her head reaches my shoulder. A cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth drops ash onto her peach-coloured blouse. She doesn’t notice – her eyes are locked onto the tent.

‘So, I’m guessing with all the cops around we’ve got a third body inside that tent.’