Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

self-inflicted, as far as I’m concerned,” Bartlett added. He blew out a stream of smoke. “Never heard of a left-hander shooting himself with his right hand. I suppose it can be done, but it doesn’t seem likely.”
    “Which leaves us with four. Theories, that is, discounting robbery and suicide.” Sheila thought of Kirk on the floor in his kitchen, still and vulnerable, alone in the indignity of death. Talking about him like this—as if he were part of some scientific equation to be solved—left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew they couldn’t afford to get emotionally invested. That was how you missed things. But you also had to retain your personal connection with the victim, your sense of the fragility of life and the awful finality of death.
    “Yeah.” Bartlett pushed himself away from the wall. “Timms, an employee, the wife and/or her lover, the stalker. Or none of the above. We don’t have Timms yet, and you’ve already talked to the wife. The lover can wait until tomorrow, but I’m thinking that we need to connect with Potts, Hatch, and Martin. Arrange to get them printed, find out what they know.” He looked sideways at her. “Want to work on this together or separately? Tonight or tomorrow?”
    Sheila glanced at her watch. It was after eight and she’d been on the job for fourteen hours. Now that she thought of it, she realized how tired she was. She also knew that Bartlett was giving the boss an out, if she chose to take it. She didn’t.
    “We need to get this done. It’ll be faster if we split up tonight, compare notes tomorrow. I’ll take Potts. And Jason Hatch. He was in the Rolodex, too.” Now that she thought about it, it was Hatch she really wanted to see. “How about letting Matheson get a preliminary statement from the lover—Glen Vance? He could do that first thing in the morning.”
    “Okay,” Bartlett said. “I’ll take Dennis Martin. Tomorrow, we can get started on the files and get Annetta started on the shop computer. If we’re lucky, we’ll have something from the county forensics guys by noon. And by that time, somebody will have picked Timms up and we can wring a confession out of him. My money’s on that sonovabitch.”
    Sheila considered. “That bike of Palmer’s—a pretty pricy item, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah,” Bartlett replied. “Ten grand plus, custom. Not something you’d think an assistant manager could afford. By the way, that phone call—it was Matheson, reporting on his neighborhood canvass. He didn’t pick up anything more than what we’ve already heard. A couple of the people were gone, though, so he’ll be going back tomorrow to pick them up.”
    “I’d like to go back to the scene in the morning, too,” Sheila said. “You’ve got the key?”
    Bartlett got an evidence bag from his squad car, took out the key, and gave it to her, along with an evidence receipt card. He grinned as she filled it out and signed it. “We do things by the book on this case,” he said pointedly, and they both laughed.
    “Where are you headed?” Sheila asked, as she put the key in her shoulder bag.
    “To see Martin,” Bartlett replied. “Then I’m going back to the station to open the homicide book.” The homicide book was the case file that the lead detective compiled for every murder investigation. It typically included crime-scene photographs and sketches, autopsy and forensic reports, transcripts of witness interviews, and investigators’ notes, documenting the investigation from the time the murder was reported through the arrest of a suspect. After the arrest, a copy went to the prosecutor in the DA’s office, where it became an essential part of the criminal case as it went to court.
    “While you’re at the station,” Sheila said, “you might put a note on Jim Sumner’s desk.” Sumner was the department’s Public Information Officer. “We know that the
Enterprise
is already onto this investigation.”
    “How much information do you want released?” Bartlett asked, frowning a little.
    Sheila thought he seemed uncertain and realized that this was probably something that Hardin would have handled if he had been managing the case—especially if TV was involved. Hardin liked his moment of fame in front of the camera.
    “For now, let’s go with the usual bare-bones stuff,” she said. “Who, where. Fuzzy on the when and how. Investigation continuing, etcetera. Nothing about the shop break-in, no mention of Timms.” She