Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

making a trip to Juárez to try to locate that missing kid.”
    “Yes,” Sheila said. She could hear the concern in Chamber’s voice and it reminded her of her own—the worry she had been trying to bury. “He and Mike McQuaid are planning to cross today.”
    “Tell the truth, it’s not something I’d want to do.” Chambers cleared his throat. “You talk to Blackie, you tell him luck from me, Sheila. Hope the job goes okay. That’s a dangerous place down there, whatever the mission.”
    “Thanks, Curt,” Sheila had said. “I’ll do that.”
    Now, she pushed the worry out of her mind and tried to pay attention to Bartlett, who was filling her in on his activities of the morning. Before she had interrupted him with news of Timm’s death, he had completed his interview with Kirk’s contract worker, Dennis Martin. He had caught him at his apartment before he left for the shop.
    The interview had not produced any new information, but Martin had confirmed what Richie Potts had told Sheila the night before: that Jason Hatch had been let go because of some kind of difficulty with a customer. What it was, exactly, Martin didn’t know, but it had made Kirk really angry. “Steaming” was the way Martin had described it. And no, he hadn’t worked on Timms’ computer, Martin said, although he knew where it was because he saw Henry Palmer putting it into the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. He claimed that he hadn’t touched it. Bartlett had sent him to the station to be fingerprinted.
    “That should take care of everybody who might have had a shot at that computer,” Sheila said thoughtfully. “Except for Hatch, of course. We’ll have Timms’ prints before we leave here. We’ve already got Palmer’s, Potts’, Martin’s, and Kirk’s.”
    Bartlett lit a cigarette. “If these people are telling the truth, the only prints we should find on the computer are Timms’ and Palmer’s. Anybody else’s prints show up, he’s on our blackmail suspect list.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “I’ve got Matheson working on a summary of Kirk’s movements for forty-eight hours before his death.”
    Sheila took out her notebook and flipped a couple of pages, catching up. “What about the autopsy? Today, is it?”
    Bartlett nodded. “I talked to Morse as I was driving out here. She’ll phone when she’s ready to start the autopsy. One of us needs to be there. You or me?”
    “Your call,” Sheila said.
    Bartlett flicked his cigarette ash. “My case, too. I’ll take it.” He looked at her. “Next dead body is yours.”
    “Next dead body,” Sheila said wryly, “we’ll haul Hardin back here to do his share.”
    “I’ll go for that,” Bartlett said, and grinned easily. “On the autopsy, there are two major questions we’re interested in, right? Whether there’s any stippling around the entry wound and whether there’s gunpowder residue on the hands.”
    “We’ll also want the bullet—or the fragments,” Sheila reminded him. “There wasn’t any exit wound, so it’s still in Kirk’s skull. The angle of entry would be good if Morse can get it, but she may not be able to.” The path of a bullet through hard and soft tissue was often erratic, and it would require careful examination to determine the angle.
    “Right.” Cigarette in his mouth, Bartlett made a couple of notes. “Did you pick up anything in the Kirk house this morning?”
    “Several things,” Sheila said. “In fact, there’s one that I’d like to follow up on this morning. There’s a message on the answering machine from a woman named Tina. Tina Simpson. I’d like to have a talk with her. She sent Kirk copies of a couple of premium notices. Looks like somebody was paying the bill for a million-dollar life insurance policy on him.”
    Bartlett frowned. “The wife?”
    “No. This is in addition to the policy Kirk took out on himself. Two hundred fifty thousand on that one, with the wife as the beneficiary, according to her. No idea who the beneficiary is on the larger one.”
    “A million bucks sounds like a pretty fair motive to me,” Bartlett said. “Back to the blackmail. I’ll check with Butch on the fingerprint situation. If we get a match on Timms’ computer with one of the othercontract guys, Hatch isn’t so urgent. If we don’t get a match, I’ll put out an APB on him as a person of interest.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it out in the gravel. “Guess I’m ready to head back to