High Noon

cop. How does the cop from the west side meet the sad princess from Gaston Street?” Closing her eyes, Phoebe tried to think it through. “She did charity work, attended snazzy events. A lot of cops moonlight as private security. And let’s see who’s turned in their papers in the last three years—cops between thirty and forty because he’s going to be young, and he’s not going to have time to pull tours while he’s planning his revenge.”
    “If we’re walking down the right road, she would’ve had that second cell phone on her when she went into the bank. Her personal effects would’ve gone to the husband.”
    “Yeah.” Missed that step, Phoebe realized, and nodded appreciatively at Liz. “You’re right, and if so, he’d have checked the incoming and the outgoing. He’d know. Better let him simmer first, take this other angle. Then we’ll go back on him.”
    Phoebe glanced toward the eastern sky as she got into the car. The storm wasn’t going to wait much longer.

27
    “It could be other law enforcement, it could be military, even paramilitary,” Phoebe said. “But everything points to cop to me. Gary Cooper—sheriff. He doesn’t lose, not Grace Kelly or his honor. That’s the way it was supposed to be. But on what could symbolize a wedding day, the day Angela Brentine was reclaiming her independence, taking the next step toward becoming her lover’s wife, she’s killed in a gun battle. Killed by the bad guys, sure, but also—in the subject’s mind—because I stood by—the townspeople—and didn’t take action, or didn’t allow action to be taken. Guilt by cowardice is part of the theme of the movie.”
    “You were neither guilty nor cowardly,” Dave said.
    “To him, I’m both. And he’s obsessed about this for three years. Plenty of time to work it all out. Lancelot not only cuckolded the all-powerful king, but was Guinevere’s champion. He saved her when Arthur could or would not. This guy sees himself as the hero, more importantly, Angela’s hero. And he can’t accept the failure, or the fate. There has to be blame. I’m to blame.
    “Next, the grave where he killed Roy. Jocelyn Ambucean was a young bride-to-be. She died days before her wedding, drowned in the river during a storm. She was, it’s said, running away to Tybee Island and her lover rather than go through with the marriage arranged by her father. He likes the symbols—angel watching the grave—Angela—the grave of a woman running toward true love, the pink roses. He likes giving me clues. He wants, at the end of it, for me to know why. I have to know why for it to matter enough.”
    “I’ll get the names for you.”
    “Joshua Brentine. He’s not going to want to admit his wife was cheating on him. It’s insulting and demeaning. His pride is worth a lot more to him than the lives of two strangers, or anyone else who might be a target.”
    “Admitting isn’t the same as confirming.” Dave cocked his head. “If he believes you already know.”
    She smiled. “No, it’s not, thank you for reminding me. I believe I can make him think I have more than I do.”
    “I’ll call down, see how long it’ll take to get the information you need.”
    “Thank you. I’m just going to call home while you do that, let them know I might be late.”
    She stepped out, had barely pulled out her phone when Dave stuck his head out of his office door. “Computers are down in Human Resources. New system, apparently. Could take a few hours.”
    “Well, Jesus, aren’t there paper files?”
    “And going through those doing a search like this would probably take longer than waiting for technology to flip back on. Go on home, see your family, get some dinner. They’re going to let me know as soon as they’re back up.”
    “All right, all right. Why don’t you come on with me? Have some of that dinner, too?”
    It was tempting, but she looked exhausted. “Rain check. I’m going to grab a little time at home myself with a beer and the ball game. If you’re right on this, it’s going to break for us, and break quick. Go recharge a little.”
     
    The minute he stepped outside, Dave cursed himself for not tapping Phoebe for a ride home. Even with only three blocks to go, he’d be lucky to get home on foot before the storm hit.
    Hell, while he was at it, he might as well curse himself for not taking her up on the dinner invitation. He wanted to see how Ava was holding up for himself. Wanted to see…
    Lousy