N Is for Noose

the particular file he was working. The originals are sent to the records section down in Independence. Reports are submitted at regular intervals. Newer officers seem to be better organized about this stuff. Old timers like me and Tom tend to do things when we get around to it."
    "Would there be any way to work backward by checking to see what reports were missing?"
    "I don't know how you'd do that and it wouldn't tell you much. You'd have no way of knowing where he'd been and who he'd talked to, let alone the content of conversations. It's not uncommon to have a file with a couple of reports missing… especially if he was working a case and hadn't typed up his notes yet. Besides, all notes wouldn't be incorporated, just the information he judged relevant. You might scribble down a lot of stuff that wouldn't amount to a hill of beans when you get right down to it."
    "Suppose he was developing information on a case of his?"
    "He probably was. It also might have been a case someone else had worked that he was reworking for some reason."
    "Such as?"
    Rafer shrugged. "He might have picked up a new lead. Occasionally, there's a case in the works where the information is sensitive… might be an informant in another state, or something to do with Internal Affairs."
    "My point exactly. I mean, what if Tom was privy to something he didn't know how to handle."
    "He'd have told me. We talked about everything."
    "Suppose it concerned you?"
    He made a little move that indicated agitation. "Let's get off this, okay? I'm not saying we can't talk about this further, but let me think about it some."
    "One more thing. And don't get all testy on me. Just tell me what you think. Is there any possibility Tom might have been involved with another woman?"
    "No."
    I laughed. "Try to keep your answer to twenty-five words or less," I said. "Why not?"
    "He was a deeply moral man."
    "Well, couldn't that explain his brooding? A man with no conscience wouldn't be at war with himself."
    "Objection, your honor. Purely speculative."
    "But Rafer, something was troubling him. Selma 's not the only one who saw that. I don't know if it was personal or professional, but from what I gather, he was truly distressed."
    We pulled into the parking area between the Rainbow Cafe and the Nota Lake Cabins. Rafer put the car in park and then opened his door. "Come on. I'll buy you breakfast. I got a daughter works here."
    I struggled with the handle and then gave up. I sat while he walked around the car and opened the door on my side. He even offered a helping hand as I emerged. "Thanks. I can see this is going to be a pain."
    "It'll be good for you," he said. "Force you to deal with your dependency issues."
    "I don't have dependency issues," I said stoutly.
    He smiled in response.
    He held the cafe door open and I entered ahead of him. The place was bustling, all men, clearly the stopping-off place of early risers, ranchers, cops, and laborers on their way to work. The interior was, as usual, overheated, and smelled of coffee, bacon, sausages, maple syrup, and cigarettes. The brown-haired waitress, Nancy, was taking an order from a table full of fellows in overalls while Barrett, behind the counter, was focused on a griddle spread with pancakes and omelettes in the making. Rafer took the lead and found us an empty booth. As we passed the intervening tables, I could see we were attracting any number of stares. I was guessing the jungle drums had already spread the news about my assailant.
    "How'd you end up in Nota Lake?" I asked, as we slid into the seats.
    "I started out as a dispatcher for the L.A.PD., working on my degree at night. Once I graduated, I applied to the academy. I was hired on at San Bernardino, eventually assigned to robbery detail, but when Barrett was born, Vicky started bugging me to leave LA. She was working as an ER nurse at Queen of Angels, and hated the commute. Even on two salaries, we couldn't afford to buy a house in any of the areas we liked. I heard about an opening in the sheriff's department up here. Vick and.I drove up one weekend and fell in love with the place. That's been twenty-three years. Tom was already here. He grew up in Bakersfield."
    Two tables over, I caught sight of Macon with his gaze fixed on me. He leaned forward, making some comment. The man with him. made one of those casual turns, pretending to glance idly around the room when he was really taking aim at me. I picked up a menu, pretending I didn't notice him