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and left.”

She swallowed. “That’s it?”

“What more do you want?”

“Impressions, thoughts?”

I shook my head. “Nothing for now. What about you?”

She stuffed the last of her sandwich in her mouth and threw a half a dozen sheets of paper, all stapled together, across the desk at me. They were Peter Gunthersen’s credit card readout for May and June 2015. Several items had been highlighted. They were a return rail ticket from San Francisco to New York, a hire car, and a room in a cheap hotel. All for the period June 12 to 15.

“Any word from ballistics?”

“I called. They haven’t got to it yet.”

“Whatever reason he was here, it was not to kill Steve Gunthersen.”

She frowned and sipped her coffee. “Okay. Why?”

“What motive could Alfonso have for telling us that elaborate story about Tammy killing Steve and Ernesto? There are two possible scenarios. One, where Ernesto and Alfonso were not there, in which case, why did he say they were? What does he gain by putting himself at the scene of Steve’s murder—especially with such an unlikely story? It also begs the question, how did he know the details of the murder scene?”

She was nodding. “No, we take it as read that he was there.”

“Okay, so if he was there, what happened? Peter was already there when he and Ernesto arrived with Danny? It plays out like Alfonso said, except that Peter was there too, and it’s Peter who pulls a gun and shoots Steve and Ernesto. That is marginally more credible than Alfonso’s story, but we have to ask, why the hell did Alfonso lie? What does he gain by protecting Peter?” I spread my hands. “He stands a much better chance of being believed by placing Peter at the scene, than by making out it was Tammy. By lying, he actually runs the risk of incriminating himself.”

“By making it look like he did it.”

“Exactly.”

“So what the hell was Peter doing in New York?”

“I think I know. Ballistics will confirm it.”

She waited, but I didn’t say any more, and after a moment she asked, “So, who’s the dame?”

“Emma Girt.”

“Emma Girt? You think she has something to do with the case?”

“Hard to tell at this stage. He went to see her after we rattled him. Gave her a card. Then at lunchtime, she went straight to see him and they spent half an hour together. Maybe she’s a client. Maybe she’s the client. I don’t know.”

She studied my face. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

I frowned and for some reason felt guilty, which made me feel a flash of irritation for a moment. “No, of course not.”

She didn’t say anything, but her face told me she didn’t believe me. My phone rang and I answered it gratefully.

“John, it’s Frank. Your rottweiler has been on my case this morning. She is lovely to look at, but man! What an attitude!” He paused, then sounded worried. “You got me on speaker?”

“I know. No, I haven’t.”

“Good. Anyway, I have a result for you on the ballistics. The two slugs are a match. Stephen Springfellow and Danny Schultz were killed with the same weapon.”

“Well, whaddaya know. That’s good news. Thanks, Frank.”

I hung up and sat staring at my desk.

When Dehan spoke, there was an edge to her voice. “You going to tell me what he said, or is this something else you’re going to keep to yourself?”

“I am not keeping anything to myself, Carmen. That was Frank…”

“I know. I saw his name on the screen. What did he want? Or is it private?”

“No! It’s not private. He had the ballistics results. They are a match. Stephen and Danny Schultz were killed with the same weapon.”

She waited. I thought. The pieces were fitting together, but the way they were fitting together didn’t make a lot of sense. Dehan spread her hands. She was beginning to look mad.

“So do the ballistics results confirm your theory or not?”

“Yes!”

“Goddamn it, Stone! What is with you? Do I have to get on my fucking knees and beg?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I was thinking.” I sighed. “The reason Peter came to New York was to deliver the gun.”

“What?”

“He came to deliver the .38.”

“How does that make any sense, Stone?”

“I don’t know yet. But so far, how does any of it make any sense? For Peter to be our killer, we need to ignore too many unexplained threads.”

“With all due respect, Stone, I think you are ignoring the obvious threads.”

“You don’t need to respect me, Dehan. Just respect the facts. The fact is Alfonso told us he was there at the killing. Peter wasn’t. But the victims were killed with Peter’s gun. The conclusion is inescapable. Somebody else used Peter’s gun. So why did Peter come to New York exactly when he did, during those dates?” I shrugged, shook my head. “If Peter killed Stephen, then did he also dress up as a southern belle, pick up Danny Schultz at Pepe’s place, and shoot him in the yard next door?”

She sighed loudly. She looked pissed. “You’re saying he came all the way from Frisco to deliver his gun to Tammy, so she could kill the man she was crazy about…? Why? Why would he do that? Why would she do that?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

Her face flushed. “And you’re going to answer it by talking to an antiques dealer on Madison Avenue?”

I watched her a moment, aware that we had lost our rapport for some reason and not sure why, or how to get it back. The damn heat wasn’t helping.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You going to keep tailing her?”

“For now, yeah.”

“You going to do it alone?”

I frowned. “No. But when I talk to her, for now, I’ll do

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