We crossed into the village of Orchard Park and found the Orchard Park PD located in the Municipal Center, a brick structure with a faux-colonial facade. We parked and headed inside. Detective Hayden was in. The receptionist first called him, then ushered us through a series of halls to his office.

Hayden sat behind a big, ugly, steel-and-Formica desk littered with stacks of case files, papers, and official-looking garbage. He held a mug of coffee in one hand and a jelly doughnut in the other. Confectioners' sugar clung to his upper lip.

"You two joined at the hip?" he asked, eyeing Richard.

"Are you really the stereotypical cop who drinks coffee and eats doughnuts?" I shot back.

Richard glared at me. "I have the car," he explained.

Hayden pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. "Sit. I checked with NYPD. You really were mugged."

"You couldn't tell?" I said, brandishing my broken arm.

Hayden shrugged. "So why'd you want to see me?"

"The Sumner murder."

He leaned back in his chair. "Of course. Dig up any clues?" His sarcasm bugged me.

"Only his guts."

He looked skeptical. "That was you, huh?"

I pulled out my notebook, giving him specifics that hadn't been mentioned in the media. "We called 911 from the Jubilee parking lot on Kenmore Avenue at one forty-seven on Saturday afternoon. The remains were found on Route 14, two-point-three miles south of Vermont Hill Road."

His skepticism dissolved. "Yeah?"

"We left our shovel out in the field. It was made by the Hawking Company."

His expression turned absolutely grim. "How'd you find . . . them?"

"Then the uh . . . viscera . . . matched Sumner's DNA?"

"Yeah. Now answer my question. How'd you know where to look?"

"This is the part you're not going to believe."

CHAPTER 15.

"Why come to me?" Hayden demanded, after I'd told him about the dreams and how they'd intensified once I returned to Buffalo.

"You're in charge of the investigation."

"What do you want? Publicity-your name in the newspaper?"

"That's the last thing I want. I want to find out who killed Sumner and bring that person to justice."

Hayden snorted. "Now you sound like the Lone Ranger."

I got up. "Come on, Rich. I don't need this shit."

Hayden leaned back in his chair. "Now let me give you a scenario. Say a doctor, an expert on anatomy, held a grudge against a bank official. And say this doctor had considerable holdings at the bank. Let's say he also had an accomplice, perhaps his younger brother-"

Richard's eyes blazed, but he held his temper in check.

I didn't.

"My brother is not a surgeon, and he's not a butcher. And neither of us could hit the broad side of a barn with a bow. If you're too narrow-minded to listen to what I have to tell you, so you can catch a goddamn murderer, you can just go fuck yourself, Hayden. Let's go, Rich-"

"Wait. Tell him about the jogger."

"What jogger?"

I had to take a breath to quell my anger. "I found a potential witness for you. One who may have seen the killer's car the night of the murder. But, if you're more interested in spinning fantasy-"

Hayden's eyes betrayed his interest. "You got a name?" I gave it to him. He made a note. "Anything else?"

I sat down again. "What do you think of the murderer's profile they printed in the paper last week?"

"We're working on some leads," he said evasively. He turned and rummaged through a cabinet behind his desk, then handed me a black plastic rectangle: a garage door opener. "Okay, Mister Psychic, get any vibes off this?"

"I can't plug into this stuff like tuning a radio, you know."

"Try," he said. "We recovered it with the victim's car."

I clasped the remote, closed my eyes, and waited. What was I supposed to get? A lot of people had probably handled it. How was I supposed to single out the killer?

But I did get something.

An impression.

A figure, dressed in a dark hooded sweatshirt and dark jogging pants. I couldn't see the face. The killer had pressed the button, and the garage door had slowly risen. Then the killer had jumped into the station wagon, pressed the button again, and the door descended. The station wagon roared to life and the remote was tossed onto the empty passenger seat.

I shook my head, handing it back to the detective. "Sorry."

Contempt shadowed his eyes, but I wasn't about to try to qualify my impressions to give him ammunition to shoot me down. He put the remote back in the cabinet.

"Anything else?

I shook my head and Richard and I stood.

"I'll call this Linski guy."

I headed for the door. "You do that, Detective."

"And I'll be sure to call you if I need you. I know where to find you."

The cold air outside seemed fresh and clean next to the overheated clamminess of the station. I breathed deeply.

"Thanks for defending my honor back there," Richard said.

I shrugged it off.

"You okay?"

"Just pissed."

"Why didn't you tell him about Sharon Walker?"

"He doesn't believe me. But, after he talks to Paul Linski, he might cut me some slack. And maybe in a couple of days I'll have something concrete to give him."

"You got something from that remote, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't tell if it was Sharon. Maybe after I meet her, I'll know for sure."

"When are you planning that?"

"I don't know. First I want to find out more about her."

He pressed the remote to unlock the car door for me then headed for the driver's side. I looked behind me. Hayden stood at one of the station's windows, staring after us.

We stopped at a branch of Bison Bank and cashed my check. Having my own money almost made me feel like a contributing member of society. That elation was brief, however, thanks to the headache hovering on my fringe of awareness. It threatened to take center stage until we had chicken sandwiches at a fast-food joint in Niagara Falls. Richard explained the biochemical correlation between headaches and an empty stomach over a second cup of coffee.

Thanks to my windfall, I was able to pay for our lunch, an extremely small gesture of thanks for all Richard had done for me, but it made me feel better.

Afterwards, we headed for Keystone Construction. We were a couple of minutes early, but Charles, "just call me Charlie," Nowak was waiting. A stocky, balding, good-natured man, he looked every one of his sixty-plus years. Richard waited in the reception area while I met with the former Walker Construction V.P. Sitting in one of the two chairs facing his desk, I wondered if my tiny cubicle back at Travelers in Manhattan had been so mundane.

"Thanks for taking time to see me," I started after the introductions. "I'm looking into the relationship between Matt Sumner and the demise of Walker Construction, to see if there might be a connection."

"I've been reading about his murder in the paper." He shook his head. "It's terrible. But why do you think the two are connected?"

"I can't go into that right now. But I hoped you could shed some light on his connection with Walker."

"Sorry. I didn't know the man personally. Big Jim Walker dealt with him on a one-to-one basis. He died several years ago."

"That's when his daughter took over the business, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"How long have you known Sharon Walker?"

"Since she was born. Jim and I started the business together. We were friends since we were kids."

"I'm curious. Why didn't you take over when Jim Walker died?"

"Jim had the majority interest in the business. He left everything to Sharon. She felt only she could follow in his footsteps, and she's not one to delegate authority."

"I take it that wasn't in the company's best interests."

"Not when we were hoping to build the Broadway Mall." He shook his head. "Sharon burned a lot of bridges when the company was in trouble. She tried to keep it from falling apart, but she just didn't have the experience. And she wouldn't listen to anyone who did."

"Are you still in touch with her?"

He shook his head. "I don't think she talks to anyone from the company. She and her son live in that old, rundown house out in East Aurora. It's all she had left after the bankruptcy. She's got enough money to make ends meet, thanks to a trust fund, but that's about all."

East Aurora. That confirmed it. I'd definitely spoken with Sharon on Saturday night.

"Did she have much contact with Matt Sumner at the bank?"

"Yes. Matt worked closely with Jim and our comptroller. I know he felt as bad as the rest of us when the company failed. He did everything in his power to keep us afloat."

"Did you all socialize with Sumner?"

"Not me. But Sharon did for several years. She was engaged to his son."

"Oh?"

"Five or six years ago."

"I understand Rob Sumner married someone else last fall."

"I wouldn't know that. Jim was disappointed when they broke up. He liked Rob. Being an only child, Sharon was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. I don't think that set right with Rob's family-particularly his mother."

"Was Matt Sumner fond of Sharon?"

He shrugged. "I really don't know."

"Would you know if Sumner cheated on his wife?"

Novak blinked, startled by the question, but answered it anyway. "I don't know for sure. But there were rumors."

"Such as . . . ?"

He shook his head, unwilling to speculate. I tried another question. "I understand Walker Construction had other troubles during the bankruptcy. Do you know where I can find Ted Schmidt?"

"I suppose he's out of jail by now. He cost the company a couple hundred grand. Maybe it wouldn't have saved us, but we wouldn't have gone under as fast, either."

"Getting back to Sharon, was she friendly with anyone in the office?"