"Oh we've got something." She munched a bit more. "Should've picked up a c.o.ke when I had the chance," she said.

The dispatcher pointed out Edwin Kewell vacuuming the back seat of his cab on the other side of the lot. "That's him over there. He needs to clean out his unit. I had a complaint, yesterday."

"Is that a regular thing for him?" Stacy asked.

"No. Just lately. Since he got back."

"From visiting his sister?"

"Said he was going away for a week. He was back in two days. I guess she got better."

Stacy had to raise her voice to be heard over the vacuum. "Mr. Kewell? Hi. Mind turning that off a minute?"

Edwin switched off the Dirt Devil and looked from one to the other. "What?" he said.

"Hi. Detective Stacy Crean, Dockerty PD. This is my partner, Detective Moen, Metro Homicide Unit."

"Yeah?"

"So. How's your sister?"

"My sister? What about her?"

"We heard you left town to look after your sister."

"Oh. She's okay."

"Did you visit her?"

"For a couple of days."

"In El Paso," Adele said.

"What?"

"We were just talking to your father. He said your sister lives in El Paso."

"Yeah, okay. That was just something I told people. It was a secret."

"What was?"

"I was, my girlfriend and me, we were eloping."

"Oh, hey, congratulations."

"Yeah. Only it didn't happen."

"That's too bad. Was it Doreen you were eloping with?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Just interested." Adele moved away, began looking at cars parked along the fence.

"Why didn't you get married?" Stacy asked.

"We changed our minds. These things happen."

"Mutual decision?"

"I guess. It's personal."

"Okay, we can leave that for now. I'm just wondering, did any detectives talk to you about events on the night of Monday, March 14?"

"Why?"

"That was the night a man was shot at the Sunset Motel on 35. When they questioned one of your regular fares, Anya Daniel, she offered your name to corroborate her whereabouts that night."

"I drove her home, if that's what she says."

"That's what she said."

"Fine then."

"Would you mind telling me where you went after that?"

"Me? Lots of places. Have to check my sheet."

"Did you stop in Omemee on your way home?"

"Probably."

"Stop in anywhere for a beer after your shift?"

"What? Yeah. Probably."

"Remember where that would have been?"

"Probably the pizza place."

"What pizza place?"

"It's not a pizza place any more. Lemon-something."

"Mmm hmm. Right, Lemon-something. Yes. You were there. We've got two people who identified you, the bartender and one of the servers. You were watching a basketball game. The other man there, you'd remember him, tall, red hair? He's the man who was shot later that night."

"So?"

"Do you by any chance know Dr. Ruth? Lorna Ruth. She may have spotted you at the bar when she came in. She had a date with the man at the bar. You might be the reason they didn't stick around."

"None of my business what she does."

"According to the bartender, you left immediately after they did. Didn't finish your beer."

"I was late, I had to get home."

"So what time did you get home?"

"I don't remember exactly."

"How did you know you were late?"

"I don't know, might've checked my watch, checked the clock over the bar . . ."

Stacy lowered her voice, stepped closer and spoke as to a child. "And what did the clock say?"

"8:30, more or less."

"And how long does it take to drive from Lemon-something to your house?"

"Ten minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Usually."

"So if we talk to your father he'll confirm that you got home by around 8:45?"

"I don't think he heard me come in. He was watching TV."

"So what were you late for? Was there a show you were going to watch?"

"It was just getting late."

"Bartender says you left in a big hurry. What was so important?"

"What's going on? Person's not allowed to live their life? I wanted to check my emails. What's the difference?"

Adele stepped in. "You own any firearms, Edwin?"

"What? Yeah. Sure. Still legal, isn't it? Owning a hunting rifle?"

"Depends. What sort of hunting rifle do you own, Edwin?"

"30-30."

"What kind of 30-30?"

"Winchester."

"Mind if we take a look at it?"

"I don't know where it is right now."

"Well, I'm sure we can figure it out. Is it in your trailer?"

"I don't know."

"We can call your father and have him check."

"I don't think it's there."

"Well?"

"I remember now, it's in the trunk."

"Trunk of your car? This Chevy over here? Would you mind popping the lid, sir?"

"Don't you need a search warrant or something?"

"You want us to get a search warrant? Fine, we can do that. Stace, why don't you drive over to the courthouse and get us a search warrant and I'll keep Mr. Kewell company until you get back."

"Oh what the f.u.c.k. I'll open it." Edwin pulled keys out of his pocket and opened the trunk. A tartan blanket was draped over most of the contents.

Adele grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled it back. "There we are," she said. "Winchester Model 94, 30-30 lever-action saddle gun. Just like John Wayne."

Stacy began taking pictures of the trunk's interior with her digital camera.

"It's not loaded," Edwin said.

"Don't touch it, sir. We'll have to take it with us."

"What for?"

"Ballistics. Turns out my partner was shot with a carbine just like this one. Might have even been this one. What do you think of that?"

"What are you talking about? They arrested the guy, didn't they?"

"You getting pix of those gumboots, Detective? Got some bootprints we can match up."

"But you got the guy already!"

"Oh f.u.c.k, Stace, we might as well take the whole car in for a thorough examination. You a housepainter, Edwin? Notice you have a nice little folding ladder in there too."

"In fact," Stacy said, "there's everything you need in there to shoot someone through the bathroom window of a motel room." She took another series of pictures, boot treads, the ladder's feet. "Were you aware of that, Edwin? Were you aware that you had a complete murder kit right in your trunk?"

Edwin leaned against the side of his car and slowly slumped to the concrete. He buried his face in his hands. "I don't know how she . . . she just met the guy. How could she do that?"

"I'm out of my jurisdiction, Stace. You better do the honours."

"Edwin Kewell, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Detective Paul Delisle. You have the right to keep your mouth shut."

"Doreen? From the Hillside?" Orwell shook his head with something like admiration. "He just met her at lunch. That day."