The back seat of Bonnell's police vehicle was surprisingly warm. He'd even been thoughtful enough to bring along a thermos filled with coffee.
He sat in the front seat, only turned around so he could face both Cindy and me.
In the windshield behind him I could see the emergency lights from the ambulance and the police vehicles splashing bloody light over the sullen neighborhood.
"I don't expect there are going to be many people at Mr. Stokes's funeral," Detective Bonnell said. "Not unless they turn out to gloat."
"I need to talk to you," I said.
"I hope you're ready to tell me the truth," he said.
"I am."
I told him everything about the murders I'd learned to date. Everything-from the embezzlement to the robbery to the disappearance of the security guard named Kenneth Martin. Then I told him about lying for Clay to give him an alibi.
Bonnell stared at me. "Somehow you don't strike me as the type to lie."
"I thought of my father in the nursing home. He was an honest man. He would want his son to be. I just want the killer stopped."
Cindy took my hand, squeezed it.
Bonnell said, "I ran a check on Stokes. He was not a licensed investigator-he couldn't have been with his police record, which was long and formidable and included convictions for extortion, rape, and armed robbery."
Cindy leaned forward. "You don't still think my husband committed the murders, do you?" she asked.
He frowned, a curious expression filling his chunky face. He looked at me, then slowly-almost unwillingly-at Cindy.
"No, I don't think your husband is who we've been looking for, Mrs. Traynor." He glanced up at me, then back to Cindy. "Your husband's dead, Mrs. Traynor. Somebody murdered him earlier this evening."
Ten minutes later, the ambulance driver slid in the back seat where I'd been and handed Cindy a sedative.
She was not doing well. Her first reaction had been tears, but she'd slid immediately into a terrible frozen state that was frightening to watch. Shock, the ambulance driver said.
Bonnell and I stood outside the car, our breath pluming the night air, several Action News types looking longingly at us-as if our conversation would be the most interesting anywhere in the world if only they could eavesdrop.
"You got any ideas about what's going on?" I asked.
"Only one. The guard."
"Kenneth Martin?"
He nodded. "It's obvious Martin was involved in the robbery with them. But since we don't know what happened, I guess it's fair to do a little speculating. What if Martin were paying each of them back?"
"For what?"
"For double-crossing him. From what you've told me about your partner, Harris, he certainly sounds capable of that. But what would happen if they cheated Martin out of his share of the robbery proceeds, maybe even tried to kill him, only somehow he managed to escape and has spent his time since then killing them one by one? There's no motive as powerful as vengeance."
"But why would he kill Stokes?"
Bonnell shrugged. "Simple enough. Stokes figured out who was doing it. Given Stokes's tendencies, he may even have tried to blackmail Martin. So Martin kills him."
He followed the line of my eyes. The last few minutes of the conversation I hadn't heard totally. I'd been watching Cindy deal with her grief over Clay.
"Nice lady," he said.
"Yeah."
"You should take care of her."
"I know," I said, turning back to him. I stared at him a moment. "It isn't over yet, is it?"
"No," he said flatly. "What happens now?"
"We put out an APB on Mr. Martin, and probably we have a long talk with Mr. Wickes."
"You think he can help?"
"Right now, he knows more about the robbery than anybody who's alive-except for Mr. Martin, of course. Even though he wasn't directly involved in it-which is why he's alive, apparently-he knows all the people and what happened to the gems."
"Yeah, I keep forgetting about the gems. I guess murder has a way of distracting my attention."
"Somewhere there's a lot of money in gems. Presumably Mr. Martin can tell us when we find him."
The ambulance driver got out of the back of Bonnell's car.
I started toward Cindy. I needed badly to see her, touch her, even if only to hold her hand.
Bonnell stopped me.
"There aren't any heroes in this," he said. "I know."
"But I'm glad you told me the truth."
"So am I."
He nodded to his car. "Go take Mrs. Traynor home. She should probably stay at your place tonight."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Mr. Ketchum."
He let me precede him to the car. I opened the door and put my hand inside for Cindy to take. There was nothing to say. I held my hand there, feeling cold and tired and scared.
Finally she took my hand.
"We should go home," I said.
"Home?" she said.
"My place."
She leaned over and kissed me. "Home. That sounds good."