Cut to the Bone(33)

“Scare up any witnesses?” he asked, stepping inside.

“None,” his lead detective said as he mapped the scene. “We canvassed twice. Except for the barbershop, all the businesses were closed by seven. And since it’s so damn hot . . .”

“Everyone was indoors, AC blasting. Yeah, I get it.” Mason had grown up in Arizona, but August heat still kicked his butt.

He pointed toward the service station at the end of the block. “They’re open till midnight. Maybe the killer was dumb enough to buy gas.”

“Forty-seven customers between six and closing, Chief,” the patrolman squeaked from the doorway. Green, but game, Mason noted. Good for him. “All locals.”

“You know that how?”

“The manager came down to see what was going on. I asked if he had any strange customers last night.”

Mason nodded. Young Frank’s parents were in Reno, enjoying their second honeymoon. His wife was in Little Rock, visiting her folks. His grandfather, who founded this shop in 1973, drove down at eight to start the day shift. He heard rap music through the door. Concerned because his grandson never left anything turned on, he peered through a crack in the blinds.

He screamed, and fainted. A passerby called nine-one-one.

The patrolman arrived with the ambulance. He saw a familiar leg through the crack, drew his gun, kicked the door.

“All locals?” Mason asked. “Manager’s sure?”

“Yes, sir. I told him to write down the names before he forgot.”

“Good work,” Mason said.

He looked at Frank and suppressed a shudder. This was bad business. With no witnesses, maybe unsolvable. He couldn’t have that. He liked the Mahoneys. And unsolved murders hurt the tourist trade.

“Go confirm everyone’s whereabouts last night,” he told the patrolman. “Get Billy, RJ, and Mike to help you. Then scoot out to the interstate and visit the truck stops. Copy the register receipts and security tapes.”

“You think a big-rig did it?” the detective said. Holbrook, at the intersection of Interstate 40, several major highways, and old Route 66, got a lot of truck traffic.

“Doubt it,” Mason said. “Most of those boys are on satellite tracker. They stop more than a few minutes, home office gets on the horn and raises hell. I’m hoping somebody cut them off, and they noted the license plates.” He doubted that, too, but still needed to check. “What time did you say Frank died?”

“Nine last night,” answered the Navajo County medical examiner. “Give or take. They kept this place like an icebox, which slows body cooling.”

“You factor that in?”

“Sure.”

“Nine it is, then,” Mason said. He swung back to the detective. “You hit motels and campgrounds. Get the records of anyone staying last night. In fact, go back a couple weeks. Could be a tourist did this.”

“Grand Canyon’s too tame so let’s whack a barber?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

The medical examiner said he was done with the television. Mason walked around the edge of the room, careful to step only in cleared areas. He picked up the remote control and hit the power button.

“Wow. I can hear myself think,” the examiner said.

“Thought I smelled something burning,” Mason said, sniffing theatrically.

“Frank woulda said something like that, you know.”

“Yeah,” Mason said. “I know.”

The examiner looked wistful a moment, then bent to his task. Mason put the remote back atop the TV. It slipped off the hard plastic and clattered under the stand.

Mason grumbled and dropped to his knees. His bursitis flared. He ignored it. He spotted the remote near the back, slid it out.

“Hello,” he said.

“What?” the examiner said.

“There’s two burnt matches under here. Came out with the remote.”

The examiner brought over an evidence bag. “This place was no smoking, right?” he asked.

“Without exception,” Mason said, peering at the curled charcoal sticks. “Grandpa’s sister was a pack-a-dayer. Died of emphysema back in Illinois. Anybody dared light up, Grandpa ripped their heads off. Even the old coots took it outside without being told.”

“So what are these doing here?” the examiner wondered.

Mason shrugged. “One of those weird clues you get sometimes, I suppose.” He thought it through. “Maybe we can find out. What’s the name of that computer database?”

“What database?”

“You know. With the initials. Tells you if your clues popped up anywhere else in the country.”

“CSI?”