Lucas: “Do you remember…”
Trimble looked up. “Remember what?”
“The name of Helen’s doctor?”
“I talked to him in the parking lot,” Trimble said.
His chin dipped, and Green said, “Dad?”
Trimble pulled himself up and said, “Carlson. Dr. Carlson. Timothy Carlson. He had a little car, not practical at all. Have to be a dumbshit to ride around in one of those if you didn’t have to.”
“I’d have to agree with that,” Virgil said.
Green: “Did that help?”
“It might. We hope so. Whatever happens, we’re grateful, Miz Green,” Virgil said. He looked down at Trimble, who now seemed fully asleep. “When your father wakes up, tell him he did a very good thing.”
“I will,” she said. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she patted her father on the shoulder.
“We’ll leave you with him,” Lucas said.
—
Outside, in thecar, Lucas asked Virgil, “Who has the Bee list? Was that Moss?”
“No, it’s Weitz.”
“Gimme Weitz’s phone number.”
Virgil found the number and Lucas called Weitz. When she answered, he asked, “Is the list alphabetized?”
“Most of it. Down to the Rs.”
“Is there a Timothy Carlson on the list?”
“Let me look.” She went away for a minute, then came back and said, “Yup. Is that a big deal?”
“We don’t know. We’re out of town, headed back. Where are you?”
“We’re at a Motel 6 on I-94, a couple miles from the park.”
“We’ll be there in half an hour or so…maybe a little longer. We’dlike you and your people to start searching Carlson. Everything you can find out about him.”
“Is he the one?”
“We’re working on a very shaky tip here. Right now, we want to know as much as we can find out.”
“See you in half an hour, then,” Weitz said.
Ten minutes later, she called back: “We got a quick piece of important information about Timothy Carlson.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. He’s dead. He died in a fall. Give me a phone number, and I’ll text you the obituary from theStar-Tribune. Like, right now.”
—
“Sonofagun. That doesn’thelp,” Virgil said, after they’d rung off.
