“Pederssen,” Eric barks, yanking his beeping police walkie-talkie from his belt. He’s filling up his BMW at the gas station on the edge of town before he heads out to find the remote phone booth as reported to him by Nina Shetland. He turns away from the driving snow.
A crackly voice on the other end of a bad connection identifies itself as Arturo Rodrigues, the young Cuban who’s their prime witness to the shooting of Regina Kingston. Eric can’t make out the words and yells, “Can’t hear you. I’ll call you back in five.” Hanging up, he jams the gas nozzle back into the slot, puts the gas cap on, and tightens it before rushing into the convenience store to pay. Two middle-aged ladies are yakking on about the weather in front of him. He shuffles his feet with impatience.
Noticing him, they
