Twenty-Five
HALLSTEAD LEAVES WITH Trey Grant in her patrol car to take him to the station for booking. Dan’s on the phone with his friend about doing a rush analysis of the sword.
“I know what time it is, Ed,” he says, “and I know you’re not my personal forensic scientist.” He pauses. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s Detective Parr.” He listens, then smiles. “Thanks, Ed. I’ll drive it over tonight. I need to go home and change first. . . See ya in about an hour.”
“He’ll do it?” I ask.
“He’s not happy about it, but he’ll do it,” Dan says. “Do you think she’s ready to talk?”
I look at Helen. She’s still leaning against my car, but is staring across the street instead of covering her face with her hands.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I mutter. We walk over to her. As we ap
