Free The Buck Stops Here by Mindy Starns Clark

but my husband was killed here in town about four years ago.”
    “Killed?”
    “In a hit-and-run boating accident on the river. You were the arresting officer.”
    His eyes widened and then filled with understanding. He nodded, leaning back a bit in his chair.
    “Of course,” he said. “Mrs. Webber. You and your husband were water-skiing at the time.”
    “Yes.”
    “I remember it very well.”
    He looked at me, so I continued.
    “I’m back in town for the first time since it happened,” I said, “and I’m really just trying to piece together the facts of the case. I wonder if you could fill in some blanks for me, things that weren’t in the newspapers.”
    “I can try. There were a lot of us involved in the case at first. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you everything you want to know.”
    “Mainly I was just wondering about James Sparks, the man who killed my husband. I want information. Does he live around here, or had he come on vacation? Whose boat was he driving that day? Was it his? And so on.”
    “James Sparks,” he said, thinking. “Yeah, he was staying up the river, not too far from where the accident happened. A fancy rental home. The boat came with the house, I believe.”
    “Do you know if he was staying there alone?” I asked.
    The officer shook his head.
    “I don’t rightly remember,” he said, “but it’s a big place, four or five bedrooms. Goes for a couple hundred a night. Most folks don’t pay that much just to stay by themselves.”
    “Does the name ‘Tom Bennett’ mean anything to you? Do you know if he was also staying there at that time?”
    “No, I’m sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
    “Do you have the address of the house, or maybe the name of the rental company that handled it?”
    “The house is out on Randall Road, the last one just after it dead ends. I could check the file to find out who manages the property. The information might be in there.”
    “I would appreciate it.”
    He stood and went into another room, and while he was gone I opened up my notebook and skimmed through what I had written, trying to remember what other questions I wanted to ask. Before I could think of anything else, Officer Robinson was back at his desk, looking confused.
    “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing there,” he said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “The file on James Sparks,” he said. “It’s missing.”
    The officer tried to be as helpful as he could, but there was no record of James Sparks—on paper or in the computer.
    “Somebody goofed somewhere,” he said finally, staring at the computer screen. “I can put a request out. Maybe his file’s been pulled and is sitting on somebody’s desk.”
    He gestured around the room, and I guessed I was supposed to take into consideration the number of desks that were there.
    “What should I do?” I asked.
    He pulled a business card out of his top drawer and handed it to me.
    “Give me a call here tomorrow after one. I’ll see if I can find the file before then.”
    “Okay,” I said hesitantly. Something about this felt very wrong.
    I reached in my bag and pulled out one of my J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation business cards. I scribbled my cell phone number on the back and then handed the card to him.
    “If you find something sooner, could you call me?” I asked.
    “Sure,” he said, looking at the card. “What’s the ‘J.O.S.H.U.A.’ stand for?”
    “I wish I knew,” I said.

Eight

    Back out on the street, I looked cautiously around before walking toward my car. It was broad daylight and I was near a police station, but still I felt apprehensive, remembering the man I thought was following me earlier.
    Still, I made it to my car with no incident and without seeing a single passerby on the road. As I started it up and pulled out, I made sure no one was following me, adding several odd switchbacks just to be certain. There was no one there. It must have been a coincidence.
    Once I felt confident that I was all