Free Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery) by SusanWittig Albert Page B

days ago.”
    “He didn’t mention it to me. But McQuaid read about it in the
Enterprise
and told me about it.” China raised an eyebrow. “Has there been an arrest?” She didn’t ask,
Do you think the break-in is somehow related to Kirk’s death?
But Sheila knew she was thinking it.
    “We’re expecting an arrest this afternoon.” Sheila glanced at her watch. “Actually, any minute now.”
    “Oh, yeah? Who?”
    Sheila didn’t answer. Instead, she asked, “Did Kirk work at home?”
    China glanced at her, understanding. “At home, at his shop, both. The company does computer repairs, installations, and so on. Larry had several guys working for him.”
    Sheila nodded. The names of Kirk’s employees were in Bartlett’s report on the break-in investigation. If it became relevant, she’d have another look.
    China stepped back. “I saw Detective Bartlett while I was waiting here with Ramona, but I didn’t volunteer any of this information. Didn’t want to distract him. I figured he was going to be busy, especially after he brought in the county crime-scene unit.” She paused, her eyebrow raised again, and Sheila knew that she understood the significance of that. “But if you guys have questions, I’m available.” She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, tilting her head and smiling a little. “How come I haven’t seen Deputy Chief Hardin?”
    “Hardin’s gone fishing,” Sheila replied, mirroring China’s smile. Once, she had broken her own rule—never talk shop with friends—and complained bitterly to China about Hardin’s attitude. She took a breath. “I’m on this investigation with Bartlett.”
    There. She’d said it.
    “Glad to hear that, Sheila.” China nodded approvingly. “It’ll do you good to be away from the desk for a day or two. Get out in the field—get a load of the stuff your officers have to put up with every day from us ungrateful civilians.” She flashed Sheila a crooked grin. “Bubba Harris did that, you know. Not often enough, but sometimes. People liked it when they saw him doing something other than administrative stuff.”
    Sheila heard what China was telling her. She pocketed her notebook. “Thanks again, China. I appreciate it. We’ll be in touch.”
    She ducked under the yellow tape and went up the drive toward the garage. She was almost there when her cell phone offered its cheerful digital chirp. She flipped it open, expecting Dispatch with the notification of Timms’ surrender and arrest.
    But it wasn’t Mary Lou. The caller’s soft, good-old-boy drawl was colored with irritation. “Charlie Lipman, here, Chief. I want to know where he is.”
    “Where who is?” Sheila asked warily. Timms was a no-show?
    “Aw, come on, Chief. Don’t play that game with me. If you’ve booked my client in my absence—although that was
not
the process we agreed to—I want to talk to him.” His voice became hard. “
Now
.”
    “If it’s George Timms you’re looking for, counselor, I don’t know a thing about him. I understood from Deputy Chief Hardin that he was supposed to surrender—” She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see how late it was. “More than an hour ago. Have you tried his home?”
    Lipman grunted. “His home, his cell phone, his business, the golf club, his party place in the Hill Country. If your guys have him, cough him up, damn it. I don’t want him talkin’ to y’all unless I’m in the room. And no media. Got that? Timms is not your average—”
    “Mr. Lipman,” Sheila broke in sharply. “Your client is overdue for surrender, booking, and arraignment. We do not have him. Since you can’t produce him—since you can’t even locate him—we’ll be glad to help you out. I’m putting out an APB.”
    Lipman softened his tone. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty, Chief. As I said, we don’t want any media. You folks put out that bulletin, Hark Hibler’ll jump on it faster’n a rooster on a big ol’ juicy