“Where’s the body?” Joe asked me, pulling out a stool and sitting beside me.

“That’s the sixty-million-dollar question,” I said, referring to the reported size of the Campion fortune. I told Joe the rest of it: Junie’s dazed speech about Michael Campion’s dismemberment, the subsequent run up the coast with her boyfriend, and the eventual body dump behind a fast food restaurant – somewhere.

“You know, Conklin read Junie her rights when we brought her in for questioning,” I mused. “And it pissed me off.

“Junie wasn’t in custody, and I was sure if she was Mirandized, she wouldn’t talk. And frankly, I believed what she said at first, that everything she knew about Michael Campion she’d read in People magazine. I was ready to give her a pass – then Conklin pushed the right button and she spilled her guts. It was a good thing that he’d read her her rights.”

I shook my head thinking about it. “Rich has such confidence for a young cop, not to mention an astonishing way with women,” I said, warming to the subject. “And it’s not just that he’s great-looking, it’s that he’s very respectful. And he’s very smart. And women just want to tell him everything…”

Joe reached for my empty bowl and stood up, abruptly.

“Honey?”

“It’s getting so I feel like I know this guy,” Joe said over the sound of water running in the sink. “I’d like to meet him sometime.”

“Sure -”

“What do you say we go to bed, Lindsay?” he said, cutting me off. “It’s been a long night.”

Chapter 9

AT AROUND EIGHT the next morning, we found Ricky Malcolm jiggling his key into the front door of a shabby apartment house on Mission Street. He made us as cops and tried to take off, so we scuffled with him on the sidewalk and convinced him to come to the Hall.