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poke around, see what could be stirred up. Perhaps it would take his mind away from Meredith Rawson. He was damned if he knew why she aroused such strong reactions in him. Although her blue eyes were striking, she was not his usual type. She wore her hair in a no-nonsense feathered haircut and her suits were severe. He liked long hair and casual clothes. He was a beer guy. He suspected she was a champagne woman.
    One detective wandered over and peered down at the files. “I got those last year,” he said. “Apparently they give them to the new guy in the division.”
    Gage raised an eyebrow. “Or people they don’t like. Did you have any luck?”
    â€œBroke my ass on the Cary case, but nothing. At least nothing I could take to the DA.”
    â€œWhat about Prescott?”
    â€œCouldn’t find a damn thing. No one would talk to me. Maybe you being from here …” He held out his hand. “Name’s Wagner. Glenn Wagner. They call me Wag.”
    Gage took his hand and studied him. Wagner was a big man, probably about forty. He had the cautious eyes of a cop and his cheeks told Gage that the man probably drank too much. “You might as well know I’m bad news around here,” Gage said.
    â€œYou also have a great rep in solving cases.”
    â€œThat’s one reputation,” he said dryly. “The other is why I have these cases rather than current ones. I expect the lieutenant intends to get rid of me as soon as possible.”
    â€œThen he’s a fool.”
    Gage didn’t answer. He was suspicious of such an obvious overture.
    â€œWanna grab a bite? I haven’t had time for lunch.”
    He was hungry, so why not? He also wanted to know why Wagner was making an effort toward a man most other cops steered clear of.
    â€œSure,” he said.
    They went to a sandwich shop not far from the station and ordered at the counter before finding seats.
    Once seated, Gage started his own interrogation. “Why the welcome?”
    The other man shrugged. “I’m an outsider, too. It’s a closed shop here.”
    Gage could understand that. The department had always been insular, self-protective. Newcomers were regarded as threats to the old way of doing things.
    But he was a loner. He didn’t want pals, particularly in the police department. Years ago it had led him into compromises that still haunted him.
    â€œThe Prescott case,” he reminded Wagner. “Who did you talk to? I didn’t see any update in the file.”
    â€œNothing to update,” Wagner said. “I found zero. Nada. But I can give you a list of people I talked to.”
    â€œYour impressions of them?”
    â€œMainly impatient that such an old case had been revived. Nothing that made me suspicious.”
    â€œI’d like that list this afternoon.”
    â€œWhy that case?”
    â€œIt just interests me.”
    â€œWell, you’re a hell of a lot better than me if you get anywhere.” He changed the subject. “You married?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSmart guy. I’m in the middle of a divorce. She couldn’t take the hours.”
    So that explained the approach. Wagner was probably lonely.
    Gage finished his sandwich and rose. He didn’t want any more confidences. “Time to get back.”
    â€œIf I can help …”
    â€œThanks,” he said, his mind already going back to the pages in the Prescott file. He wanted to study the case files more thoroughly, then make a list of possible interviews. One particular name had emerged from the file. Charles Rawson. He’d been the last person known to see Prescott alive.
    Charles Rawson. Prominent attorney. And father of Meredith Rawson.
    K ANSAS C ITY , M ISSOURI
    T HREE WEEKS EARLIER
    Holly held her son’s hand tightly as she roamed among the sentiments engraved on plaques in Baby Land.
    Although the section was only a small part of the cemetery in Kansas City,