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dropped off—”
    Waterman interrupted. “Not being cleaned and not being rented until they get word.”
    “Perfect. I’m going to make a few calls here and try to get someone out to it from the local area there. Even though the mileage doesn’t fit, I want someone to have a look at it anyway.”
    “Sure.”
    “Can you let me know if he books a different flight or boards the plane for his original?” I asked.
    “Of course. I’ll put a flag on him in the system. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
    “I appreciate it, Nick.”
    “No problem.”
    “Thanks.” I hung up.
    In my notepad, I found the page with the name of the company Riaola worked for. I looked them up and dialed. The call went to an answering system telling me they opened at nine. I’d have to try them back in an hour.
    Outside my office door, I could see the captain in the bullpen at Hank’s desk. I got up, left my office, and walked over.
    “Did you guys just get in?” I asked.
    Hank gnawed the end of a granola bar. The crumbs fell from his mustache and sprinkled down onto his navy-blue tie. “Just walked in.”
    The captain nodded as he sipped a coffee and swallowed. “Any news on the case?”
    “I just talked to Nick at the airport. Riaola returned his rental car in Atlanta a few hours ago. The mileage on the returned car isn’t enough to make a round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa.”
    “Did the rental car have GPS?” Hank asked.
    “No,” I said.
    “Did he get a flight?” Bostok asked.
    “Nothing new. His original flight puts him back here around one p.m.”
    “I thought he was supposed to come in at noon,” Hank said.
    “Yeah, so did I.”
    “Did you try calling him?” Bostok asked.
    “I did. It went straight to voice mail. I guess he’s not taking calls.”
    “What about the prints from forensics?” the captain asked.
    “I talked to Pax before I left last night. The knives were clean, and they only got two sets of prints from inside the house. The deceased woman’s prints were everywhere, along with one other set that we can’t match—the husband’s more than likely.”
    “They aren’t on file?” Hank asked.
    I shook my head.
    “So what’s next?” Hank asked.
    “The car he rented is still at the rental office at the Atlanta airport. I was going to make a call up to the local PD there and see if someone could go have a look at it. If there’s nothing questionable with the car, we can check it off the list.”
    “Do we know that it’s still there for sure?” Captain Bostok asked.
    “Yeah, Waterman said they aren’t cleaning it or renting it until they get word.”
    “You’ll want to talk to the major at the Airport Precinct. They have a separate division that works Hartsfield-Jackson. He’ll be able to send someone out to the car.”
    I nodded.
    “What does your gut tell you on this Riaola?” Bostok asked.
    “The way he was on the phone, the way he tried casting suspicion away from himself, him in no hurry to get back or make the agreed-upon interview time—I think he’s involved, at the minimum.”
    The captain stood. “You guys let me know if you need anything. Kane, don’t burn yourself out just because you’re leaving tomorrow.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    Captain Bostok walked toward his office.
    I looked at Hank, who was wadding up his granola-bar wrapper. “What’s on your plate?”
    The wrapper found the trash bin at the side of his desk. “Whatever you need me to do.”
    “Can you get something going on the husband’s phone records?”
    “Sure.” Hank pulled his tie to his mouth and ate the remaining crumbs that had accumulated. “How was the steak joint last night?”
    “Great. You’ve never been there?”
    He shook his head. “I think I might try to check the place out tonight. Karen won’t eat red meat and nags me when I do. So my steak fix has to come when she isn’t around.”
    I smirked. “When does she get back?”
    “Tomorrow night.”
    “Why don’t you come over