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slid my business card across the table toward him.
    He looked at it for a moment and then slid it back. “This conversation is over, sir.”

Chapter Five
    On one level, my interview with Walter Bradshaw appeared to have been a bust. I hadn’t expected a confession and he didn’t offer one. On the other hand, my assertion that physical evidence found at the crime scene had linked his gang to the murder of Arnold Ginsberg seemed to have caught him off-guard. If he’d ordered the murder the only surprise should have been my lie about the existence of physical evidence. If he didn’t, the entire episode should have shocked him.
    On my way out of Uintah I, I stopped at the office of Captain Jerry Branch. “Jerry, I need your help with something. If Bradshaw makes any phone calls in the next day or two, I’d like you to record them and notify my office immediately. Same thing if he receives visitors.”
    â€œSure. Anything in particular you’d like us to be listening for?” I explained the possible connection to the Ginsberg murder.
    Back in my office, I reviewed Bradshaw’s visitation history. Since his return to prison, he had received at least one family visitor per week and sometimes two. The approved visitors were his wife, Janine, and his daughter-in-law, Amanda. Amanda was married to Walter’s eldest son, twenty-six year old Albert. Albert was a fugitive and wanted in the armored car robbery and murder.
    The other visitor was Bradshaw’s lawyer, a man named Gordon Dixon. I’d never heard of him. Dixon wasn’t an employee in the public defenders office, that much I knew. That meant that he was in private practice and was either hired by the family or appointed by the court to represent Walter. In his past legal scrapes, Bradshaw had always claimed poverty and was represented by court appointed counsel, usually a public defender. Dixon had been in to see Bradshaw on three occasions in the past several weeks, ostensibly to discuss legal strategy for his impending trial. Absent suspicious circumstances, the attorney-client privilege prevented the prison from reading mail or eavesdropping on conversations between a convict and his lawyer. I decided to find out more about Gordon Dixon and the nature of his law practice.
    Patti stuck her head in my office. “You’d better get moving. You’ve got a busy day in front of you. Director Cates is expecting you at eleven and Judge Wilkinson agreed to see you at noon. His afternoon court docket was full, but he offered to see you briefly during his lunch hour—didn’t sound too happy about it though.”
    â€œDandy.” I stood up and reached for my coat when it struck me. “What’s that smell? Have you started wearing peppermint perfume these days?” Then I saw them lying on top of my file cabinet—automobile air fresheners, several of them in fragrances ranging from peppermint, to sage, vanilla, and orange spice. “What the hell am I supposed to do with these?”
    She was laughing now. “Terry bought those for you. He thought you could wear them around your neck at Ginsberg’s autopsy this afternoon. It’s scheduled for one-thirty.”
    â€œVery funny. That boy obviously doesn’t have enough to do. I’ll have to fix that.”
    ***
    I was ushered into Director Cates’ office promptly at eleven. He was known, among other things, for his punctuality. Unfortunately, I was not, but I was attempting to mend my ways, if for no other reason than to get off on the right foot with my new boss.
    For a moment I thought Cates was going to remain behind a large, walnut desk, but he stood and pointed me in the general direction of a round conference table in one corner of his office. We sat. There was no idle chit-chat.
    â€œI understand that you wanted to see me about the murder last night of the Salt Lake City businessman, Ginsberg, I think his name was.