Harrison reached across his blotter and picked up the heavy black desk phone.

He punched in three numbers, waited for the dial tone to cut out, and held the receiver to his ear.

“Put me straight through to the county prosecutor’s office,” Mr.

Harrison said into the phone.

Dean didn’t reach for his coat or try to excuse himself from the long conference table.

He sat without moving while the line buzzed twice and then went quiet as someone picked up on the other end.

“We’ve got twenty minutes before the sheriff’s deputy gets here to take a statement,” Vance said, shutting his brown leather briefcase with two metallic clicks.