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narrow room facing Rosario Strait. In its previous life it had been a sun porch. Now it was a posh watering hole.
    Maxwell Cole’s ample figure slouched on a stool at the end of the bar. He was downing handfuls of salted cracker goldfish and regaling the poor guy next to him with one-sided conversation. I tapped his shoulder.
    “Hey, Max. I need to talk to you.”
    He heaved himself around on the bar stool to face me. “What’s this? A change of heart? Decided you can afford to spend some time with your old fraternity buddy after all? Fuck off, J. P. Who needs it?” He turned away and picked up his beer. I tapped his shoulder again. “I want to talk to you.”
    Barney is a good bartender. He has a sixth sense for trouble and can spot it before it starts. He ambled down the bar to where Cole was sitting. “What seems to be the problem?”
    “This guy’s bothering me,” Max whined. “I was sitting here minding my own business.”
    Barney glanced up at me. “I need to talk to him,” I said tersely over Max’s head.
    “About what happened this afternoon.” Max set down his half-empty glass. Barney swept it away and poured the contents into the sink. “After you talk to this gentleman,” he said, “I’ll buy you another beer.”
    “Why you-” Max objected.
    “You’d better go, fella, before I get upset.”
    Barney is a beefy former Green Beret who looks as though he could inflict a considerable amount of bodily harm with his bare hands. Max finally scrambled down from the bar stool and reluctantly followed me into the next room, muttering under his breath Once we were out of earshot of the bar, I turned on him. “You have any pictures of Wilson on you?” “Hell no. Why should I?”
    “Because you just might.”
    “Maybe one, but it’ll cost you.”
    “How much?”
    “An exclusive interview with Ginger Watkins.”
    “Ginger Watkins is not for sale.”
    “You say that in a rather proprietary manner, J. P. You got something going with her? I heard what she said about getting a room. She’s a married lady, you know. Her husband is big. Very big.”
    “I want the picture, Max.”
    “No way.’
    He was wearing an ugly striped tie, still knotted, but hanging loose around his#neck. I grasped it in my fist and lifted him to the tops of his toes. “I’m not on duty, Maxey, so don’t tempt me.- “Okay, okay,” he sputtered. “It’s in my room.”
    “Go get it and bring it to me. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
    He shambled off. I hurried to the pay phone near the front desk and dialed Peters, my partner, at home, long-distance, collect. I figured that would get his attention.
    He sounded half-asleep when he answered the phone. “What’s up?” he asked when he recognized my voice. “Where are you? And why the hell are you calling me collect?”
    “Rosario,” I growled. “Send me the bill. Now listen. Remember the Lathrop case? Get down to the department and gather everything you can find on it. A detective from Friday Harbor will be calling for it. I want it ready when he does.”
    “Just a fucking minute, Beau. Do you know what time it is? It’s a long way from Kirkland to the department.”
    “So move to town. It’s not rush hour. It won’t take more than twenty minutes to get to Seattle.”
    “Beau, you’re supposed to be on vacation, for chrissake. What’s gotten into you?”
    “I’m asking a favor, Peters. Please.”
    “Oh, all right, but I’m gonna remember this. The Lathrop case, you said?” “Yes, and everything you can find out about the victims’ family, particularly Don Wilson, the father:”
    “Anything else? I’m already awake. Don’t you want me to pick up some groceries or a newspaper while I’m at it?”
    Maxwell Cole was lumbering toward the building. “Cut the comedy, Peters. This is serious.”
    “Okay, Beau, okay. I’m on my way.”
    “Thanks. I owe you one.”
    “This better count for more than one.”
    “It does.”
     

Chapter 6
    I KNOCKED. “Who