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additional information. The next stop was the police station.
    The desk sergeant glanced up with disinterest when Laredo walked in, but the glance made a practiced, sweeping appraisal of him just the same.
    “What can I do for you?” The question was a half challenge.
    “A man by the name of Chase Calder was killed in an auto accident sometime late last night. The family called and asked if I would come down and identify the body and spare them that ordeal. Could you direct me to the morgue?” Laredo counted on the fact that no one else had stepped forward as yet.
    “Do they know you’re coming?”
    “No.”
    “What was the guy’s name again?”
    “Calder. Chase Calder.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Richard Hanson.” That was the name on the driver’s license in his billfold.
    “Just a minute.” The sergeant called someone on the phone, repeated the gist of Laredo’s request, then nodded at the response he received. “Right,” he said and hung up. “Detective Stabler will be right out, Mr. Hanson.”
    “Thanks.” Laredo moved away to cool his heels in the waiting area.
    It was closer to five minutes before Detective Stabler made an appearance. A heavyset man in shirtsleeves and a tie, he walked up to Laredo and extended a hand.
    “Hanson, isn’t it?”
    “That’s right.” Laredo briefly shook hands with him. “You must be Detective Stabler.”
    The man nodded in confirmation. “You wouldn’t be any relation to the Hansons of Hanson Oil, would you?”
    “I wish.” Laredo smiled smoothly.
    “Don’t we all,” he agreed. “But I thought I should ask. It seems Mr. Calder was an important man.”
    “Yes,” Laredo replied, playing along, then repeated his previous request to identify the body on behalf of the family.
    The detective gave him a sideways look. “You do realize that would be pointless.”
    “Why?” Laredo asked in wary question.
    “I guess you didn’t hear. But it appears the car’s fuel tank ruptured on impact and the whole thing went up in flames. By the time the responding fire units were able to put the fire out, the body was burned beyond recognition.”
    “Then how were you able to determine it was Mr. Calder?”
    The detective began to tick off the reasons, some Laredo had already surmised. “First, the car was a rental. When we checked the agency’s records, the car was signed out to one Chase Benteen Calder, Montana driver’s license. Among the personal effects that were recovered was a badly charred wallet, but the driver’s license was still readable. It was issued to Chase Calder. A hotel key was also found, which we were able to trace to the hotel where he was staying.” He stopped, his eyes narrowing on Laredo with a hint of suspicion. “Why would you think it wouldn’t be Mr. Calder?”
    “No reason. I guess it was just the shock of hearing about the fire. It threw me for a minute.”
    Satisfied, at least temporarily, with the explanation, the detective nodded. “I understand. Some of the family will be flying in tomorrow to claim the body.” It was one of those exploratory remarks to see how much Laredo knew and how close he really was to this family.
    “That’s right. They are eager to finalize arrangements to have the body shipped home to Montana. I don’t know if they plan on flying it back on their plane or not.” He added the last to bolster his credibility in the detective’s eyes. “Thank you for your time, Detective. I’m sorry I took up so much of it for nothing.”
    “No problem, Mr. Hanson.”
     
     
    A blaze of sunlight through the window heralded the arrival of morning. The man called Duke sat up on the edge of the bed, relieved to discover the room didn’t spin even though his head continued to pound unmercifully. He donned the thrift-shop jeans and shirt and ventured out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee.
    He was still a little on the weak side, but definitely stronger and more sure of his step than he had been