“Well, there was Jeff Ryker.”
“The prosecuting attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Since your brother has been in jail?”
“Yes.”
Hashknife took a deep breath and his wide lips twisted in a faint smile. Ryker was the man with the big collar and the celluloid cuffs.
“Did you talk with him?” he asked.
Dawn shook her head quickly.
“I stayed in the house,” she smiled. “He talked to my mother.”
“And you heard what he said?”