Bill Johnston said on the afternoon of Friday, June 9, 2006, two months after Kari’s death. Six feet four inches, lean, with a thick mop of curly dark brown hair, Johnston had a brusque incisiveness. They were seated around a conference table in a mid-rise office decorated with Western art. The appointment calendar said only that Linda Dulin wanted to talk about her daughter’s death, a suicide that the family believed was suspicious. Johnston and Linda weren’t alone in the room. At Camp Swift for his annual training, Jim wasn’t able to be there, but Nancy had come to support Linda. And Johnston had invited two old friends to sit in on the meeting: John Bennett, a wiry, gray-haired man in a leather bomber jacket, and Mike McNamara, tall and angular with a fringe of white hair habitually topped by a cowboy hat. Both men had hung out shingles as private investigators after retiring from long careers in law enforcement, Bennett as an undercover agent for the Texas Department of Public Safety and McNamara as a deputy U.S.
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