“Who knows, but a suspected killer toting a black garbage bag into the mountains in the middle of the night always makes me uncomfortable.”
“Since I’m sitting about twenty yards from his front door, that shit makes me uncomfortable, too,” he said with a nervous laugh.
Jonah pressed his palm to his forehead. “Where is he now?”
“He got home not long ago. All the lights are off. I assume he went to bed.”
“Did he see you?”
“No. I kept my distance. That’s why I don’t know what he did with that black bag. I only know it’s gone. I checked the truck.”
He’d tossed it out or buried it along the way. Jonah had no idea if they’d ever be able to recover it, but he planned to try. “Have you noticed anyone else who might be watching the place?”
“You mean I’m not the only one?”
That answered his question, and made Jonah damn glad he’d decided to spend a few extra bucks to keep Francesca safe. A fifteen-dollar-an-hour rent-a-cop had never been more worth the money. “I guess you are. What about Dean?”
“Who?”
“The slight man I told you about.”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“What time did you get to the salvage yard?”
“’Round ten, like you asked.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
“You want me to stay until dawn?”
“I’d like you to stay until I get there, if you can. I’ll be on the first plane. Consider it time and a half.”
“You got it, man.”
They disconnected, but before Jonah could get showered for the day, his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Jonah?” It was Francesca. He was about to tell her what he’d learned but she didn’t give him the chance.
“It’s not Butch. It’s Dean,” she blurted out. “He broke into my house last night and tried to kill me. If—if not for that pepper spray…”
“What?” His free hand curled into a fist. “Are you injured?”
“No. Since the effects of the pepper spray have worn off, I’m just…rattled.”
Now that he knew she wasn’t hurt, he realized what she’d told him didn’t make sense. If Dean was their killer, why had Butch been driving that garbage bag into the woods? If the two brothers-in-law were partners in crime, they were the most unlikely duo ever, so unlikely that Jonah couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
Something else was at play. But what that “something” was, Jonah couldn’t begin to guess.
“Where are you now?” he asked Francesca.
“On the road to Prescott.”
“Finch and Hunsacker know you’re coming?”
“I called them right away. They’re trying to get a search warrant.”
He considered telling her about the black bag Butch had transported, but decided to wait. If Dean was a threat to Francesca, he wanted him caught, first and foremost. No need to throw the investigation off-kilter before that could happen, especially when they were about to search the salvage yard. Let the investigators take the evidence technicians in there; he’d go to the Juniper Mountains himself.
“I’m heading to the airport right now,” he said. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”
28
Francesca told Finch and Hunsacker about the panties. Those panties were the reason Dean had come after her, which made them as significant as she’d suspected they might be. She couldn’t in all conscience keep that information to herself any longer. So she’d braved their tirade and breathed a sigh of relief when the search warrant came through and they left with a couple of forensic science technicians. They were finally going to look beyond the mannequin they’d found before, and maybe they’d discover some piece of evidence that could bring this case to a satisfactory close.
But she was as uneasy as she was excited. No one knew where Dean had gone. Although Finch had sent a deputy to arrest him the moment he returned to the salvage yard, he’d never shown up. And Paris, Butch and the Wheelers claimed he’d left his phone at home so they had no way of contacting him, no idea where to find him. Unless that had changed and she hadn’t been notified—which was entirely possible with Finch and Hunsacker—he was still missing.
Where could he be? And what was he doing? Francesca was more than a little afraid to find out. Not only was he mentally ill and emotionally unstable, he had the names and addresses of all her family and friends. And he’d shown an inclination to contact them….
Expecting Jonah to arrive at any moment, she slumped over the table in the small interrogation room, where she’d been sleeping since the investigators left, and told herself everything would be fine. The investigation was on the downhill slide; it had to be. Surely Finch or Hunsacker or a tech on the team would discover some trace evidence—fibers, a piece of jewelry, hair—something to connect Dean with one or more of the victims, even if it was only a spot of blood he’d tracked in on his shoe.
She’d wanted to go with the investigators but, after what she’d been through and the effects of that sleeping pill, she’d been too exhausted to stay on her feet. Besides, Finch hadn’t wanted her with them. Because of her encounter with Dean last night, her antagonistic relationship with Butch and the bad press her involvement in this case had already brought the department, he claimed that her presence would actually make it more difficult to achieve their goal.
“The testimony of the people closest to him will be important. I need to talk to Dean’s family, get them to trust me enough to open up. I can’t believe that will happen with you there,” Finch had said. “Not considering how they feel about you…”
“Just have Hunsacker do the interviews,” Francesca had responded with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “He and Butch are like family.”
The fact that Finch had shaken his head instead of speaking up to defend his partner told her that his anger over the panties and everything else was spent. He acted as if he felt bad for being such a jerk. Hunsacker, on the other hand, showed no remorse. He’d simply muttered, “Told you it wasn’t Butch,” as he passed her on his way out.
Her cell phone rang. Lifting her head, she pressed the answer button. “Hello?”
“Jonah there yet?”
Finch. “No. But he should be coming soon.”
“You stuck on palling around with him? Or do you want to make yourself useful?”