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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.”
CHAPTER 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?”
Covering a yawn, she got up to stretch her sore muscles. As tired as she was, she thought she could’ve slept anywhere, even standing, but that chair hadn’t been remotely comfortable. “I’m ready to help. What’s going on?”
“Not much. We haven’t found anything incriminating yet.”
Disappointment weighed as heavily as her fatigue. “I’d settle for suspicious.”
“These things take time.”
She switched the phone to her other ear. “So why are you calling me?”
“The interviews aren’t going much better than the search.”
“No one’s talking, even though I’m not there?” she said, taking a jab at his refusal to include her.
He didn’t rise to the bait. “Not the old folks. Not Butch’s wife. And certainly not Butch.”
“I told you to let Hunsacker do the interviews.”
Irritation sharpened his voice. “Enough with the bad blood between you and Hunsacker. If you two want to go at each other, leave me out of it.”
He had a point. Letting her dislike of Hunsacker get in the way wouldn’t help. She was just so…sleep-deprived. And worried.
Resting her forehead against the wall, she stared down at the commercial-grade carpet. “Maybe Dean’s family doesn’t know anything. He was able to stalk Sherrilyn, which means he has a great deal of freedom. This might sound a bit harsh, but Butch and the others are probably glad when he takes off on his little walkabouts, because then they don’t have to deal with him.”
“Maybe they are glad when he’s gone. But they know more than they’re saying about Julia. I can feel it.”
She toed a spot where the carpet was coming loose from the wall. “I thought you didn’t put much store in instinct.”
“I don’t put much store in your instinct. My instinct’s like a compass.” The chuckle that followed indicated he was joking.
