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“You’re a deputy?”
“Not quite. I work for the private sector—Department 6, as it says on my card. I’m consulting with the sheriff’s office on a very important case.”
“And what do you want with the Schultzes’ cabin?”
Now they were getting somewhere. She knew of it, which meant she probably also knew where it was. “I have reason to believe some evidence was placed or buried nearby.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“That’s what I need to find out.”
“What’s the number for the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office?”
Was this a test? He pulled up the directory on his phone so he could read it to her. “Ask for Investigator Hunsacker or Investigator Finch,” he said.
Although she didn’t open the door, she must’ve been satisfied because she didn’t actually make the call. “The cabin you want is owned by Doug Schultz. Go back to the highway, turn left and drive another mile and a half. Take a right at Liberty Bell Road. Cabin’s on the corner.”
They hadn’t gone quite far enough. “Thanks,” he said, and hurried over to the SUV.
Ray watched him as he settled behind the wheel. “Any luck?”
“It’s another mile and a half down the highway.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn we’d gone too far already.”
Jonah checked the clock on the dash as he popped the car into reverse. It was past five. He’d hoped to be back in Prescott by now but, with the way things were going, he wouldn’t get to Francesca’s until seven or eight.
As long as he made it by dark…
* * *
Shortly after ten, Butch sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a half-filled glass. Every one else in the house had gone to sleep, but he was looking to finish what he’d set in motion. It was almost over. All he had to do now was wait.
Sliding back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling and wished he felt bad about what he was doing. He knew he should. But Dean had caused this mess. If the dumb bastard hadn’t put those panties in his jockey box, none of it would’ve happened. Butch wouldn’t have had to send him to Francesca’s, the police wouldn’t have shown up with that damn search warrant and Hunsacker and Finch wouldn’t have found the freezer.
It was Hunsacker who’d come to tell him about the blood. The detective had gazed at the ground as he explained that Luminol reacts to the iron in hemoglobin. There were traces of blood in the freezer. He’d quickly added that it could be from an animal. But Butch knew the drill. All they had to do was test it.
Holding his glass up to the light, he swirled the amber liquid around the sides. Finch had walked up right after to say he’d received a call from Francesca. She already knew what Julia looked like, that she’d lived with them, the time of year she’d gone missing and that she was from California. With such a start, she’d be able to gather more information, and if he let that play out, the investigation might not take the direction he’d like.
So…since he couldn’t get the panties back and Dean had failed to subdue Francesca, he’d told them Dean was the last person to see Julia alive. That she’d disappeared soon after, but he’d trusted Dean when he said she’d run away because he’d had no reason not to. She wasn’t all that stable an individual.
Finishing his drink, he smiled at how smoothly it had all come together. The investigators had bought every word, just as Butch had known they would, because it matched the scenario they’d created in their minds. It was so easy to lie to someone who was already prepared to believe….
Turning the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, Butch peeled the corner of the label. Elaine had given him hell when she learned that he’d set Dean up to take the fall for Julia’s death, but as he’d explained to her, if they wanted to save their normal daughter, they had to sacrifice their mentally ill son. Dean wasn’t living in the real world half the time, anyway. He should be institutionalized.
Shoving his glass closer to the bottle, he poured himself another splash and used it to toast his brother-in-law. “Excellent job,” he said. “Very convincing.”
Once the investigators connected the panties to the blood in the freezer and the missing Julia Cummings, they’d have an airtight case. Even Dean’s corny love letters would work against him. He’d go to prison for the rest of his life, the police would stop their surveillance on the salvage yard and life could go on as before. Better than before because Dean wouldn’t be part of it anymore.
Somehow everything was working out perfectly. And, ironically, it was Dean who’d made it all possible.
Butch’s cell phone rang. Peering at caller ID, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was a number he didn’t recognize, most likely a payphone. Dean had left his cell at home, just as Butch had directed. This was what he’d been waiting for.
“Dean? What happened?” he said, feigning concern.
“I tried, Butch. I tried to do what you told me. But she…she sprayed me with some…stuff. Right in the eyes! I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. It burned so bad! And—and then she ran. I had to get out of there. That was all I could do.”
He was crying, gasping for breath like a child. It sickened Butch to hear it. A man should never cry like that. But Dean hadn’t taken his medication.
