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“Those drawings don’t mean anything. They’re a way to vent the anger he feels, a safe way to vent it.”
“Is there any chance Sherrilyn knew Butch?” Francesca asked.
“Not well. The day she came to the yard, her car wouldn’t start, so he gave her a ride to town and bought her a new battery. But that’s it. We were nothing but nice to that woman.”
“And Bianca Andersen?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“What about April Bonner?”
“I don’t know her, either. Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve endangered one of my children to save the other, but I’m hoping…I’m hoping there’ll be some understanding of what happened and why. Paris didn’t mean to kill Julia. I was there. I know. Now…can I please see my son?”
If the coroner backed up Elaine’s testimony by establishing that a nail puncture to the head was the cause of death, the police wouldn’t have enough evidence to hold Dean. Elaine had just explained why there’d been a body in that old freezer and how it’d gotten there. Jonah guessed the forensics would support what she’d said, exonerating Dean. And the police didn’t have any hard evidence tying him to the other murders, either.
“Sure,” he said, and started the car.
* * *
By four o’clock that afternoon, Dean had been released. Butch remained free. And Paris had been charged with involuntary manslaughter. Her parents were working hard to get her out on bail, and Hunsacker was, of course, doing his best to help them. But because she’d hidden the “accident” for so long, and would’ve hidden it even longer had events not conspired against her, Francesca believed she’d get the maximum sentence once the case went to trial. Six years in a federal penitentiary wasn’t a stiff penalty in this instance, but it was a big chunk of time when you were raising a child. Champ would be close to twelve when she got out. Butch’s wife was distraught to think she’d be away from her family for any length of time.
After dinner, and before leaving Prescott, Francesca and Jonah had visited Camp Verde Detention Center to see if Paris had anything to say about the other women who’d been murdered. They thought she might be more forthcoming now that she didn’t have her own secret to guard anymore. But their attempt hadn’t succeeded. Paris had alternately railed at them for being the reason she’d been arrested and pleaded with them for their help, but she’d revealed nothing new or hopeful.
Francesca felt sorry for her but was frustrated at the same time. Paris insisted Butch wouldn’t have killed a single person, that it had to be Dean if it was anyone at the salvage yard. But she could offer no firsthand account or other proof, and Francesca felt she had to know something, had to wonder about a particular night or a particular woman. Paris hadn’t even given them a list of the women she believed her husband had slept with so Francesca could check on their whereabouts, although Paris had obviously known about several of them.
Bottom line, other than solving one murder out of a possible ten, Paris’s incarceration did little to advance the overall investigation. What about April and the other victims who had some connection, if only a circumstantial one, to Butch? They hadn’t died accidentally, like Julia.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jonah said, covering her hand with his own as he drove them back to Chandler.
Francesca felt a measure of relief. She knew she should probably resist the comfort he offered, at least until she could sort out the questions that stood between them, but it was too easy to succumb. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed his touch. Somehow, she told herself, they’d make it work.
“I hope so,” she said, and wove her fingers through his.
Then she leaned against the door and drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by Jonah saying, “We’ve got company.”
CHAPTER 33
Adriana was sitting on the patio, waiting for Francesca to come home. Her eyes flicked over Jonah as he got out of the car. Francesca couldn’t miss that, even in the dark, because she’d been watching for it, and it upset her. She didn’t want to be suspicious, didn’t want to constantly expect the worst, especially when it came to her best friend.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Adriana said, getting up as they approached.
Grateful for any distraction, Francesca opened her purse and began to search for her house keys. She could feel Jonah’s warmth directly behind her, felt him place his hand at the small of her back. It was a gesture of support. Or he was trying to tell Adriana he was taken. But as far as Francesca was concerned, he should’ve delivered that message loud and clear ten years ago. “I’ve been busy.”
“That’s all?”
“And maybe I didn’t want to talk to you,” she admitted, her head still bent over her purse.
Adriana’s voice grew tight. “That’s what you want? You’re choosing him over me?”
Francesca’s statement had clearly provoked Adriana, but Francesca didn’t care. She wanted to provoke her. She was just so…angry again. “You chose him over me first, remember? That night you took advantage of the opportunity you’d been waiting for all along? He was my boyfriend, Adriana. My. Boyfriend!”
“Francesca, take it easy.” His voice soft, Jonah caught her elbow. He was making an effort to calm her before she said or did something she’d regret, but she couldn’t seem to quell the desire to lash out.
“Whatever you do, don’t stick up for her,” she snapped.
He lifted his hand. “I’m not sticking up for her. I love you. I have always loved you. But I don’t want to cost you your best friend. That would just hurt you again, and I’ve already done enough.”
She rounded on him. “So…what does that mean? If we stay together, I’ll have to associate with her and the child you two created?”
