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Take it easy? She was shaking, from rage and the memory of Butch wielding that bat. He’d intended to smash in her window; he’d been that determined to reach her. What reason could he have for going to such lengths except to hurt her? If he was truly concerned that she might’ve stolen from him, he could’ve jotted down her license plate number and called the cops. He knew she wasn’t getting away with anything. She’d even left her purse behind.
The old lady wrung her hands. “This is so wrong! I don’t understand what’s going on. Everyone knows Butch wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
“Calm down, Elaine,” the elderly man, presumably her husband, said. “All this upset isn’t good for you.”
It wasn’t good for anyone. Struggling to control her emotions, Francesca filtered out everyone and everything except Butch, who was spinning the tale of the afternoon’s events to his own benefit. “What have you done with it?”
His pained expression didn’t change. “With what?”
“With the body. I saw it there. If it’s gone, you must’ve moved it. Where?”
“I didn’t move anything! It was a mannequin. That’s what you saw. This is a junkyard, lady. You never know what you’re gonna find.” A mannequin? Could that be true? There was nothing else remotely similar to a mannequin in the yard. For the most part, Butch collected metal. A mannequin would’ve been an unusual item, even here. But that had to be what he’d shown Hunsacker. Otherwise, Finch’s partner wouldn’t have reacted so oddly when she arrived. You didn’t tell her?
A hard knot formed in the pit of Francesca’s stomach. “No,” she said, shaking her head. She’d smelled death, hadn’t she? Yes. Maybe. Had she imagined it?
Spreading his arms wide, Butch appealed to the cops as if to say, See? She’s irrational.
“Stop it!” she snapped. “You know what happened here as well as I do.”
“And I’ve told the truth. But if you won’t believe me, come on. Let’s go take a look.”
He was too eager to prove himself. The knot in Francesca’s stomach grew bigger.
Investigator Finch caught Butch’s arm as he started off. “Why don’t we let Ms. Moretti do the showing?”
Butch didn’t appreciate being touched. His gaze lowered pointedly to Finch’s hand and a muscle flexed in his cheek. But as soon as Finch released him, he laughed and shrugged. “Fine by me. She likes to make herself comfortable on other people’s property.”
“Spare us the unnecessary commentary,” Jonah growled.
Butch seemed to notice him for the first time. Until that moment, he’d been looking only at Francesca—at least, when he wasn’t pandering to the cops. “Who are you?” he asked with apparent disdain.
Jonah coolly assessed Butch, as he might look at a man with whom he was about to step into the boxing ring. “Jonah Young.”
Butch’s eyes swept over Jonah as if taking note of his smaller but more defined body, assessing him in return. “A cop?”
“A consultant.”
“They bring in consultants for assault cases, do they?”
Jonah’s lips curved into a thin-lipped smile. “I’m not sure this is an assault case.”
That shut Butch up, told him that there might be at least one person present who wasn’t buying his act. When his nostrils flared, Francesca decided he didn’t like having a skeptic, any more than he liked being touched or having to suffer this influx of policemen. Still, he adjusted his expression and, if anything, broadened his insolent grin. “Well, you can always ask Investigator Hunsacker. I’ve given him and the rest of these boys access to the whole yard. They’ve poked through it all. If there was a body here, they would’ve found it.”
Hunsacker joined them just in time to confirm it. “That’s true.”
Francesca could feel Hunsacker’s support of Butch. Finch’s partner regretted being here. But she refused to let that shake her. She couldn’t imagine how Butch had sidestepped what should be coming to him, but…something wasn’t right.
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Finch said. Then he sent her a pleading look and straightened his tie. He was beginning to sweat, too. Small beads gathered on his forehead. She got the impression the weather wasn’t exclusively to blame. She felt a little dizzy, a little nauseous, herself. The only person in her corner seemed to be Jonah, and she guessed he was sticking by her out of guilt, or some crazy notion that doing so might redeem him for his actions of ten years ago.
Would she embarrass herself? Maybe. A mannequin, especially if it was covered and seen from such a distance, could easily be mistaken for a human. Plastic or wooden limbs would even explain the “rigor” she’d noted. But what about the stench? Hadn’t she smelled rotting flesh?
She couldn’t say for sure. She only knew she couldn’t have been wrong about the level of danger she’d sensed when Butch came after her. Just the memory of how he’d looked at her when she managed to lock him out of the car made her skin crawl. He’d wanted vengeance, pure and simple. And she believed he would’ve taken it.
The walk around the house and into the salvage yard seemed to drag on forever. With every step, tension hummed through her like the electricity passing through the high-voltage wires overhead. Butch’s wife carried their son. He and his family trailed behind her, along with Jonah, Finch, Hunsacker, the paramedic and his partner and the deputies. They formed quite a group and would provide quite an audience.
Butch’s confidence and swagger told her this wouldn’t end well, but she was stubborn enough to have to see for herself.
The dog was secured to his usual spot. As soon as they came into view, he barked and strained against the chain that held him as if he’d like to devour one of them, but Butch snapped a command for him to “shut his trap” and he did. He whined and danced instead of acting aggressive, but he watched with razor-sharp interest as they crossed in front of him.
