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“Like you told us he had a dead body in the yard?” Hunsacker said.
With a bitter laugh, she got up. “Under the circumstances, anyone would’ve thought that mannequin was a body, Hunsacker. Or do you have your head so far up Butch’s ass that you would’ve turned a blind eye, regardless?”
Hunsacker’s face turned scarlet. “Are you questioning my ethics?”
“I’m wondering if your relationship with Butch is making it impossible for you to view him objectively.”
Spittle shot from Hunsacker’s mouth as he clambered to his feet. “Because I’m demanding proof?”
“Because you’re ignoring the obvious!”
“Whoa, calm down.” Finch held up a hand to each of them but spoke to her. “The problem here is that what you’re saying not only contradicts Butch’s side of the story, it contradicts what his wife, his brother-in-law, his mother-in-law and his father-in-law are saying. So how do you expect the D.A. to take your word against that of all four people who live in the house, when you already have a history of overstepping your bounds?”
“A history of overstepping my bounds?” she echoed. “Give me a break! The first time I went there, it was just to speak with him. I was searching for a missing woman—and he was the last person to have seen her alive.”
“That doesn’t make him guilty,” Hunsacker said. “Whether he and April Bonner had an affair or not doesn’t matter. That’s not proof of murder.”
“He nearly attacked me with a baseball bat. Which, I might add, is how seven other victims have been killed in this area!”
Sweat began to bead on Hunsacker’s forehead. “But he didn’t beat you. You assaulted him!”
Francesca narrowed her eyes. “That’s probably what saved my life.”
“It’s cost you your credibility. That’s what it’s done.”
Jonah was the only one still seated. “Butch Vaughn is trouble,” he said. “Believe it or you’ll be sorry later.”
Hunsacker turned to Jonah. “Oh, so if you say it, we should take it as gospel, is that right? Why? Because you’re Mr. Big Shot from California? What have you been able to accomplish since you got here, huh?”
“Hunsacker, stop,” Finch said. “You know these investigations take time. We’ve hardly begun.”
“I didn’t want his help from the beginning. He’s no better than we are!”
Finch slanted Hunsacker a dark look. “I don’t want to get into that.”
“Whether you’re happy with what I did last night or not won’t change the truth,” Francesca said. “Butch had his mentally ill brother-in-law lock me in, and then he sicced his dog on me. All you have to do is get Dean to talk.”
Hunsacker smacked his forehead. “Oh, why didn’t I think of that? That should be easy to do. We just need to get him to turn on Butch, to bite the hand that feeds him. And if we could convince him, his testimony would be completely reliable, wouldn’t it? Considering he’s psychotic and hears and sees things that don’t exist!”
Finch spoke before Francesca could retort. “You say Butch locked you in and set the dog on you.”
Ignoring Hunsacker, she focused on him. “Yes.”
“I personally believe that. I have no reason not to. But did he also kidnap you from the van, where you were supposed to be, and carry you off to the salvage yard?”
Refusing to respond to a question he already knew the answer to, Francesca frowned at him.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So, in other words, the incident last night could easily have been avoided if you’d stayed beyond the fence where you belonged, correct?”
“If you’re saying that makes it my fault—”
“It does make what happened your fault!” he told her. “How do you expect me to charge Butch with attempted murder when all the evidence supports his story instead of yours?”
“I told you. Dean is the key. He knows what happened, and he wants to talk. I bet his doctor would testify that as long as he takes his meds he’s coherent enough to know fact from fiction.”
Skepticism created grooves in Hunsacker’s jowls. “And you know you can get Dean to turn on Butch because the two of you are such great friends?”
Jonah tossed his pen on the table. “Not as close as you and Butch, apparently.”
