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“Why are you protecting her?” Hunsacker cried. “What is it with you? Are you hoping to get in her pants?”
Unfolding his lean body, Jonah towered over the short, round Hunsacker. “Do you have some kind of death wish?”
“Don’t you threaten me!”
Feeling guilty for dragging Jonah into this with her, Francesca hurried to interrupt him. “Stop it. You all heard what Dean said when I was wearing that wire.”
Hunsacker refused to look at her, wouldn’t take his eyes off Jonah. “I also heard him recant it.”
“So?” She glanced from one investigator to the other. “I’m telling you he wants to help us. He contacted me via my friend yesterday. He’s definitely reaching out. Why would he befriend the ‘enemy’ if he’s defensive of Butch?”
“Maybe he wants to get in your pants, too,” Hunsacker said.
She pinned him with a glare. “You’re an asshole.”
Hunsacker chuckled. “Just calling it the way I see it, honey.”
She appealed to Finch instead. “The answers and proof we need won’t simply fall into our laps. We’ll have to work for it. I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”
“No. But I have a problem with this.” Retrieving the remote control from the eraser tray on the chalkboard behind him, Finch turned on the TV in the corner. A recording of the news came on. He fast-forwarded through the first few segments until he found what he wanted, then pushed Play.
Butch stood in his salvage yard next to an attractive female reporter. He was telling her all about this private investigator from Chandler who showed up one day and went snooping through his property, then ran to the police claiming he had a dead body in the salvage yard.
The camera panned to the mannequin as he pulled back the tarp. “This is what she was talking about,” he said.
“Nice effect, don’t you think?” Hunsacker piped up.
Too absorbed in what she was seeing to respond, Francesca watched Butch talk about how she’d said he attacked her but how she’d really attacked him. Then, of course, he showed the scratches on his face. Paris and his son stood by him, making him look like the consummate family man.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “What about his sex addiction and his cheating?”
“What about it?” Hunsacker said. “That’s not murder!”
“The card from the bar he frequents was found at the grave site!” she hollered back.
Hunsacker grimaced. “That’s a popular bar. A lot of people frequent that place, including me.”
“Be quiet. You don’t want to miss this next part,” Finch said.
That was when Butch, wearing a lugubrious expression, started crying on-screen. He said a consultant hired by the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office had killed Demon, only he didn’t use the dog’s name. “Demon” didn’t exactly make the animal sound friendly. He went on to add that the bullet could’ve struck him, that it was dark and he was running around, trying to figure out what had set his dog off. He said he didn’t even know Francesca had “broken into” the yard and, of course, added “again.”
The whole thing made Francesca sick. “It’s all lies. He’s the biggest liar I’ve ever met.”
Apparently satisfied that he’d shown her the worst of it, Finch paused the television. “I don’t have to tell you the backlash has been huge. Every TV station in Prescott has called, asking why we think we can infringe on the rights of innocent citizens.”
“You’re pretty skilled at letting the public know only what you want them to, so you should be able to dance your way around that, don’t you think?” she said. “I mean, seven women have been murdered but the public doesn’t even know there’s a serial killer on the loose. Instead, they’re getting this martyr crap—” she waved at the frozen image of Butch crying over his dog on screen “—and thinking I’m the bad guy.”
“You might not be the ‘bad guy,’” Finch said, “but you’re no asset to this investigation. I called you in here to inform you that you’ve been ordered to stay a mile away from Butch, his property and every member of his family.”
Francesca felt her jaw drop. “That’s crazy. Laughable.”
“Maybe it is to you.”
“You’re getting too carried away with damage control,” Jonah warned. “Butch isn’t the nice guy he seems to Hunsacker. I don’t care if he gives the poor every dime he’s got. Don’t forget that someone cut Ms. Moretti’s phone line the night after she had that little scuffle with Butch. It’d be pretty damn coincidental if it was anyone else.”
“And we’re keeping an eye on him,” Finch said. “Which is what you were supposed to be doing last night, watching from a distance. It’s not as if we’re ruling him out. We’re just…taking a less aggressive stance until this blows over.”
“So public safety becomes less of a concern than saving face?” Jonah said.
