“Or never,” I muttered.
“Eventually, everyone gets what’s coming to them.”
“You’re right. Stokes did get what was coming to him.”
“El! Seriously. You’re being recorded,” Oscar said, gaze flicking to the camera in the corner.
I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to pretend to mourn a man who spent his life using his entitlement to hurt other people.
“And that wasn’t real justice, anyway,” Oscar continued, “because now the intern and her family won’t get to face him in court. They won’t get to read their statements to his face or ask a judge for the maximum penalty. He got to live his life without ever seeing any of the consequences of his actions. You know what that’s like—not to get your day in court.”
I crossed my arms. I hated it when Oscar made sense.
“That’s why we have laws,” he pressed. “That’swhat the rule of law means. So that people face the consequences of their actions. And they don’t get the easy way out.”
“He’s dead, though. Doesn’t seem like the easy way out.”
“He died with his good name intact, and not in prison, so I think it is,” Oscar said, leaning back in his seat.
“On the bright side,” I added, “he won’t be hurting any other women now.”
“You can’t say things like that!” Oscar hissed, straightening. “Seriously, El. Stop talking. Just stop.”
I glared at Oscar. “Look,” I said, leaning forward and putting my elbows against the table. “The Canceled Killer—or his copycat—is here, and Allen Gordon is missing. He’s the next victim, and it might already be too late. So, if you want to stop wasting your time looking at me, you might be able to find the actual killer.”
Oscar glared at me.
“Allen Gordon owns about a dozen cars, three boats, and a plane,” he said. “He could be anywhere, and he probably is just lying low until the listeria scandal blows over.”
A hard knock came at the interrogation door, and it swung open. Deputy Hector Martinez poked his head in. More bars from Wes’s off-key version of “Can’t Touch This” floated in.
“Ted Anderson is here,” he said.
Ted Anderson—Tammy’s husband—and the only defense attorney in town. I wasn’t thrilled about the fact that Tammy would spread the juicy details at her knitting club meeting this week.
“Who called him?” Oscar growled. “Wes?”
“Nope. Wes said he wants to sleep it off here tonight.” Hector shrugged. “So I don’t know who called him. He asked them if we planned on charging Ella or—”
“Dammit,” growled Oscar. “Okay, Hector. They’ve lawyered up. Go ahead and get Ju—Percy Julian ready for release. I’ll do the same with Ella.”
Hector narrowed his eyes. “Fine,” he said after a beat. Hector closed the door, and we both listened for the sound of retreating footsteps.
“I didn’t call him,” I told Oscar.
“I know,” Oscar whispered, voice low. “I did. Now you two getthe hell out of here. Stay home. Stay out of trouble. Don’t talk to anyone about this, and just let me do my job.”
“For cripes’ sake, can’t swing a cat without hitting some excitement tonight, yeah, no,” said Ted Anderson as he stood talking to Jude and me in the dim parking lot outside the sheriff’s station, which was lit by several old-fashioned streetlamps.
Ted was wearing his usual uniform of a red puffer vest, plaid flannel shirt, and ever-present fisherman’s hat that he’d had embroidered with “35” in blue thread because in addition to being the town’s only defense attorney, he also held the record for the biggest brown trout caught in Lake Sanguis at thirty-five inches long, a record that’s lasted for more than a decade. “You sure know how to get into trouble, doncha, Thin Ice?”
I groaned. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“It’s been a day,” Jude agreed. The low lights of the parking lot framed his face in just such a way. He seemed a little discombobulated, and it was a good look on the normally put-together scientist. He took off his black glasses and cleaned them delicately with the edge of his sweater.
An autumn evening chill settled in the air, and I shivered, goose bumps rising up on my arms.
The sheriff’s department shared a parking lot with city hall, so we could see the flashing lights in front of the main entrance. Hector worked at rolling out police tape in front of the double doors. They were sealing off the whole building, probably until the state could get their crime scene inspectors down here. Lake Sanguis didn’t have its own crime scene evidence team.
