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“Point. And it demonstrates a willingness to break laws.” He thought back. “You said Quilletta had two claims to fame.”
J.J. chuckled. “She and Ronnie McCoy, husband #2, were king and queen three years running of the Annual Winter Squash Festival.”
Jason snorted. “And you tell me he ran off and left it all behind?”
“Sadly, it seems he gave up the squash for a squeeze.”
Jason laughed, shook his head.
J.J. eyed him, hesitated, said, “Has Phillips spoken to you?”
“No. Why?”
“She told me Duane Jones is going to be arraigned on attempted homicide charges.”
For a second, Jason could not remember who Duane Jones was. Oh. Right. The kid who had been driving the truck. The survivor.
No, one of the survivors.
“Sounds about right to me.”
“Yeah.” J.J. asked, “Do you think we should have heard something by now?”
“About what?”
“About yesterday? From the SIRG, I mean.”
“No, it’s too way soon. They’ll still be interviewing witnesses and going over the forensics. We probably won’t know for another month.”
J.J. nodded, only half-listening.
Jason said, “If there was any question as to whether we acted appropriately, we would not be sitting here on the job right now.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Jason continued to survey his partner. “Everything okay?”
J.J. shrugged. “I guess. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I don’t think there are more shoes. I think this was a one-legged bandit.”
J.J. smiled politely, absently.
“Have you spoken to George?” Jason asked.
“Of course.”
Jason hesitated. “You know, if you do need to talk to someone—”
J.J. burst out laughing. “You’re offering to counsel me?”
“Hell no.” Jason was equally staggered at the idea. “I’m just saying there are resources available to you. I had counseling after Miami. There isn’t any shame in it. It helped.”
“You were shot in Miami. That’s a little different.”
“Yes. It was a different traumatic event. The point is—”
“This wasn’t traumatic,” J.J. interrupted. “Brody Stevens stalked and harassed his ex-girlfriend—his teenage ex-girlfriend. He’s no loss to the planet.”
