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She continued to ramble while Faith and Michael exchanged another glance. Elmore Holland was murdered two nights ago. Faith wouldn’t be surprised to find that his other recent absences coincided with Katherine Navarro’s and Amanda Montgomery’s murders.
Finally, the computer booted the login screen. “Here,” Darla said, “I’ll have his address in a moment.”
She punched in some numbers, and Faith looked down at Turk. The dog stared intently at Darla, his tail switching back and forth in barely contained excitement. His confidence boosted Faith’s own confidence.
You can run, Kevin,she thought,but you can’t hide.
“Got it,” she said, “122 Baker Street, Unit B. That’s a few miles from here in the new projects they’re building by the old Union Pacific building.”
“Thank you,” Michael said.
“You’re welcome,” Darla said. Faith was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “I always knew something was wrong with him,” she said, not realizing the direct contrast to her earlier statement about him. “He always had those crazy eyes.”
They left her, heading quickly to the car. On the way out, Michael said, “Well, I guess I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me a lot,” she says, “and I will spend the rest of your life making you pay, but right now, we have a killer to catch.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s go get the bad guy.”
They reached the cruiser, and Michael immediately put his lights and sirens on. He radioed Travis and Derek on the way.
“Come to bitch at us some more?” Travis answered grouchily.
“We got him,” Michael said, “for real this time.”
“You sure?” Travis said. “Because the last time you two said that you nearly got our asses fired and then had the gall to say we lied to our boss about you.”
Faith bit back the urge to point out that what actually happened was nearly the opposite of what he claimed. “122 Baker Street, Unit B,” she said. “Kevin MacGregor. Killed his wife five years ago. Ruled insane, sent to a facility, rehabilitated last year. I ran into him outside of the DOT office on Broadmont. Turk recognized him, but he lost himself in the crowd.”
“You let him get away?” Derek said incredulously.
Faith bristled again, but this time, the detectives were right. “Not if we can get to him now,” she said.
“Why the hell would he be home?” Derek asked. “If he knows you’re coming after him, wouldn’t home be the last place he goes?”
Faith had enough of the second-guessing. “Goddammit, Derek, get your ass to 122 Baker Street. If you can’t, then let me know now so I can call your boss and ask him to send someone else.”
She set the radio back on the hook and sighed. Michael lifted an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you confident again,” he said.
“Thank you,” Faith replied with a smile. She did feel confident. It was very possible that Kevin wasn’t home, but she had a hunch he would be. He had nowhere else to go.
You can run, but you can’t hide,she thought again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Michael pulled the car up to Kevin’s house, and Faith took a deep breath. She felt confident, but also felt inordinately desperate for this to be their guy. She’d looked up his file on the way, and his mugshot showed a man who looked like the man Turk threatened on the street. There were, without question, similarities between the appearance she noted.
The problem, she imagined, was that there was no real way to compare the quietly defiant expression in the mug shots with the terrified expression on the street. No way to know if the wide, wild eyes she saw were due to lingering insanity or simple fear. She stepped out and then let Turk out. He appeared disinterested, which didn’t encourage her. She would much rather have him agitated, aware of the man he threatened on the street.
Of course, her theory presupposed the man wore the victims’ rings. After the near miss on the street, it was reasonable to believe he’d disposed of the rings or, at the least, hidden them away somewhere. If he had disposed of the ring, then she would have to hope that they could find some other form of proof besides Turk’s nose to use in court.
She and Michael took a moment to survey the scene before they approached. Everything seemed quiet, and there were no signs of any activity inside the house. The only encouraging sign was a dilapidated, old pickup, a Mazda, Faith thought. She could only hope that car had been parked at the DOT office a few minutes prior.
A few minutes later, an unmarked car pulled up kitty-corner to their car. The radio burbled, and Michael answered. “All right,” Travis’s voice said. “We’re here.”
“Wait in the car,” Michael instructed. “If he runs, cut him off.”
They stepped up to the door and knocked, and soon Kevin appeared in the doorway. He was calm and composed, but his eyes gave away his fear. He had obviously been expecting them. That was a good sign.
