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“When we were upstairs, you told me that two witnesses are being guarded in controlled environments. Why can’t we three have a guard outside our residences or something like that? It would suck, but it would be better than being shut away out here.”
“Because safeguarding you three is more critical.”
“Why’s that? What makes us special?”
“You three pose the greatest threat to the shooter. You because of your personal relationship with Shauna Calloway.”
“Which is over,” he said tightly. “I thought I’d explained that.”
“You did. But the unsub doesn’t know that you’ve ended it.”
Dawn sucked in a quick breath.
Weeks raised his eyebrows.
Calder seethed but didn’t offer a comeback.
Elle tried to imitate Perkins and remain sphinxlike, which was difficult because Compton turned her attention away from Calder and onto her. “Since it’s been publicized that you authored the Betsy book, you’ve gained a high public profile.”
“Which I’ve never sought. I want the book to be popular, not me.”
“Your self-effacement is admirable, Elle. But, like it or not, your recent notoriety would appeal to an unbalanced individual wanting to make a statement.”
Perkins chose then to speak. “You’d be a trophy.”
“You’re single and live alone,” Compton added. “We can’t chance his getting to you.”
Then she focused on Dawn. “During your television interview with Ms. Calloway, it was obvious that the two of you had established a rapport.”
In a thin voice, Dawn said, “Well, she was just so nice.”
“I’m sure she was. You served her purpose very well. Your descriptions were detailed; you held little back. Now she’s exposed you as a key witness.” Compton shifted in her seat and leaned forward toward Dawn.
“If I were our unsub, I’d be worried about what else you remember from that day, a fact or two that could be ferreted out of you. Perkins and I believe that’s why it was you who received the death threat.”
Dawn clamped the soggy tissue against her mouth and whimpered, then began to cry in earnest.
Elle said, “What form did this death threat take?”
She had addressed the question to Compton, but Dawn blurted, “A voice mail.”
Looking at Elle and Calder in turn, Compton explained. “He called her cell phone. She had the presence of mind to notify us immediately.”
“How did he get my number?” Dawn asked.
“If he’s smart enough to pull off what he did at the fairground, he’s smart enough to get a telephone number,” Compton said.
“It was awful,” Dawn blubbered. “He said—”
“Let’s let them hear it for themselves,” Compton said. “We had to take Mrs. Whitley’s phone as evidence, but I recorded the voice mail.” She accessed her cell phone and put it on speaker. The nasal voice said, “You got off light the first time, lady. Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll get it in the head just like that tattooed dude in the tent.”
Compton clicked off. “We tracked the phone’s location. It was found in a culvert. Obviously tossed there after having served its purpose.”
Calder said, “How do you know that wasn’t a crank call?”
“‘Tattooed dude,’” Compton said. “In our descriptions of Levi Jenkins, we deliberately omitted his tattoo for just this reason. To weed out the cranks. It was here,” she said, pointing to the side of her neck. “It wasn’t there in his mug shot, so he must’ve gotten it since that arrest. Our shooter saw it when he killed him.” She slid her phone back into her pocket.
“My apology,” Calder said.
