He caught a flight from D.C. to Sacramento and drove straight to the small town of Lighthouse Point on the coast. Located on Luna Bay, the town was a shipping port and as picturesque as a turn-of-the-century seascape.
Surprisingly, no other MIDNIGHT agent’s were in sight. Some could be there, undercover, he knew but in his mind, the MIDNIGHT Agency should have been all over this. After all, one of their own had been taken out by a killer.
“I can’t believe Angela is gone,” chief of police Norm Mummert said with a shake of his head.
The chief’s office had been his first stop. Madrid had identified himself as an investigator with the U.S. attorney’s office out of San Francisco. Thanks to his vast stock of fake IDs, he had the credentials to back it up. But no one had questioned him.
“Angela was a police officer?” he asked.
“One of my best.”
“Tell me about Atwood,” Madrid said.
“She seemed nice enough. Pretty and young. She was staying with Angela. From what I understand they went to college together.”
“They were friends?”
Mummert nodded. “I made some calls and found out Atwood had some trouble back home.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Divorce. Things got ugly. She took some money and ran. She needed a place to stay. Angela opened her door.” He shook his head so hard his jowls shook. “I never had Atwood pegged as a killer.”
“Do you have evidence that she is?”
The chief looked at him as if he were dense. “She attacked my officer with a knife and made off with the boy. Her prints were all over the place, including the murder weapon.”
“Motive?”
“Hard to tell. We suspect she was after the child. It’s the only scenario that could even begin to explain this terrible tragedy.”
Mummert was a rotund man with sagging eyes and a drooping lower lip. Even though Angela had been murdered less than twenty-four hours ago, he looked as if he’d been up for a week. “Angela was like a daughter to me. She was a good police officer and a friend.”
“Any idea where Atwood is headed?” Madrid asked.
The chief sighed. “I’ve got every available officer working on this. The state police have put out an APB. I swear it’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Maybe she had an accomplice who picked her up.”
“We were pretty quick setting up roadblocks. I don’t think that’s the case.”
Having gleaned all the information he was going to get here, Madrid rose and extended his hand. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
On the sidewalk in front of the police station, Madrid looked around the small town of Lighthouse Point and wondered what Angela had been doing here. She’d been posing as a police officer. He wondered if her assignment had gotten her killed. The old emotions taunted him with unexpected force—emotions he would be a fool to acknowledge when he had a killer to find.
He got into the rental car and started the engine. He’d already been to the crime scene, seen the bloodstains and the trashed house. Though he’d processed dozens of crime scenes over the years, this one had shaken him badly.
Putting his hands on the steering wheel, he looked around the small town. “Where did you run?” he whispered.
He knew where Atwood had last been seen. The area had been thoroughly searched by cops on foot and in a helicopter equipped with infrared. Scent dogs had been deployed. The police were baffled that she’d escaped.
But Madrid had a distinct advantage over other law enforcement officials. An advantage not even his fellow MIDNIGHT agents possessed. He’d known Angela Matheson on a personal level. He knew her hopes. Her dreams.
He knew her secrets.
He knew Angela kept an undisclosed refuge. Most undercover operatives did, on the outside chance they needed to lie low during a mission.
From what I understand they went to college together.
The police chief’s words reverberated in his head. Words that reiterated the fact that Jessica Atwood and Angela had once been friends. There was a distinct possibility Angela had told Jessica Atwood about the cottage, particularly if Atwood was on the run from some abusive husband. Located on Wind River Island just a mile off the jagged coastline, it would make the perfect hideaway.
Finding her there might be a long shot, but Madrid had always been a gambler. He knew from experience that sometimes a long shot paid off.
“You can run,” he said aloud as he pulled away from the curb. “But you can’t hide.”
THE WATER SURROUNDING Wind River Island was fraught with dangerous undercurrents and high surf; not many people ventured to the small, heavily forested island. There were two marinas in Lighthouse Point, and within the hour Madrid was able to ascertain that Angela had owned an open fisherman named Riptide. Though she hadn’t signed it out, the boat was not in its slip.
He waited until dusk and rented a decent-size fishing boat under the pretense of partaking in some early season king salmon fishing. But instead of going upriver where the salmon were beginning to spawn, he headed out to sea.