“Have you got a match from Edwin’s place? Lopez said there was plenty of dust on the Kayleigh pictures and memorabilia in his house.”
“Lots of trace, yeah, but no results yet. Should know soon. And one more thing? The team found something in the orchestra pit. Some boxes had been moved—the manager said they usually kept stacks of them there to break somebody’s fall in an accident, you know? They’re special cartons. Stunt men use them. Whoever moved them, looked like he was wearing latex gloves. And similar marks on the smoke detectors; they had the batteries taken out.”
Bingo!
Miguel Lopez, who’d searched Edwin’s rental, had found a box of the gloves.
“The same as we got from Edwin’s place?”
“We don’t know that yet either. Wrinkle marks and manufacturer’s trace’ll tell us.”
“Good, Charlie. Interrupt me, there’re any breakthroughs.”
Madigan and Stanning left and walked to the sheriff’s office proper, then inside and down a long corridor. Passersby going in the opposite direction nodded to him, a bit cautious, some downright intimidated.
He thought again about Kathryn Dance. She hadn’t been the least intimidated by him. Thinking of her baking in the heat, he felt just a moment’s bad. She could always put the AC on in that fancy Pathfinder of hers. Besides, soccer moms like her always toted round tons of bottled water. Tap wasn’t good enough for them.
Madigan pushed through a swinging door on which was painted a fading sign: DETECTIVE DIVISION.
Detective Gabriel Fuentes, a bulldog of a man who sweated furiously, even in the winter, stood near the reception desk. Unlike deputies in the department who were former military, which was a lot of them, Fuentes had cast aside all trappings of the army and wore his black, shiny hair as long as he could get away with.
Edwin Sharp was here too. Madigan recognized the gangling man from the photos Kayleigh’s lawyers had sent them, though he’d lost a lot of weight. He was standing over Fuentes, who, at five-eight or so, was six inches shorter than Edwin. The stalker also had long arms and massive hands. His eyes were sunken below thick brows, which gave him an ominous look though he was pretty normal otherwise. Those eyes were curious, Madigan thought. They weren’t the least troubled. Hell, children on class field trips to the department looked guiltier than this boy.
His smile was the oddest Madigan had ever seen, a faint upward curving of the thin lips but mostly at the very ends.
Those underpass eyes now turned to him. “Detective Madigan, hi. How you doing? I’m Edwin Sharp.”
I’ve got a name badge but this fellow hasn’t once looked at it. What’s this about?
“I’ll just be a second, son. Thanks for coming in.”
“Just for the record, I’m not under arrest. You’ve asked me here and I’ve come voluntarily. I can leave at any time. Is that correct?”
“That’s right. You want some ice cream?”
“I … what?”
“Ice cream?”
“No, thanks. I’ll pass. What’s this all about?”
“You go by Ed, Eddie?”
The smile. It was damn eerie. “No. I like Edwin, Pike.”
Madigan paused. The fuck is he using my first name for? And how the hell did he know it? A lot of deputies here don’t know what it is.
“Well, then, Edwin it is. Be back in a second.” He nodded for Fuentes to join him up the hall.
“Any problem?” Madigan whispered.
“No. Just asked him to come in and he didn’t hesitate.” Fuentes continued, “And I heard Miguel and a crime scene team found some good evidence at his place, after he left.”
“Looks that way.”
“Good,” Fuentes said. “How’s Kayleigh holding up?”
“Doing the best she can, I’d say. Not great.”
“Son of a bitch,” Fuentes muttered. And they looked back to see Edwin watching the men. He couldn’t hear what they said; they were too far away. But it gave Madigan a chill to see those eyes crinkle with amusement as if he could sense every word.
He sent Fuentes back to the division and stepped into the lunchroom, opened the fridge and scooped himself some ice cream, dropped it into a paper cup. He loved ice cream. No taste for liquor other than a beer at a barbecue, no chew or smokes but he loved ice cream. Not yogurt or sherbet or low-fat. Real, honest-to-God ice cream. He carried an extra ten pounds due exclusively to the stuff but that was ten pounds he was willing to sacrifice for the cause.
People thought he ate ice cream to intimidate suspects, or to win them over if he offered a scoop or two. But fact was he just liked ice cream.
Today he was having mint chocolate chip.
He returned to the Detective Division. “Okay, Edwin. Just like to have a conversation with you, you’d be so kind.”
A couple of big bites from the cup with a metal spoon. He always used metal. Hated plastic. Paper and foam cups were okay but you needed to eat your ice cream with a real spoon.
They’d just started toward the interview room when the door to the division swung open once again and someone else entered the lobby.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
It was Kathryn Dance.
Chapter 14
SHE’D TAKEN A cab.
Did they think she wouldn’t?
The chief detective and Crystal Stanning had been gone from Bobby’s trailer for ten minutes when she gave up her futile back-and-forth attempt to free the wide-wheel-base Nissan.
She’d pulled out her mobile, found a business search app and got a cab to pick her up and take her straight to the sheriff’s office.
The stalker seemed the more amused of the two men she now walked up to. “Agent Dance, hope you’re well,” Edwin said, getting her title right—name too—and offering a modicum of respect.
Madigan’s expression said: So much for the improvised detention center at Bobby’s trailer.
She said firmly, “I’d like to talk to you, Deputy,” now using the less impressive of his job titles, because she was really pissed off.
Madigan replied, “I’m pretty busy now, Kathryn. Come on, Edwin. That way. Say, you want a bottle of nice cold water?” He said to the assistant, “We’ll be in number three.”