“There’s something I found out. I wasn’t sure what to do. If it weren’t for the kids …”
Of course, those words are like gasoline on the candle of motherhood and Dance now said bluntly, “What? Tell me.” The tone was unmistakable: Don’t screw around. I’m your daughter but I’m an adult. I want to know and I want to know now.
“Jon brought some computer games over for the kids. And he got a phone call … Honey, he was talking to a broker about property. I heard him say he’d gotten a job and wanted to take a look at a house.”
This was interesting. But why the concern in her mother’s voice? “And?”
“It’s in San Diego. He’s moving in a couple of weeks.”
Oh.
Weeks?
Dance now understood what Edie meant about the children. They were still vulnerable from the death of their father. For them to lose the new man in their life would be very hurtful, if not devastating.
And then there’s me.
What the hell was he thinking of, not telling me anything? Here I was just offered a job in D.C. and the first thing I think of is talking to him about it.
Weeks?
So that’s why he hadn’t picked up the phone but used the coward’s hideout of voicemail.
But the first rule of law enforcement was not to make assumptions. “Are you sure? You couldn’t have misunderstood?”
“No, no. He was alone, in the back by the pool. He thought I couldn’t hear. And when Wes stepped out, he changed the subject completely. He basically hung up on the broker.”
Dance could say nothing for a moment.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Mom. Just need to think about this a little.”
“You get some sleep now. The kids are happy. We had a fun dinner. They love camp.” She tried to be light. “And more important, can you believe it? They’re looking forward to school. We’re going book bag shopping tomorrow.”
“Thanks. ’Night.”
“I’m sorry, Katie. ’Night.”
A moment later Dance found she was still holding her phone, disconnected, in front of her face. She lowered it.
The loss of her husband was like a digital event to Kathryn Dance, as Jon Boling the computer genius would describe it. On or off. Yes or no. Alive or dead.
But Jon Boling’s leaving? It was analog. It was maybe. It was partly. Was he now in her life or not?
The big problem, though, was that he’d made this decision without her. It didn’t matter that the job had probably happened quickly and he’d had to move fast.
Dammit, she was a part of his life. He should have said something.
She recalled that Edwin Sharp had referred to a song of Kayleigh’s at the restaurant yesterday. “Mr. Tomorrow.” It was about an abusive, straying man who swears he’ll get his act together and mend his ways. He promises he’ll change. Of course, the listener knows he never will.
As Dance lay in bed now, the lights out, she stared at the ceiling and that song looped through her mind until she fell asleep.
You know me by now, you’ve got to believe
You’re the number-one girl in the world for me.
I’ve sent her the papers and she’s promised to sign
It’ll just be a while, these things take some time….
And his words are so smooth and his eyes look so sad.
Can’t she be patient, it won’t be so bad?
But sometimes she thinks, falling under his sway,
She got Mr. Tomorrow; she wants Mr. Today.
Chapter 32
DANCE WAS IN the sheriff’s office with P. K. Madigan and Dennis Harutyun.
There was another law enforcement jurisdiction present too: Monterey County.
Via Skype, Michael O’Neil’s calm eyes looked back at them from 150 miles away. He was the person she’d tapped to look into the Salinas partner of Frederick Blanton, the murdered file sharer. She might have sent the request to TJ Scanlon in her own office. But on a whim she’d decided to contact O’Neil instead.
Madigan was briefing the Monterey deputy. “Edwin never went home last night. Kayleigh said that about ten-thirty she heard a car start somewhere in the park out in front of her house. Her bodyguard said he thought he heard it too.”
The invisible snake …
“Kathryn and I want to interview him but he’s not answering his phone. We don’t even know where he is. This morning a deputy spotted his car on Forty-one, a pretty major road here. He tried to follow but Edwin must’ve seen him and wove around in traffic and got away.”
O’Neil said, “Tough to follow with just one car.”
“And I haven’t got a lot of people to spare, what with protecting witnesses and Kayleigh,” Madigan muttered. “We cover more than six thousand square miles. Grand total of about four hundred and sixty patrol deputies.”
O’Neil winced. Monterey wasn’t small but that county didn’t embrace nearly as much territory with such little manpower. He asked, “Kathryn told me he’d picked up Kayleigh’s sister and niece at the airport. Any charges possible there?”
“Kathryn’s going to interview them some more,” Madigan said, “but doesn’t look like it. Edwin was the boy-next-door, didn’t do a thing wrong. The little girl loved him and the sister thought he was—get this—the nicest of Kayleigh’s boyfriends in recent years.”
Dance regarded the man on the screen—strong and solid but not heavy. O’Neil was wearing his typical outfit. Light blue shirt, no tie and a dark sport coat. Most detectives in the Monterey County Sheriff’s Office, like here, wore uniforms but O’Neil didn’t. He thought casual clothing got you further in investigations than khaki and pointed metal stars.
Dance briefed them about the interview with Sally Docking, Edwin’s former girlfriend. “I have to tell you that his behavior with her doesn’t fall into a stalker’s profile.” She explained that it had actually been Edwin who broke up with the woman.
“Still don’t trust him,” Madigan said.
“No. It’s just odd.”
O’Neil continued, “I paid a visit to Josh Eberhardt.”
The file-sharing partner in Salinas.
“How polite a visit?” Dance asked.