“Not everybody.”
“Where does this go?” she asked, picking up a pair of jeans. And placed them carefully in the drawer at which Kayleigh pointed.
“TIDE’S TURNED.”
Dance heard the man’s voice behind her in the lobby of her hotel. She wasn’t alarmed. She knew his voice by now.
Though for a moment she didn’t recognize P. K. Madigan. He was wearing civvies—blue jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy boots and a tan cap embroidered on the crest with a hooked fish flying out of the water.
“Chief.”
She was headed out—on her way to Bishop’s house to continue the interviews of Kayleigh’s family—but she diverted and walked up to him. She glanced into the bar. She almost asked, “You want some ice cream?” but decided: “Coffee? Soda?”
“Naw,” the big man said. “See you’re on your way out. Had to stop by and talk to you.”
“Sure.” Dance noted his slumped posture, very different from the in-your-face pose when she’d met him at the scene of Bobby’s death.
“Here’s the thing. Anita’s playing it by the rules. Nobody in the division can talk to me—for their sake too. I’m cut out completely. And you’re in charge now.”
Ah, the meaning of the turned tide, she realized.
“Not exactly in charge.”
“More than anybody else. Damn. Wish I’d listened to you back in that interrogation room and let that son of a bitch go then.”
Her heart went out to the detective. He seemed lost.
“I asked the sheriff if I could consult or anything. But she said no. It’d look bad. Might prejudice the case.” He gave a laugh, harsh and cold. “Didn’t know whether she meant the case against the killer or the case against me. So, I’m sidelined.”
“I’m sorry it worked out that way.”
He waved his hand. “Nobody to blame but myself. I feel worse for Miguel. He’s got a wife doesn’t work and three kids. Won’t have any savings.” He was awkward now. “I’ve got to stay off the radar, Kathryn, but I’m just wondering, is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t know, Chief. I’m interviewing, Charlie’s working on the evidence, Dennis is still looking into if anybody else has a motive to kill Bobby and the others.”
“Yeah, sure. I understand.”
“You could just take some time off, get some fishing in.”
“Funny about that,” Madigan said. “Yeah, I like it. Been going out every weekend for years. But fact is I spend more time thinking about cases than I do about the fish.”
“You get some good ideas, floating around?”
“Oh, you bet I do.” A grim smile. “But the thing is, until now, I’d get outa the boat, put my uniform back on and do something about it.”
“Sorry, Chief.”
“Got it. That’s okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
He was halfway to the door, when Dance called, “Chief, wait.”
Madigan turned and she said, “There is one thing, I’m thinking. Nobody’d have to know. But it’s not the … well, most pleasant job in the world.”
A fraction of a smile. “Well, all righty then. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter 42
IT WAS ABOUT eight-thirty in the evening when Kathryn Dance got to Bishop Towne’s house.
She greeted Kayleigh and the family, who flocked around her and thanked her for saving Sheri’s life. Damp-eyed, hoarse, the stepmother hugged Dance hard and bled gratitude.
Bishop offered his thanks too and then asked, “That sheriff, or deputy, Madigan? He got suspended?”
“That’s right. Two other deputies too.”
“That son of a bitch!”
“Daddy,” Suellyn warned. But Mary-Gordon was in the kitchen and out of hearing.
“Well, he is. And M-G’s going to learn words like that sooner or later.”
“It’s going to be later,” Kayleigh snapped.
Dance now explained, “We’re not making any progress putting together a case against Edwin. He’s either innocent or very, very smart. We don’t have any leads at all. I’d like to get a few more details from Sheri and”—with a glance at Suellyn—“from you and your daughter about when he picked you up at the airport.”
She was hoping to find something that she could use to infer threatening behavior, which would, in turn, justify an arrest for stalking. That would give her access to Edwin—with his lawyer’s approval—and she hoped to conduct a full kinesic analysis.
“At the least it could help get a restraining order. To keep him at a distance.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” Kayleigh said.
Dance noted she’d been crying recently. Because of Bobby? Today’s attack or some other reason?
Bishop escorted her to a small, dimly lit den, which smelled of pipe smoke and pine. Sheri and Mary-Gordon, her blue eyes sparkling, brought in cookies and a pot of coffee. The little girl’s golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, the way Dance’s daughter, Maggie, would often wear it, and for some reason Dance thought: How on earth am I going to tell Maggie and Wes that Jon Boling is moving?
But then Sheri ushered the girl from the room and sat down across from Dance, who forced aside her personal thoughts and began the interview.
Which, however, proved to be singularly unsuccessful. The woman could provide no more information about the attacker. She’d seen flashes of gunshots, and that was all. Not even an outline of the assailant.
Dance then met with Suellyn Sanchez. The matter-of-fact woman tried hard to recall something helpful but she confessed to Dance that she was still astonished that Edwin was the suspect. “He was just so nice and easygoing. And it sounded like he knew Kayleigh so well, they had to be friends.”
“And there wasn’t anything he said that could be taken in any way as threatening?”
When the sister hesitated, Dance said, “You’d have to testify to it. Under oath.”
The woman got it, deciding not to tell the lie she’d been about to. “No, nothing at all. Just the opposite. He sounded so protective. I actually felt good that somebody was looking out for her.”
Your shadow …