by Brenda Novak
“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked. “Ignore what we were told? Act like we weren’t kicked off the case?”
Scowling, she stared out at the desert landscape. “I don’t know. I can’t just drop this. Partly because it doesn’t feel as if Hunsacker and Finch are paying enough attention to Butch and Dean.”
Jonah understood. He felt the same way. But there were advantages to what had occurred this morning, which he’d been busy trying to tell himself.
“Don’t you care about how Finch and Hunsacker treated you?” Francesca asked.
“If you want the truth, I was tempted to break Hunsacker’s jaw. If he wasn’t so fat and incapable of defending himself, maybe I would have. But I held on to my temper. And now I’m proud of myself for that. I’m thinking we both might benefit from taking this opportunity to…”
She finished his sentence before he could unearth the words he was searching for. “Put some distance between us?”
“To work on something a little less sexually frustrating,” he muttered.
She turned to look at him. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d fight for this case, wouldn’t you?”
Propping his chin up with his fist, he gazed out the window. “Maybe.” Definitely. But leaving meant he wouldn’t be forced to endure her company anymore or the confusing emotions she evoked. Once he got to California, if all went as planned, those feelings would dull in intensity, at least enough that he could function without thinking of her constantly. He’d managed it before.
Of course, it’d taken him ten years to reach that point, but he didn’t want to concentrate on that detail. It was too damn depressing.
“In any event, we’d be crazy to give them a reason to charge us with interfering. Because they’ll do it if we provoke them.”
“What if you talked to the sheriff?” she said. “Maybe you can get him to change his mind.”
“He’s the one who signed the notice of dismissal, remember?” He pulled the file from between the seat and the console and waved it at her.
“So that’s it? You’re leaving because of me.”
He shrugged. “More or less.”
She didn’t seem to like the sound of that. “What will you do when you get home?”
“Same thing you should. Take on a different case. Try to forget this one.”
“Are you worried that your boss might be upset by how it went down in Prescott?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He stretched his seat belt. “Because I’ve already proven myself. I’ll tell him what happened and that will be that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Contracts get canceled now and then. With the task force they’re forming, this isn’t all that unusual. Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong. I couldn’t let Demon kill you. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing bad they can say about my work.”
“What secret have you kept for Lori?”
The sudden change of subject took him by surprise. “What?”
“You told your ex-wife you’ve kept her secret all these years. What did that mean?”
He felt his mood shift, grow darker, despite all the effort he’d put into shoring it up. “Nothing.”
“You’re still going to keep it.”
“Why not? Running my mouth won’t improve the situation.”
Francesca obviously wasn’t satisfied with that answer. But she didn’t press him. A Chevron station came up at the very edge of town, and she pulled into it. “We’d better fill up.”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
He pumped the gas, then went into the Mini Mart to pick up a couple of cold drinks. He wanted some iced tea. But as he stood in line at the checkout, his gaze landed on a rack of condoms.
“Will that be all?” the clerk asked as he set the two bottles near the register.
“Yeah.” He had no need for condoms. He wasn’t even dating anyone. But after he put down a twenty, he threw a box on the counter, anyway.
“Wait, you want those, too?” the clerk asked.
Jonah glanced through the front window of the store, where he could see Francesca waiting for him in the car. “Those, too,” he said. “And give me a sack.”
During the rest of the ride to Chandler, the thought of the panties she’d taken from Butch’s house—and still had in the pocket of the pants she’d worn last night—burned in Francesca’s mind. If she told Jonah about them, would he stay in Arizona? Did she want him to? She didn’t need him in order to continue the investigation.
But if she didn’t push ahead with what she believed to be true regarding Butch, what would she do about them? She couldn’t discard evidence or hang on to it indefinitely.
She should’ve mentioned those panties to Finch and Hunsacker. But she was so angry about the investigators’ reaction to last night, she’d shied away from admitting what she’d done. She wasn’t convinced they’d see it as helpful. They’d just use her actions as more proof of “typical P.I. behavior.”
Considering Hunsacker’s friendship with Butch, she wasn’t even sure the investigators would have those panties analyzed, not unless and until they had other evidence, irrefutable evidence, that he was their man. She could easily imagine Hunsacker saying, “Why spend the state’s money on such a long shot?” She’d told them what Paris had said about that Julia person, hadn’t she? And they’d blown it off. She doubted they’d do any more to find Julia than they’d already done by checking their list of missing persons.
On the other hand, what if no other evidence surfaced? What if those panties were indeed a conclusive piece of the puzzle? Then Finch and Hunsacker had to know about them.
“April is dead, and Kelly’s alive,” she said to Jonah. “If Butch is guilty, why would he kill one and not the other?”
“There could be a lot of reasons,” he said. “Maybe the women who give him what he wants live, and the others die. Murder to cover for rape would be nothing new in the criminal world.”
In the case of April Bonner, Francesca could picture that exact scenario….
“Or it could come down to the specific personalities involved,” he said. “Do you remember hearing about that guy who was kidnapping women from shopping malls as he traveled across America?”
Francesca shook her head. Although she paid attention to most major crimes, this one didn’t sound familiar.
“He brutally tortured and raped each one for days before killing her,” Jonah explained. “But his last victim he treated differently. Somehow she managed to develop a relationship with him. He stopped torturing her and let her live. And just before he was caught, when he knew the end was imminent, he gave her money and set her free.”
“There are so many variables,” she muttered. “Nothing’s absolute.”
“That’s what makes serial murder so difficult.”
The beginnings of a headache made Francesca wish she’d let Jonah drive. Her arm hurt, too, but at least it wasn’t broken. The doctor in the emergency room had told her she was lucky Demon hadn’t chomped right through the bone.
“You okay?” he asked when she rubbed her eyes.
She sighed. “Just getting sleepy.”
“Want me to drive?”
“No, that’s okay.” She was too upset with him and the situation to let him ease the load.
They listened to a song on the radio before he spoke again. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing in particular.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Your expression is certainly intense for not thinking about anything ‘in particular.’”
She adjusted the air-conditioning vent closest to her so the air wouldn’t hit her so directly. Should she tell him she had the panties? Why not? Maybe he could help her decide how to proceed. “I have something,” she said.
“Something?” he repeated.
“A pair of panties.”
His lips slanted into a crooked grin. “Are you talking dirty to me?�
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She tried not to smile at his joke. She felt bad for getting him fired, which was beginning to neutralize some of the resentment she’d been harboring toward him. He’d saved her life last night and bruised his knee in the process. She figured she owed him some credit for that, too. Regardless of what he might or might not have done in the past, she couldn’t stop liking him. It was that simple.
“Nothing that exciting. I’m referring to the investigation we’re no longer part of.”
He tapped the dash. “And?”
“I have the panties Paris found in Butch’s jockey box last night.”
She wasn’t sure if it was concern or anger that sharpened his voice. “How’d you get those?”
“They were on the ground. I just…picked them up.”
“I don’t remember you telling Finch and Hunsacker about any panties.”
“Because I didn’t.”
He adjusted his own air-conditioning vent. “Why not?”
“You were there. You know why.”
The beard growth on his chin rasped as he rubbed it. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“So now what? We’re off the case. Do I forget about them? Mail them anonymously to the sheriff’s office? What?”
Twisting in his seat, he leaned against the door. “Give them to me.”
“What will you do with them?”
“There’s a lab we use at Department 6. I’ll have them tested. If the tech finds sufficient DNA, I’ll have him create a profile.”
“At whose expense?”
“If my company won’t cover it, I will.”
She changed her grip on the steering wheel. “Why would you do that?”
He stared at her. “You have to ask? Why wouldn’t I if it might stop a murderer?”
“You make it very difficult not to like you,” she said grudgingly.
That crooked smile reappeared. “Too bad you’re still fighting it.”
23
The panties were gone. Butch searched his office, retraced Paris’s steps to the house, even went through his jockey box, where she claimed to have found them. But they weren’t there, didn’t seem to be on the premises.
Where had she put them? He had no idea, but he hoped it was someplace safe.
“Daddy? What are you doing?”
Spotting his son playing in the planter by the front door as he came around the house from the carport, Butch conjured up a smile he didn’t feel. It hadn’t been an easy morning. First they’d had to put on that circus act for local television. Then they’d had to bury Demon. That had just about killed him. He’d cared more about that dog than ninety-five percent of the people in his life. “Looking for something I’ve lost, buddy.”
“Demon?”
“No, Demon died, remember?” Champ didn’t understand; he seemed to think Demon was sleeping, and his next words proved it.
“When’s he going to wake up?”
“He won’t be waking up. But we’ll get another dog, okay?” Butch couldn’t believe another dog could really replace Demon, but he hoped Champ would.
“Okay.” He continued to drive his miniature cars around the dirt roads he’d created between the plants. He even had a watering can beside him, so he could refill his “lake.”
Butch brushed past him, then stopped. Champ ran around the property all day, picking up one item or another for his pretend worlds. He couldn’t go into the salvage yard during working hours, when it was open to the public, or when Butch was using the big machinery, but it was a wonderland for him after hours. Was there any chance…
When Butch didn’t go inside, Champ angled his face up, squinting to avoid the glare of the sun. “Do you like my racetrack, Daddy?”
Butch moved over to provide him with some shade. “I do. Listen, bud. Mommy’s lost a pair of panties. Have you seen them?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Panties?”
“Yes. Underwear. The kind women wear. She dropped them after…after she finished the laundry, and I’m trying to find them for her. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
“Nope.” Champ made the sound of a motor as he pushed his cast-iron truck to the top of a small hill he’d created.
“You’re sure?” Butch asked.
His first question already forgotten, Champ looked up again. “What, Daddy?”
“Never mind.” What would Champ want with a pair of women’s panties? At that age, Butch’s fetish had already taken strong root. He could remember stealing his mother’s panties and bringing them to his room to fondle while hiding under the bed. But Champ hadn’t encountered what Butch had encountered. He was normal. Butch was eternally grateful for that. It offered him hope that he could create something positive from his life.
Tousling his son’s hair, he went inside, letting the screen door slam behind him. “Paris?”
“What?” She came out of the kitchen but didn’t give him a chance to tell her why he’d called out for her. “Have you seen Champ?” she asked. “Is he still out front?”
“Yeah, he’s playing in the planter.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I wish I could put him in the dog run.”
“We just buried Demon and you’re already taking over his cage?”
“That dog was mean. He only liked you. And I’m thinking about Champ’s safety.”
“The run is filled with dog shit.”
“It wouldn’t be if you cleaned it.”
“Can’t your brother do anything?” Slipping past her, he went into the kitchen and poured himself some coffee.
She followed him. “You know how Mom and Dad protect him. They’ll think we’re being abusive if we give him such a nasty job.”
“Then clean it out yourself,” he grumbled, adding cream to his cup.
“I can’t. No time. So don’t blame me if Champ wanders off.”
Champ was as well-balanced as Butch could’ve hoped to be, and Butch wanted to be sure his son never met up with anyone or anything to change that. “You’d better watch him.”
“I try to. But if you want the house clean and the laundry done and the meals prepared, someone’s got to do it. And that someone is always me.”
“Bring him in when you’re in the house. And quit acting like you have it so damn rough.”
She muttered under her breath. He couldn’t tell exactly what she’d said, but he noticed that she was careful not to let her irritation go too far. Somehow, she still loved him. That realization brought a flood of relief because he had to ask her a difficult question.
Lowering his voice so no one else in the household would hear him, he spoke over the rim of his coffee cup. “Where’d you put those panties you found in my jockey box?”
She checked the mudroom behind her as if she feared Dean might be hiding there. Her brother seemed to overhear everything, to be right where they didn’t want him to be all the time. If it wasn’t for the old folks and the fact that this was their place, Butch would’ve kicked him out long ago. Dean didn’t have an outside job, so he didn’t contribute financially. He didn’t do much around the house, either. Occasionally, he volunteered to watch Champ, but Butch wouldn’t allow him to babysit without supervision. He understood better than most the damage a twisted adult could wreak on a young mind. Except for a few hours a day spent answering phones, filing, filling out invoices or accepting deliveries in the yard, Dean was a total waste of space. Mostly, he rambled aimlessly around town, bothering people who’d rather be left alone.
“I don’t know where they are,” she said. “Unlike you, I’m not attracted to other women’s underwear.”
When he ignored that, she backed off a bit, grew less combative. “Why?” she asked, now sulky.
“I can’t find them,” he admitted.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to find them? So you can jerk off while you remember?”
“Because we can’t afford to have them floating around, that’s why!”
The color drained from her face. “So the
y do belong to the Bonner woman.”
“No.” April had worn the ugliest old-lady panties he’d ever seen, probably because she’d never planned on getting naked with him. Her underwear had been as practical and unattractive as he’d found her, once they met. Like so many others, she’d posted a far more flattering picture of herself on the Internet. Maybe Butch occasionally lied about his name and his exact location, but he was truthful about everything else. He wished the women he met were that honest.
“Then why are you worried?” Paris wanted to know.
Because the sexy leopard-print panties Paris had brought into the yard last night connected him to someone else entirely. Someone he’d promised Paris he’d never mention again. “I’m afraid that Moretti woman got hold of them. That she’ll try to make more of them than she should.”
“How could she do that?”
He preferred not to go into detail. Paris was already a nervous wreck. And that hang-up call last night certainly hadn’t helped. “She’s convinced I’m guilty. She might even try to say they belonged to April.”
“That can be proven one way or another. If they were ever worn, there’s DNA on those panties, like in the movies, right?”
“That’s why I’ve got to get them back.” He’d said more than he wanted to, so he concentrated on stirring his coffee.
“What if she has them? She was inside the yard while we were arguing. She could’ve heard about the panties, decided to steal them.”
If she’d heard about the panties, she could also have heard Julia’s name…. “You would’ve had to drop them for that to happen. Did you?”
She blinked rapidly as she struggled to remember. “I don’t know. I was so upset. I—I wasn’t worried that someone might find them. I—”
“When’s the last time you saw them?” He broke in to keep her focused so she wouldn’t fall apart.
“In your office.”
“I checked there.”
Nonplussed, she shook her head. “Then they have to be in the yard.”
“Son of a bitch.” Setting his cup aside, Butch grabbed his truck keys off the hook.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
