by Brenda Novak
Francesca would’ve explained that they had to deal with her family carefully, that it might take time for the Morettis to forgive him as she had. But what was the point of explaining, or speaking to her parents about him, until she was sure they had a chance of making it? There was no time for explanations, anyway. She didn’t want to miss her father’s call. He’d given her a lot of valuable information before. She hoped he’d have more this time around, something that would convince her Finch had put the right man behind bars.
Pushing her sleep-tangled hair out of her face, she ignored Jonah’s “thanks for treating me like your dirty little secret” reaction and hit the answer-call button. “Hello?”
“There you are,” her father said. “After that many rings, I expected voice mail.”
“No, I’m here. Sorry for the delay. I got in late last night and—and overslept this morning.”
“What’s going on?”
“They arrested Dean Wheeler.” He didn’t know Dean had come after her, that the police had searched the salvage yard, that they’d found blood. But he knew Dean’s old girlfriend had gone missing.
“A few days ago, I would’ve applauded that move,” he said.
“And now?”
“Now that I’ve done more research, I feel it was unlikely Bianca Andersen ever knew Dean.”
Because of Jonah’s gaze on her breasts, she became conscious of her nudity and pulled up the blankets. She wanted him as much as ever, but…she was trying not to let that be the deciding factor in her future. “How do you explain that she worked at the mental hospital where he was committed on three different occasions?” she asked her father.
“She didn’t start at that hospital until almost a month after he was released the second time. And she was on vacation when he was admitted the third.”
“The entire two weeks?”
“The entire two weeks. She always arranged her vacation schedule to be off in December.”
“There could be some other way their paths crossed.”
“I’ve been in touch with her husband. The Andersens never lived anywhere close to the salvage yard, haven’t ever been over there. She didn’t frequent that bar you told me about, the Pour House. Her husband wasn’t even familiar with the name. If she and Dean met, it had to be a chance encounter. We might be able to prove that if we managed to run across someone who saw them together. But there’s no foolproof method of establishing it otherwise, which is why I call it unlikely.”
He was always so precise. “‘Unlikely’ is a step in the right direction, I guess,” she said. That wasn’t as definitive as she’d hoped it would be, but it was worth mentioning to Finch, worth double-checking to see if they could find some other connection.
“Butch, on the other hand…” her father went on.
Unsure whether she’d heard correctly, Francesca gripped the blanket tighter. “Did you say Butch?”
“I did.”
Jonah sat on the bed beside her, and she leaned over to share the phone. “But you told me last time that you weren’t able to establish a link between Butch and Bianca.”
“I told you I was still working on it. And what I came across is definitely curious.”
“What is it?”
“They lived at the same rent-by-the-week motel for almost three months.”
Francesca’s pulse quickened. “Where was her husband?”
“She hadn’t met him yet. She was dating Butch.”
Dating Butch? That was more than a chance encounter. “I can’t believe it. How did you find out?”
“I realized it was unlikely that Butch had learned about the job at the salvage yard while living in Phoenix, which meant he’d probably moved to Prescott before interviewing there. And if that was the case, he would’ve had to stay somewhere. It wasn’t as if he had family or any history in the area. He was drifting. So I called all the hotels and motels in Prescott. Given his size, he’s distinctive. The manager of the Desert Oasis remembered him. He also remembered Bianca, because she was such a free spirit, as he put it. He said he used to catch her skinny-dipping in the pool.”
Francesca adjusted the blankets to keep them from slipping. “Was Butch already in contact with the Wheelers? Is there any way he could’ve introduced Bianca to Dean?”
“No. I called and asked a librarian in Prescott to check the microfiche for me. He found the ad. Going by the date of the paper, it wasn’t placed when Butch first came to town, so I’m guessing he was doing odd jobs for cash. According to the motel manager, he moved into the salvage yard after the Wheelers hired him, into a little apartment off the office.”
“The manager knew this?”
“Butch bragged about the compensation package, which included room and board.”
That apartment off Butch’s office was most likely where Julia had lived when they’d taken her in. Francesca had seen it. “And Bianca never went out there to visit him?”
“They’d broken up by then. Apparently, the day they split was memorable, too. The manager said he’d never seen such a terrible fight. He almost called the cops. They were both out of control, screaming and throwing things. It took him and three other tenants to break it up. At that point, Butch got in his car and drove off. A few days later, he landed the job at the salvage yard and moved out.”
“Don’t tell me. That fight was over another woman,” Francesca said.
“You got it. The manager heard Bianca yelling about some lingerie Butch had purchased for the young lady next door. She’d found the receipt in one of his pockets.”
Francesca let Jonah hold the phone for them. “But why, after several years, would he kill her?”
“Maybe he tried to rekindle the romance and she rebuffed him. Or they had an affair and she threatened to tell his wife. Who can say? I only know she had a lot of very personal contact with Butch, but I can’t prove she even knew Dean.”
“You’re amazing, Dad. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“I like doing it. Keeps me fresh.”
Jonah was so close. It would’ve been easy to melt into him, but Francesca resisted. “And it gives you a good excuse to skip out on antique hunting with Mom.”
He chuckled. “That, too.”
“Any chance you’d like to see what you can find out about a seventeen-year-old runaway from California named Julia? I’m having trouble digging up a last name. She went to work for the Wheelers, lived with them for a bit—”
“—and now she’s missing and likely dead.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll get on it,” he said, and hung up before she could thank him again.
Jonah hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation. “What’d I miss?” he asked.
“I’ll explain in the car. We’ve got to talk to Dean.”
He climbed off the bed without touching her. “You shower and dress. I’ll make breakfast.”
Finch and Hunsacker refused to let them see Dean. Jonah managed to arrange it only by going over their heads to the sheriff, who ultimately agreed to the interview because of how bad the department would look if they prosecuted the wrong guy. Although Jonah prevailed in the end, Finch had insisted on being present. He made his displeasure obvious as he sat in the corner, glowering, while Jonah and Francesca took chairs across a small table from a bewildered and sleep-deprived Dean.
They’d also asked if Dean would like an attorney to join them. He hadn’t been at the yard when his family invoked that right. But his mother was still trying to select one she felt would be good, and he didn’t want to wait. According to Finch, all he could talk about was going home. He wouldn’t insist on anything he felt might delay that.
“Wh-what’s going on?” Dean asked. “What are you guys doing here?”
Jonah deferred to Francesca. Knowing Dean’s relationship with his mother was a close one, he felt Dean might be more responsive to a female.
“We’d like to visit with you, Dean,” she said. “You
don’t mind, do you?”
Dean sat on his hands. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Francesca. I—I was only doing what I was told. I had to get the panties back.”
Jonah wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have hurt her, but neither was he convinced that Dean was the Dead Mule Canyon killer.
“Who told you to come to my house?” she asked.
Clamping his mouth shut, he ducked his head and began to rock back and forth like a fidgety little boy, making Jonah fear he might lapse into a psychotic episode.
“Dean?” she pressed. “Will you answer me?”
“I can’t.”
She bent to see his face. “Why not?”
“I—I can’t tell you that, either,” he mumbled.
“We’re trying to help you. You understand that, don’t you?” Jonah said.
“No.” His sulky response was also childlike.
“It’s true,” Francesca said. “If you don’t talk, I’m afraid you’ll go to prison. You don’t want to go to prison, do you?”
“No.” His voice broke, and tears ran down his face.
“Then you need to explain exactly what happened the day you came to my place. Who sent you there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
He dashed a hand across his cheek. “I don’t want my mother dragged into this.”
“Unless your mother’s hurt someone, she’ll be fine,” Francesca said. “She hasn’t hurt anyone, has she, Dean?”
He finally met her eyes. “No. My mother would never hurt anyone.”
Francesca smiled. “That’s what I thought, too.”
Obviously relieved by her friendliness, he sniffed. “So…you believe me?” Dean glanced in Jonah’s direction as if to confirm it. “I can go home?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jonah said. “Not yet. Someone’s killed at least nine women. Julia is one of them, but there are others.”
“How many others?” he asked.
If he’d done it, he’d already have that information, and Jonah didn’t get the impression he was faking. “That’s one of the things we’re hoping to find out.”
“I don’t know about anyone else, except…except that woman Butch had dinner with. The one she was looking for when she first came to the yard,” he said with a jerk of his head to indicate Francesca.
“April?” Francesca clarified.
“Yeah, her.”
Jonah had to admit he seemed sincere. “You told Investigator Hunsacker—”
Puzzled, Dean broke in. “Who?”
Jonah pointed to Finch. “You see that man right there? You told his partner, Investigator Hunsacker, that you killed Julia.”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “They…they wouldn’t leave me alone until I signed their papers. But I told them it wasn’t me.”
Finch jumped to his feet as if to argue, but Jonah motioned for him to sit down and, fortunately, he acquiesced. “So you didn’t confess?”
“I told them I went to Francesca’s house and…and I picked her locks. I’m good at that. I can get in anywhere.” He seemed reluctant to look at her. “I know it’s not nice, but…I’m good at it,” he repeated. “I also told them Julia was the one in the freezer. But I don’t know how she got to the cabin. I didn’t take her there.”
“Maybe someone else did,” Francesca suggested.
“Yes!” His eyes focused, grew more lucid. “It had to be Butch. He copied the key when we rented the cabin last Christmas so we could go up there whenever we wanted. And he told me to wait there. He must’ve done it. He killed her, ’cause he knew she couldn’t stay in the yard if you still had her panties.”
Francesca scooted forward. “Did you see him kill her?”
“No. You asked me that before.” He acted as if he suspected a trick.
“Then you saw him put her body in the freezer?” Jonah asked.
“I didn’t see that, either. I used to keep my books and drawings there, but I found them in the trash pile so I went to see what happened to the freezer. It was running, although it wasn’t before. And my key wouldn’t unlock the padlock. It was easier to cut it off than try to pick it, so I did. But when I opened the lid, I found a garbage bag with Julia inside it.” He shivered in revulsion. “I barfed the first time I opened that bag. I should’ve protected her. She was so pretty. And…and nice. Julia was nicer than Paris. Paris never liked me.”
Jonah crossed his ankles. “Who did you feel you needed to protect Julia from?”
“Quit leading him,” Finch interjected from his corner, but Dean didn’t allow him to interrupt. He didn’t even seem to hear it. He was too eager to answer.
“From Butch! He’s a monster.”
“What about Sherrilyn?” Francesca asked. “Can you tell us what happened to her?”
“I don’t know. She was fine until she came to the yard to—to wish me happy birthday. We’d been fighting. But…she was sorry. She said she was sorry.”
Francesca picked up her purse from the floor and placed it on the table. “You saw her there? Spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“Could you be wrong about that?”
His eyebrows knitted. “No. Paris saw her, too. So did Butch and my mother. Sherry said I’m the only man who’s ever really loved her and it wasn’t fair of Neal to break us up. We were miserable without each other. We were going to get back together.”
“Where did she go after that?”
“Home, I guess. How would I know?”
Jonah changed up the interview with an easy question. “Neal’s her son?”
“That’s right. He’s not very nice. He—he doesn’t want his mother to love me. He wants her all to himself.”
Had Sherrilyn really shown up at the salvage yard? She had a restraining order against Dean, and she’d just been through that terrible experience caused by his stalking and death threats. But she wouldn’t be the first to go back to someone she knew might hurt her. “Was this after you went to her house and threatened to kill her?” Jonah asked.
“I didn’t say I was going to kill her! I said I’d rather we were both dead than apart. I loved her!”
Francesca jumped back in. “What about Bianca Andersen? Did you love her, too?”
The name distracted him. “Who?”
“Bianca Andersen. She was a nurse at Laurel Oaks. You recognize Laurel Oaks, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’ve been there. Three times.”
At least he was capable of remembering correctly. Jonah thought that lent him some credibility. “But you don’t recall a Bianca?”
“No.” He splayed his hands. “I’ve never heard of her before.”
Francesca took a pack of gum from her purse and offered Dean a piece. “Why do you draw what you do, Dean?” she asked.
He studied the gum as if it might bite him, but when she held it closer, he accepted. “I don’t know. Because they’re…interesting, I guess.”
“Have you ever acted out any of those drawings?”
“No!” He responded almost before she could get the words out.
Jonah cleared his throat. “Tell us why you feel you had to protect your mother, Dean.”
Although he’d unwrapped the gum, he was too worked up to put it in his mouth. “She told me I couldn’t tell. She said I had to forget what was in that freezer or it would get her in trouble. Then Butch said I could fix my mistake if I got the panties back.”
Francesca set her purse back on the floor. “Butch sent you to my house?”
He crammed the chewing gum in his mouth and spoke around it. “Yes. Because you took the panties.” He frowned. “I wish you’d never done that. I wish you were my friend. None of this would’ve happened.”
“This isn’t about our friendship,” she said. “This is about April and Julia and Sherrilyn and Bianca—”
“I don’t know Bianca. I’ve never even met her. You don’t believe me?”
She didn’t answer that question. “Why did you p
ut those panties in Butch’s truck in the first place?”
“Because I wanted him to get caught. He thinks he can sleep with women, and hurt them, and hurt my sister, and have my parents put up with it, and have me put up with it, and…and get away with anything.”
Jonah had to agree with Dean’s assessment. Butch was pretty arrogant. “He’s the one who told the police you must’ve killed Julia.”
“What?” Dean’s tortured eyes shifted to his. “I didn’t kill her. I swear it!” Fresh tears pooled along his lower lashes. “Can I talk to my mother? Please? I can’t protect her if I don’t know how.”
“You can’t talk to her just yet,” Jonah replied. “But we’ll speak to her for you, okay?”
He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. “Tell her Butch is trying to hurt me. She—she’ll stop him. She always does.”
32
“What are you two doing here?” Paris stood in the doorway. Defensive from the moment she’d first seen them, she gripped the door as though she might slam it at any second.
Jonah gave Francesca a slight nod, one she interpreted as permission to take the lead on this as she had with Dean’s interview. “I have a message from Dean. For your mother,” she said.
Paris’s eyes cut between them. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Either of you. We…we’re getting an attorney. We already told the police that.”
Before she could close the door, Jonah stuck his foot in its path. “Why do you need an attorney? I was under the impression that you were now cooperating with the police. I know Butch is.”
She smirked. “Don’t think you can fool me. I’m not letting you in. Butch isn’t even home.”
Francesca noticed that Champ wasn’t in the yard, either. “Champ go with him?”
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped. “And don’t say my boy’s name as if you know him.”
“No matter what you think of me, I’m only searching for the truth,” Francesca said.
“You don’t care about the truth. You’ve been out to get us from the start.”
Francesca shook her head. “No.”
Hatred flashed in her eyes. “You’re charging my brother with a crime he didn’t commit!”
