“No longer our problem. None of it. You heard Finch. They’re creating a task force. Hopefully, they’ll put those pieces of the puzzle in the proper order.”
“How? By asking Butch whether or not he did it and then thanking him for his time when he says no?”
Jonah didn’t want to think about it. He’d never left a case unfinished before. It was hard to let go of an investigation before he’d given it his all, especially one this critical. But if the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office wanted him to bow out, he’d leave them to their own devices.
“There might be some folks on the task force who are willing to dig as deep as they need to,” he said, and knew that could be true. Someone else could solve this. He had to disregard his own compulsive nature, which told him he had to be the one. “Considering what’s happened between you and Butch, it’s probably better that you won’t be involved. Dropping out of the picture might be what keeps you safe.”
She slowed for a traffic light. “You think he’ll forget about me?”
Jonah wanted to believe it—that was the only positive he could find. “Why not? He made us both look bad. Hopefully, he feels we’re even.”
“We killed his dog, Jonah. I doubt he’s going to let that go.”
“He caused it.”
“He won’t see it that way. People like Butch never do. He might come after me again.”
Trying to persuade himself that she wasn’t in danger, he began to list the reasons she could be wrong. “You live two hours away, which makes you an inconvenient victim. And now that he’s succeeded in getting us off his back, he’d be stupid to do anything that might risk involving us again. He should consider himself lucky to have won the last round, sit back and enjoy his schadenfreude.”
“His schadenfreude?”
“Pleasure over another’s misfortune.”
“If he’s a serial killer, he won’t settle for that.”
Francesca’s words reminded him of Winona Green, the profiler he’d contacted. He’d faxed her the details they had on the Dead Mule Canyon killings but hadn’t heard back. What with recent discoveries—the identity of one of the bodies and details about Dean—he could provide a bit more information. But what was the point? The task force would call in a profiler of their own, if they had any confidence in that sort of thing.
Still, he should contact her, let her know not to worry about finishing up….
He’d take care of it in the morning, when he was back home and away from the gravitational pull of this case with its many unanswered questions.
“Maybe it’s not Butch. Maybe it’s Dean,” he said.
“What if it is Dean? That doesn’t mean the killings will stop,” she responded.
Old-town Prescott was replaced by newer buildings set farther and farther apart.
“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.”