Just like Lorraine’s already was. Jericho had sworn an oath to serve and protect, but his department hadn’t protected her. They’d pushed her into working in a more dangerous environment, they’d treated her like a nuisance, a problem to be solved instead of a human being to be helped.
He’d been a wild kid in this town and been so resentful of the way people judged him, and he’d grown up to be just the kind of hypocrite he’d despised. He was the kind of cop who made people like Lorraine, people like Sandi Granger, hate and distrust cops.
But he didn’t have to be that kind of cop forever. He could start making things better instead of maintaining the status quo.
So he needed to find something, enough to hold Wooderson while the feds figured things out. He sat there on the side of the highway, barely noticing the cars that slammed on their brakes as soon as they saw the cruiser, and tried to track his way through it all.
If Will could talk, maybe he could shed some light on things. If Lorraine could talk, maybe she’d have something to say. But as it was, Jericho was on his own.
The lab reports from the crime scene were taking forever to process. Maybe they’d come up with something, although it was hard to know what it would be. Lorraine worked out of her home, so there was a clear excuse if Wooderson’s DNA or fingerprints turned up at the scene. Lorraine’s appointment book might have been useful, but it was still missing.
Which meant it probablydidhave incriminating details. Otherwise, Wooderson would have planted it somewhere to be found with Will’s name in it.
But it was pretty damn easy to get rid of an item made of paper. A good fire, with carefully stirred ashes that were then sent to the dump? If Wooderson had wanted the book gone, it was gone.
Jericho sat there until the sun began to set behind the mountains, tracing over every aspect of the case, searching for the glitch, the opportunity. Then he put the car into gear and headed back into town. He knew what he should do. Get something to eat, go to the apartment, maybe go for a run, and then get a good night’s sleep. That was what a responsible adult would do.
Instead, he pointed the car toward the houses on the edge of town, just a few blocks away from Lorraine’s place. He parked across the street from the modest bungalow where Wooderson and his daughters lived, and he waited.
It was almost dark when the front door opened and Wooderson appeared. He was carrying a cardboard box, and he brought it down and set it in the trunk of the car.
The bastard was just going on about his life. No fear, no anger, just doing some chores. Maybe already thinking of the next woman he’d kill.
Jericho’s throat was tight when he swallowed, and his hands had turned into fists.
He’d never planted evidence before, but . . . maybe this was the time. If it had ever been justified, it was justified now.
No. Too damn risky. He didn’t know what he was doing, and if he got caught, it could jeopardize the entire case.
He was searching his mind for another strategy when Wooderson came back out with another box, and then a duffel bag and a knapsack.
Jesus Christ.
Jericho stared across the street. The man was packing up. He was leaving town. Were his daughters still inside, waiting?
No, he’ll leave them behind. They’re how he was traced this time. He won’t take the chance of the same thing happening again. Oh god. It’s all going to happen again.
Jericho was out of the car and crossing the street before he’d knew it. He had no plan, no goal, but he was moving anyway.Fucking typical. Just charge in and hope for the best.Kayla wouldn’t be impressed.
But this wasn’t about Kayla. Kayla followed the book, and that was right for her. But Jericho? Was it right for him?
As Wooderson locked his front door, Jericho moved to stand by the driver’s door of the car, and when Wooderson turned, he saw Jericho and froze. There was only a moment of surprise, or maybe alarm, but enough to be sweet. Unfortunately, Wooderson’s smirk quickly returned, and Jericho realized his own presence was going to make this even more enjoyable for the sick son of a bitch.
“Deputy Crewe! You’ve come to see me off?” Wooderson swaggered down the walkway toward the car. “That’s very kind. I hope the police in the next place I live are just as pleasant. And just as easy to work with.”
“So you’re leaving?” Jericho needed a plan. He needed todosomething. “What about your girls? They not going with you?”
“Not this time.” Wooderson sounded mildly regretful, like he was leaving behind a favorite plant. “Youngsters need stability, and with my lifestyle—my diverse interests—I think they’ll be happier with someone less footloose.”
“Where are they? You can’t just leave them.”
“They’re with friends. And I’ve sent a message to some people who can reach my ex-wife. She’ll take care of them. Little angels, they are. Anyone would be glad to have them.”
Well, that was something. When the ex arrived, Jericho could talk to her, could talk to the girls. But there was no real reason to believe he’d learn anything new, and even if he did, no reason to believe he’d be able to act on it, not with Wooderson already vanished.
“Where you headed?” Jericho asked.
Wooderson laughed. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking of selling the car—they can be such anchors, you know? I could rely on public transit to get me anywhere I need to go.”
