He said nothing else for what felt like a mile.
Then, finally: “The spouse is always the most likely suspect.”
“Yes,” Cara admitted. “And I am... was... infamous for my social media platform, so the authorities never really considered anyone else.”
“What the heck do you mean, infamous?”
“I gave lifestyle advice to women looking for wealthy men.”
“Whoa,” Fisk said, inadvertently causing the animals to halt. “Hell of a career choice.”
“I had tons of brand ambassadorships, and I was making money,” she said defensively, as soon as Fisk clicked his tongue to get Maybelline and the others moving again. “No one really believes it, but Karl supported my brand. I mean, he didn’t have any social accounts, and he didn’t like appearing on camera, but he was all in when he saw what it did for his practice. People who liked me tracked him down.”
Why hadn’t the forensic accountant mentioned the 20 percent increase in patients when he testified at the trial? Or the extra investors who’d come on board to help Karl build his surgical center? Karl had always kept his business dealings to himself, and she had never bothered to ask.
“Karl and I were opposites in so many ways—age, interests, career paths, you name it—but he was my partner in all things. I married him for love. And yes, security. I grew up with a lot less than I needed, so I’ve always believed in being honest about the need to feel safe, whether emotionally, financially, or both.”
“I suppose I know a thing about unlikely relationships,” Fisk said, not unkindly.
As they continued on over rocks, through stands of trees, and up and around a ridge, seemingly a million miles from wherethey’d started, Cara couldn’t help but wonder when they were going to reach wherever it was they were going.
“I’ve shared my story and I haven’t tried to get away,” she said.
“Nope,” he agreed.
“Then why won’t you at least tell me where you’re taking me?”
“Because if you can’t make it all the way, I don’t want you telling the authorities where I am.”
“The middle of nowhere?” she said. “Trust me, if I can’t find my way out on my own, I won’t be able to lead anyone back here.”
TWENTY-NINE
JORDAN
Now @MaderaCASheriff is finally at the podium. Live feed in my pinned tweet.
—@JackSchapiroCNN
Jordan peered through the glass front doors at the crowd that covered the narrow strip of lawn outside the station and spilled into the parking lot. There were easily sixty or seventy reporters, cameramen, and looky-loos, a record level of interest in the Madera County Sheriff’s Department. He took a quick breath and pushed through.
They started shouting questions the moment they saw him, their overlapping voices making it impossible to hear what any one person was saying. He made his way over to the portable podium, where the department’s microphone was wired to a one-speaker PA and a half-dozen network microphones had been clamped onto the front.
Beto, standing guard, nodded and stepped aside.
Jordan gripped both sides of the podium, noting the reporters’ phones and digital recorders littering its surface. Hismouth was dry, and he wished Wen was giving this briefing, not him. But she was up in the hills of his county, directing the search for Cara Campbell and William Fisk.
He held up his hands for quiet.
“I’ve got fifteen minutes, folks,” he said, the PA speaker squealing until someone lowered the volume. “I’ll make a brief statement, and then I’ll take questions.”
“Is Cara Campbell still alive?” yelled someone.
That question set off another—“Do you have any response to Troy Silverman’s latest tweets?”—and another, and another, until he had to raise his hands again.
“I understand this is a case of massive interest, due to both the notoriety of Cara Campbell and the brutal nature of her crime. Like the victim’s family and all of you, we are disappointed that we do not have Campbell in custody. But the situation is complex and very fluid.”
“Stop stalling and answer the questions!” yelled a scruffy reporter for a conservative local news site, who was standing near the back.
