Only a guilty person would fight this hard to evade capture.#BringBackTheDeathPenalty
—@judge_jody
They stopped in Bakersfield for lunch. According to Google Maps, they were about two hours from LA, but with traffic it could easily be four. Or five. From Jordan’s limited experience, it took fifteen minutes or two hours to get anywhere in LA, depending on freeway congestion.
A man who looked like an off-duty cop slowed his roll as Jordan parked in the lot at In-N-Out Burger, looking quizzically at the Madera County Sheriff’s logos on the Ford Interceptor.
Wen climbed out and stretched. “Hope nobody I know sees me. I’ll never live it down.”
Grandpa Chester had been a fan of some show—or was it a made-for-TV movie?—about a New Mexico lawman improbably reassigned to New York City, where he faced big-city condescension wearing a cowboy hat, a sheepskin coat, and a disarming smile. His grandpa loved it, believing it proved the moral superiority of small-town people—and Madera was indeed a small town back then. It was still relatively small, with a county population of 160,000.
LA Metro was nearly twenty million. Wen would be back in her element, where her skills and resources would be at their most useful. If Jordan wanted to help find Campbell and be there at her arrest, he needed to play up the big-eyed country sheriff routine.
“I can let you drive, if it makes you feel better,” he said as they crossed the parking lot.
Wen rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should just cuff me and throw me in back, so everyone knows I’m traveling against my will.”
“Happy to help in any way I can.”
Inside, they carried their trays to a table in the corner. Jordan sipped his strawberry shake as Wen took a big bite of her Double-Double.
“So what’s our plan once we get to LA?” he asked.
“We’ll cover likely points of entry and known associates. But the dirty secret is we usually catch them off a tip. That woman’s face is, like,everywhere. The APB covers the whole state now, and we’re posting a reward of $25K. That’s a lot of cash to people like Rae and Fisk.”
Jordan didn’t think either of them were motivated by money but kept that to himself as he worked on his own burger.
“I gotta say,” Wen added, dunking a trio of fries in ketchup and shoving them in her mouth. “I’m not sure I understand whyyou’re so into this ride-along. Is it because she got away from you? Or are you worried about re-election?”
Jordan shifted uncomfortably on the molded bench seat, wondering if Bree’s involvement in the crash had made him take it more personally. Not that he’d bring that up.
“Probably a little bit of both,” he admitted. “It might be because I’ve never had anything like this happen and I just need to see it through to the end. Campbell’s certainly not the typical murderer. You know, my wife thinks she’s innocent.”
Wen snorted. “Jury said guilty, she’s guilty. And anyway, I don’t care.”
“So you’re just doing your job.”
Wen took a long drink of her Dr Pepper, then set the cup down and looked at him. “You remember when I was talking about that incident with the county jail bus hijack?”
Jordan nodded. “Someone decided to let them keep driving until they crashed into a church bus.”
“Seventeen people, eight of them civilians, burned to death. Six survived with life-altering injuries. That someone was me—I was lead on that action. Which is why they now send me to shitholes like Madera County. No offense.”
“Only now it’s bringing you back to LA. Which is apparently not a shithole?”
Her eyes locked onto his with smoldering intensity. “My superiors thought this was going to be an easy pickup but now that it has gotten more complicated, there are people who want to take it away from me. I’m going to catch Cara Campbell and haul her ass back to jail.”
Her phone chimed. While she answered, Jordan used the opportunity to eat faster. Somehow, despite doing most of the talking, Wen had cleared her tray while he was only half finished.
She listened, barely speaking, then swore and ended the call.
“What is it?” he asked.
She waited until a customer with an overflowing tray lumbered out of earshot. “Someone used a brand-new Gmail address and a Visa gift card to buy a Greyhound ticket this morning. The IP address is a 99 percent match for the Oakhurst County Public Library.”
“Where’s she going?”
“From Madera to Sacramento. You were wrong. She’s headed north.”
