The pain in his voice decided me. “I’m coming up,” I said. “I’ll be there before dark.”
He started to protest, but I wasn’t about to listen.
“For better or worse,” I reminded him. “Besides, you probably need fresh underwear and socks.”
“Well . . .”
“Anything special you want me to bring?”
“No, but call my mother, would you? She needs to be told before she hears about it like you did.”
“I’ll tell her,” I said. “You go to your meeting and I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I called Mayleen Richards back and told her the bare minimum, then I called Miss Emily.
As soon as she heard my voice, she said, “Oh, Deborah, I was just fixing to call you and Dwight.” She bubbled with happy anticipation. “Rob called. He and Kate are on their way to the hospital. The baby could be here anytime now!”
I hated to lick the red off her candy, but I couldn’t not tell her. She listened with small murmurs of dismay.
“Poor Jonna,” she said when I’d finished. Cal’s disappearance terrified her, too, but she wasn’t going to think the worst before she had to.
“Dwight will find him,” she said, even though a slight quaver in her voice betrayed her surface calm.
Minnie was shocked when I phoned but instantly volunteered to tell Daddy and the others. “You sure you don’t want someone to ride up with you?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Promise you won’t speed,” she said. “I just saw the Weather Channel. It’s snowing up there and I want to be able to truthfully tell Mr. Kezzie you promised not to speed.”
“I promise,” I lied.
Finally, I called Roger Longmire, my chief judge, and explained why I needed to take a week of personal leave.
After that, I packed enough clean clothes to get us through the week, and at the last minute tucked a dark suit for Dwight and a black dress for me into a garment bag even though it was too soon to know when, or even if, there was to be a formal funeral.
I was on the road within an hour after Dwight’s call.
C H A P T E R
14
Saturday afternoon, 22 January
For all the times he had sat in the burn box while defense attorneys nitpicked his testimony—
“How can you possibly say, Major Bryant, that this wrench, sold by the thousands at hardware stores throughout the country, is the exact same wrench pur-portedly owned by my client before his girlfriend’s tragic death?”—and despite the many suspects he had cross-questioned himself, Dwight was not looking forward to this session. Paul might call it a formality, but these men were here to find Jonna’s killer, and as the ex-spouse, he was a ready-made natural suspect. He told himself to just suck it up. Pointless to get their hackles up by a show of impatience or hostility. The sooner this was over, the quicker he could get back to the search for Cal.
Yet, for all that, it began pleasantly enough. When he arrived at the police station a minute or two before one o’clock, the others were settled in Paul Radcliff’s office 13 and they made no move to take it down the hall to the interrogation room, for which he supposed he should be grateful. At the moment, the two state police officers were acting as if this were nothing more than a pro forma meeting of professionals.
Dwight smiled when Paul introduced him to Special Agents Nick Lewes and Ed Clark of Virginia’s Bureau of Criminal Investigation. “I guess y’all’ve heard all the jokes.”
“Jokes?” Lewes asked blankly. He looked at his partner, who shrugged.
“Never mind,” said Dwight. If they were putting him on, then let it ride. He shucked his jacket and hung it on the back of the remaining empty chair.
Lewes was probably his age, mid-forties, and Clark looked to be a couple of years younger. Both were muscular six-footers, although Lewes was somewhat heavier.
Both wore leather shoulder holsters over casual civvies.
Their heavy navy blue utility jackets with insignia and shoulder patches were draped over their chairs. Lewes had a receding hairline and pouches under his eyes like a sleepy bloodhound, while Clark’s pointed face and bright button eyes reminded Dwight of a poodle he had once known.
“Sorry about your boy,” Lewes said. “Hell of a situation you got here.”
“We understand he went with his abductor willingly?”
asked Clark.
“Sounds like it,” said Dwight. “That’s why we thought she was Jonna.”
As they finished with the small talk, Clark set a tiny tape recorder on the desk corner nearest him. “You don’t
