“Why?” Joanna asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did your father want Rob Whipple to leave?”
“We run a very profitable and well-thought-of program hew, Sheriff Brady,” Caroline said proudly. “When people come here, they’re looking for results. They don’t want to know about our failures.”
“You told us earlier that Rob had gotten Andrew Simms to cover his shift. Now you’re saying your father fired him. Why the discrepancy, and which is the truth? I thought you people didn’t deal in situational ethics.”
Caroline shrugged. “Father wanted to buy some time. He said sending Rob packing would give things a chance to simmer down a little.”
“In other words, to keep from damaging Pathway to Paradise’s reputation and cure rate, you and your father would stoop to any thing, including knowingly turning a murderer loose on the world. Why didn’t you call and tell us what was going on?” Joanna demanded.
“We couldn’t,” Caroline wailed tearfully. “You’ve got to under stand. If we had called, it would have been a breach of confidentiality.”
“You can call it whatever you like,” Joanna hissed back at her. “But once we find out Rob Whipple has killed again, I hope your conscience is clear, Ms. Parker. I hope you and your father will both be able to sleep at night.”
“You just said ‘again,’“ Caroline whispered. “Does that mean someone else is dead, someone other than Ron Haskell’s wife?”
“That’s right,” Joanna said. “Remember Irma Whipple Sorenson, the lady who wrote that check to pay for her son’s treatment? She’s missing and has been ever since Saturday morning, moments after she made an anonymous call, nervously reporting the whereabouts of Connie Haskell’s bloodied vehicle. I’m assuming that she’s already dead, but you and your father had better hope like hell that she died prior to last night and not after, because if Irma was killed after you and your father sent Rob Whipple merrily on his way without calling us, I’m going to see about charging the two of you with being accessories.”
“Accessories?” Caroline Parker repeated weakly. “Us? You can’t do that, can you?”
“I can sure as hell try,” Joanna said grimly.
“But you have no idea what that kind of trauma would do to my father. It would kill him. It would be the end of everything he’s done; everything he’s worked for—everything we’ve both worked for.”
“That may well be,” Joanna returned. “But at least you’ll both be alive, which is more than can be said for Connie Haskell and most likely for Irma Sorenson as well. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t lose Rob Whipple’s badge or weapon, because if we end up needing them, they’d better be here! Come on, Frank. We’re done.”
“You can’t do that, can you?” Frank asked once they were out of earshot inside the Civvie and buckling their seat belts. Once again, Joanna was driving.
“Do what?”
“Charge Amos and Caroline Parker with being accessories.”
“No, probably not,” Joanna conceded. “But it did my heart a world of good to tell her that we could. I loved seeing that look of sheer astonishment wash across her face, and I’m proud to be the one who put it there. Caroline Parker lied to us. Frank, and I lied right back. Maybe that makes us even.”
“Maybe so,” Frank agreed. “Where to now?”
“Rob Whipple’s house, but I’m guessing he’s not there. Notify Dispatch about where we’re going and find out where those damned backup units are. Then call the DMV and get whatever information they may have on all vehicles belonging to either Rob Whipple or Irma Sorenson. That way, when it comes time to post the APBs, we’ll have the information we need to do it.”
Before Frank could thumb the radio’s talk button, Larry Kendrick’s voice boomed through the car. “We got a hit on Rob Whipple,” he said. “I tried faxing it to you, but it didn’t go through.”
“We’re out of range,” Frank told him. “What does it say?”
