Thirty-Seven
Max had been in more than his share of uncomfortable situations, but the drive back to the sheriff’s office ranked high on the list. The inside of the car felt like a pressure cooker cranked up to high.
“Are you going to explain to me how you really got into Evan Barstow’s house? What’s this about a sick sister?” he asked.
Beside him, Clara shifted in the passenger seat and stared out the window. Her voice flat, she said, “I did what I had to do.”
“If you lied, this could come back and bite us,” he pointed out yet again.
She glanced over at him and scowled, peeved, he felt sure. “I told you I didn’t lie on the search warrant’s affidavit,” she said.
“But if you lied to Evan’s wife, that could open the door for a defense attorney to challenge the evidence we found in the search, including the flashlight,” he countered.
At that, Clara’s brow wrinkled, and he had the feeling she chose her next words carefully: “Max, you need to stop worrying about your career and start worrying about finding my sister.”
Max sucked in a full helping of air and felt his blood pressure rise. He knew the case was personal for Clara. He admitted that she had reason to question his motives. He hadn’t backed her up when he should have. But whether Clara understood or not, he’d put any concern about his career aside. All he cared about was doing the right thing for the case.
He wanted to find Delilah just like Clara did. And he understood that with each tick of the clock, the danger the girl was in intensified. But what Clara failed to consider were the realities of the situation. It had been four days since Delilah was taken. In stranger abductions, nearly three quarters of children ultimately murdered died within the first three hours.
As much as Max hoped to bring the girl home alive, he knew he more likely faced the arrest and eventual trial of a murderer. Any shortcuts Clara took, any stepping over the line, could result in letting the monster responsible walk out of a courtroom a free man. She had to understand that her actions could have consequences. “Clara, I don’t know how things are done in Texas, but Utah judges frown on law enforcement lying to get inside houses.”
For a moment, she kept silent, perhaps considering how to respond. “I told you, I didn’t lie on the warrant. Yes, I told Evan’s wife I was lost and I had to call my sick sister,” Clara confessed. “But what you’re not considering, although I’ve mentioned it before, is that at the time I wasn’t a Utah cop.”
On one hand, Clara made a good point. She wasn’t acting as a law enforcement officer at the time. But that didn’t guarantee that a judge wouldn’t rule against them in a courtroom. And when she’d wanted to take the chains although they were outside the warrant? Then, Clara wore a Smith County deputy’s badge.
I have to find a way to get through to her, Max thought.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I am. But we have to be careful,” he said, reasoning that they needed to talk it through. He wanted them to be in agreement, work together, instead of at odds. “We both know the consequences of not following the letter of the law. If we’d taken those chains, we might have permanently poisoned the well. Every piece of evidence we found at Evan’s house could be ruled inadmissible.”
“So you pointed out.” Clara squinted over at Max. “I was willing to take that chance to speed this investigation up. I would do anything necessary to rescue Delilah before she ends up like that girl in the field.”
“Don’t you think I want that, too?” Max protested, attempting to hide a burning indignation. “I know how it is to feel helpless. Brooke was hurt in the accident, bad. And I… didn’t handle it well. I let her down. She’s still trying to get better, and I can’t get fired. I can’t do that to her. Not again.”
The car’s interior went silent, and Clara turned away.
Thirty-Eight
After her bath, the man gave Delilah a clean dress and a sandwich, the first solid food she’d eaten in days. It tasted dry, the bread crumbly and old, but she dared not complain and consumed it in seconds. Once she finished, he led her back to the upstairs room.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said.
Delilah gazed up at him. “What?”
He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a note card and a pen and handed them to her. “Write down what I tell you.”
While unsure, she didn’t want to upset the man. Delilah braced the note card against the wall, the pen poised over it.
“Write this: I ran away, and I won’t be coming home. Don’t look for me. Then sign your name.”
Stunned, Delilah dropped her arms and blinked at the man. “Why do you want me to write that?”
“Because I want you to. Why is none of your business.” He glared at her so hard the nerves underneath her skin crawled. “Don’t make me regret taking off your chains. I can put them back on. I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I want to do it.”
Delilah stared at the man. Unsure what he intended to do with the note, she didn’t like it. She didn’t want to write it. She didn’t want anyone to stop searching for her.
“You do what I told you. Write that note.” The man moved close and stared down at her, his eyes targeted on hers. “If you don’t, you will be sorry.”
Delilah thought back to her terror in the bathtub. When he trapped her underwater, the world grew hazy, and she knew he could kill her. Certain she had no alternative, her hands trembled as she printed what he’d dictated in big capital letters. At the end, she scrawled her name in cursive, the
