Richard sighed deeply. “I have a four-day trip scheduled for a week from Tuesday,” he said.
***
Erin lay awake in her bed, tossing and turning, listening to the sounds of the building around her as it settled down for the night . . . a voice calling, a bar of music playing, a door closing, a window opening. It was late, and she had to be up early in the morning, but there was too much going on in her head to let her sleep.
Most of it had to do with Clare Durant, of course. It was nothing short of a miracle that the woman had survived, and although she knew there really was no way they could have predicted this bizarre turn of events, Erin couldn’t help but feel responsible for what happened on that winding Mercer Island road. She couldn’t blame Richard Durant for being furious with them. She was furious with herself.
And then there was their elusive stalker -- who always seemed to be one step ahead of them, dangling them like helpless fish caught on the end of a line that he could reel in and reel out whenever it suited him. It was nothing short of maddening. She knew they were going to have to get a better handle on him, and pretty damn soon, too, before he caught them flatfooted again. And therein lay the quandary. While it was perfectly all right for them to scheme and maneuver in an effort to nab this sociopath, she now wondered if they would be able to do it without putting Clare Durant’s life at even greater risk. And there was another issue that could have serious ramifications, as well. Because, technically, they were out of their jurisdiction and this was no longer their case.
The Seattle Police Department was made up of five precincts. The West Precinct, where Dusty and Erin were assigned, covered the downtown area, including Pioneer Square, where Thornburgh House was located. Laurelhurst, however, was in the North Precinct. And now that the stalker was calling Clare at home, the North Precinct had jurisdiction. She wondered just how much of a fuss she and Dusty were going to have to make to stay on board.
***
To Erin’s surprise, no fuss was necessary. The West Precinct and the North Precinct captains conferred. And as it turned out, the North Precinct was not all that anxious to take on the Durant matter. It was agreed that Dusty and Erin would remain, not only on the case, but in charge of it, with the support of officers from both precincts.
“They gave up too easy,” Dusty said. “I wonder what they know that we don’t.”
“They probably know how bad we’ve botched it so far,” Erin told him glumly, in words that all too soon would come back to haunt her. “And they don’t want the rap on them. They probably want to see how much deeper we can dig ourselves into the hole, so they can put on their hero hats and come riding to the rescue.”
***
The doctors kept Clare in the hospital until Tuesday. Her concussion alone was serious enough to warrant monitoring. If any complications developed, they wanted to be able to act immediately.
Her head still hurt and her mind was playing tricks on her. She kept blurring the past and the present. She kept confusing the incident on Mercer Island with the incident in the Olympic Mountains. She spoke of clinging to a rock in one breath and hurtling at a tree in the next. And, too, the paralysis caused by the spinal trauma took its time to resolve itself.
Fortunately, she was able to give the police sketch artist an accurate description of the man who had run her off the road. According to Clare, he had dark hair, long sideburns, close-set eyes, and he was unshaven.
Dusty and Erin had posters made and every officer in the precinct took a hand in circulating them. Then began the tedious task of tracking down black trucks with license plates having the first two numbers that one of the witnesses at the scene had provided.
When Richard came to take Clare home, the cervical collar was still in place, she had one nasty cut over her right eye, another just along her right shoulder, and she was sporting a number of angry-looking bruises. But she could walk, under her own steam, from the wheelchair to the car.
“You’re not to think about anything except getting better,” Erin told her.
“I know,” Clare said. “But what if he calls again?”
“Don’t talk to him any more than you want to,” Dusty replied.
“Don’t worry, she won’t,” Richard declared. “I’ll be answering the phone.”
“I doubt he’ll talk to you,” Erin said.
“He doesn’t have to talk to me,” Richard retorted. “But I sure as hell will talk to him.”
“Believe me, I’m not going to argue with you,” Erin assured him. “All I’m going to say is that the more we can learn about this guy, the better the chance we’ll have of catching him. And one of the best ways to learn about him is by listening to him. Personally, I’d be interested in hearing exactly what he has to say about the accident, because it might give us some very valuable clues as to why he’s changed his game plan and what he intends to do next. But I’m certainly not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”
***
Clare slept most of the day, sinking into her bed and letting her mind drift off to a place where there was no pain and no fear, much the same as it was when she had come home from the hospital in Port Angeles. Richard didn’t go to the office, but instead worked from the house. Doreen checked on her every hour or so, bringing her trays of tea and
