can buy.” She sighed. “I gotta go.”
“What’s his problem?” Will asked when she hung up. Connor was Carina’s brother and engaged to the deputy district attorney who had prosecuted Glenn, Julia Chandler.
“He’s worried about Julia. She won’t let him move in, even temporarily, until they’re married, because her niece is living with her. He now wants to elope. Mama would have a fit.”
“I’ve increased patrols in her neighborhood,” Will said. “And she’s getting a police escort to and from work every day. We have it covered, and Julia’s smart. She’s not going to do something irresponsible.”
“You know how protective Connor can be.” She glanced at the television. “What happened?”
“Another scumbag was caught. Tied to a lamppost.”
“Same as the first guy?”
“Seems like it,” Will said. “Makes you think they’re turning on each other, doesn’t it?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Carina said, flipping open her small notepad. “I finished researching the two Glenn jurors we couldn’t find this afternoon. One is now living in Arizona and one is overseas in Iraq.”
“I think that guy is safe. At least from Glenn. What about family?”
“He has none in town. His juror interview stated that he was a sophomore in college when he served and was also in the Reserves at the time. The desk sergeant is going to try to contact him and the Arizona juror, just as a heads-up.”
“Thanks.”
“You never told me how your talk with Robin McKenna went. Did you tell her about Glenn’s sister?”
Will kept his face impassive. “I was with her when I got the call.”
Carina stared at him. “You’re not telling me something. Does this have something to do with that message left at the Jeffries house?”
He didn’t answer. “I was just about to go talk to my old partner, Frank Sturgeon. Diaz couldn’t reach him yesterday, left a message.”
“I’ll join you.”
“You don’t have to. It’s already after eight. Why don’t you go home?”
“Now I know you’re hiding something from me.”
“Fine, come with me, what do I care?” He turned to the cop manning the hotline. “Any sighting, call me on my cell.”
Will drove his personal car, a black Porsche 911, over to Frank’s house, just a mile from Carina’s place. He’d bought the car five years ago at a government auction. It had been seized at a border drug raid and he’d had his eye on it the entire time it was in impound. Cost him a pretty penny, but far cheaper than on the retail market.
“You didn’t have to come,” he said to Carina.
“I know.” She paused. “You’ve been acting weird since Glenn escaped.”
“You read my case files. The guy’s a sick sociopath. He had not one ounce of remorse, not one shred of guilt. He’s the most arrogant criminal I ever met. The guy was so arrogant he
Carina turned to him. “Have you called her?”
“His defense attorney? Why would he go-” Will stopped. “Shit. I didn’t think. She wasn’t on Diaz’s list because she never actually went to trial with him.”
“I’m sure she knows, but-”
Will pulled out his cell phone, called dispatch, and got Jones’s mobile number.
“Iris Jones,” she answered in her crisp, formal style.
“It’s Detective Will Hooper with SDPD.”
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“You heard about what happened at San Quentin.”
“Of course.”
“Theodore Glenn escaped and-”
“Detective,” Jones snapped, “if you think that I would harbor a fugitive, you are sorely mistaken. I can assure you that I have no ties to that man, nor would I harbor him, nor would I represent-”
“Iris,” Will interrupted. “I was just calling to tell you to watch your back. We have a task force here, but we’re contacting everyone involved in the case to make sure that they are taking precautions.”
Pause. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat. He fired me. I had nothing to do with his conviction.”
“He may blame you for something, we don’t know.”
“I doubt-” She paused. “Detective, I don’t scare easily, but Theodore Glenn scares me. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Theodore Glenn couldn’t help but feel superior. He’d been sitting right outside the police department for hours and they hadn’t spotted him. Either his disguise was more than adequate-he’d threaded his brown hair with gray and popped in over-the-counter contacts to change his blue eyes to brown-or the police were even dumber than he thought.
More likely, the police didn’t expect him to hang out in the middle of their own territory. They’d assume he would hide out in a motel or run for the border after taking care of Sherry. Now he needed information, but he wasn’t confident his disguise would pass intense scrutiny-if Hooper saw him, for example.
That made sitting here even more exciting.
Theodore craved adrenaline. He’d shoplifted as a child not because he needed anything, and certainly not for the attention, but for the punch of adrenaline when he staked out a shop, monitored the staff, avoided cameras, grabbed anything from candy to money in a change drawer. The activity bored him after a time, because no matter how many risks he took, he’d never been caught. He was that good.
Team sports held no allure for him. He’d tried, but he was better than everyone else and the idiot coaches would insist that everyone have a turn. Even the stupid fat-ass sissies who would run away from the ball instead of toward it. Theodore couldn’t fathom doing that for years before finally being old enough to make a team that would truly value talent.
He went for individual sports. He ran. When he came in first in any given race, it was over. Once he’d proved he was the best, there was no other place to go. He didn’t need twelve first place trophies.
He’d discovered skateboarding young, then dirt bikes, then motorbikes. His parents gave him whatever he asked for because they recognized that he was special. He could accomplish anything he set his mind to.
When he fell-and he often did at first-a rage came over him. Even when he had no injuries, his failure physically hurt, a knife twisting in his skull, telling him he
But eventually, the adrenaline from personal achievement wasn’t enough. How many times could he sky-dive? How many times could he bungee jump off a bridge? He’d traveled all over the country seeking thrills that needed to be bigger, better, more dangerous just to get the same satisfaction.
Until he killed.
The strippers weren’t the first. The first time was two years before them. Spontaneous.
Theodore was still in law school the first time he BASE jumped, over the Royal Gorge in Colorado. The first time he jumped had been the most exhilarating experience of his life. Free-falling, before he pulled the parachute cord, Glenn felt a euphoric high that lasted for weeks. No subsequent jump gave him that intense thrill. He couldn’t go back to bungee jumping, which seemed so childish by that time, and instead tried a variety of other BASE jump locations. Nothing satisfied him, not the same way. The more he failed to get the rush, the more he craved it.
So he went back to the Royal Gorge one weekend, to regain the excitement that he was
The thrill was gone. He might as well have been jumping off a two-story house. He’d done the Gorge once, he knew what it felt like, and the second time he felt nothing.
If Dirk Lofton, a prick he’d jumped with before, hadn’t walked up just then, after Theodore made a perfect landing in the Gorge, Lofton would still be alive.
“Nice landing,” Lofton said. “’Course you had perfect weather. No updrafts.”
