“I didn’t,” Melba said. “Let’s go and tell the Lansings their son is dead. I want to get this over with, and I’m sure you do, too.”
There was no denying that. “This is the part of the job I hate the most,” he confided, as they left his inner office for the reception area, where the night dispatcher, Evelyn, occupied the main desk.
Evelyn, a middle-aged woman and former beat cop, nodded in farewell as they passed.
Outside, they headed for the SUV.
“Dan’s back at our house again, now that Freddie isn’t a threat,” Melba said, once they were inside, seat belts fastened, good to go.
“I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad that little shit streak can’t hurt my family,” Eli confessed, starting the engine. “I wouldn’t have wished Freddie dead, but I’m relieved.”
He was relieved, but for some reason, he had a niggling sense that, somehow, things were still unresolved. There was another shoe, he was sure of that, and who knew when and how it would drop?
“There’s always the chance the kid might have turned his life around at some point. Found Jesus, or something,” he said, as they rolled out of the lot and onto the highway.
“Fat chance,” Melba said. “Look at the facts, Eli. He killed that poor girl—Tiffany—you know he did. Forensics will prove it. And if he took her life, who can say he hasn’t murdered other people? Or would have, if he’d survived.”
Eli absorbed all that, weighing it in his mind—and in his gut, which seemed to have a mind of its own. “Why do you suppose he did himself in like that? He wasn’t the poster child for mental health, but this seems out of character. He had a lot of years ahead of him.”
“Sure,” Melba confirmed dryly. “Years he would have spent in prison for murder.”
“He was a narcissist, Melba, if not a straight-up psychopath. He probably thought he’d get away with killing that girl.” He paused. “If he did kill her. At least until the forensics people wrap up their investigation, everything we have is circumstantial.”
“He did it,” Melba said, with certainty. She was probably right; her instincts were good. Better than good. “But I get what you’re saying—keep my theories to myself, at least where the public is concerned, until we have something solid.”
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I brainstorm with Dan?” she asked, gazing straight ahead, at the road.
“Go ahead,” Eli said. “I plan on doing that myself, at some point.”
“He’s still trying to trace Tiffany Ulbridge’s steps back to Lubbock, or where she was before she came here.”
“Good,” Eli said.
They rode in silence for a while, each thinking their own thoughts.
After a few minutes, they passed the Painted Pony Creek Motel, looking as forlorn as ever in the rapidly fading light of day, and a couple of minutes after that, they were pulling into the Lansings’ driveway.
The stripped Christmas tree had been removed from the front walk and probably burned out back.
Fred’s car was parked outside the attached garage, and the two pit bulls were prowling the fenced area alongside the house. If food or water had been provided, the bowls were out of sight.
“Here we go,” Melba murmured, unsnapping the holster on her service belt. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it under the most dire of circumstances, she was afraid of dogs. Big ones, little ones, on or off their leashes.
“Stick with pepper spray, Deputy,” Eli said easily. “Leave your service revolver where it is until further notice.”
Melba stiffened slightly, but she didn’t say anything.
Maybe she was planning her campaign for sheriff of Wild Horse County. First order of business: assign her current boss to crosswalk duty.
Eli shoved open the driver’s side door, after drawing and releasing a deep, silent breath, and climbed out of the rig.
The dogs, probably hungry, given their slatted ribs, were more curious than aggressive this time, poking their noses against the cyclone fence in the side yard, sniffing audibly.
Eli wondered if anybody ever patted them on the head, ruffled their ears or threw a Frisbee for them.
Hell, he wondered if anybody ever fed the poor critters.
He made a mental note to call animal control. Ask for a wellness check.
Melba gave the dogs a wide berth, even though they were behind a fence, and Eli didn’t blame her. They probably could have jumped the barrier without much effort, if they’d been in the mood.
Gretchen Lansing stepped onto the porch, looking half again as unpleasant as she had earlier in the day, at the supermarket. “If this is about Freddie, he ain’t here!” she all but snarled.
As obnoxious as she was, Eli couldn’t help feeling sorry for this woman. The news he was about to give her was the worst a parent could expect to receive.
“Is Fred at home?” he asked mildly.
“Yes,” Gretchen replied. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Can we come in?”
For the first time, Gretchen looked alarmed. She shook her head and turned her head to call back over one shoulder, “Fred!”
Eli stood respectfully at the foot of the porch steps. Melba took her place alongside him, still keeping an eye on the dogs, at least peripherally.
Fred stepped onto the porch, a little apart from his wife.
It struck Eli as odd that the Lansings weren’t touching. A lot of men would have draped an arm around their partner’s shoulders, or taken her hand, confronted by two law enforcement officers and all. And a lot of women would have turned instinctively to their husband.
“You’re sure you don’t want to go inside,” Eli urged. “Sit down?”
Gretchen pressed a hand to her mouth, but her feet were firmly planted on the floorboards of her weathered porch. Once again, she shook her head.
“What’s this about?” Fred grumbled. To his credit, he looked worried now, as well as recalcitrant.
Eli sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, wishing this whole thing were over. Wishing he could materialize in Brynne’s living room and take quiet solace in the simple fact of her presence.
“Freddie is dead,” he said. It was blunt, but it would have been unkind to draw the matter out any further. “We found him in that old barn on the McCall place. We’re still investigating, but the evidence indicates that he hanged himself.”
Gretchen cried out, and her knees buckled.
Fred caught her as she crumpled beside him.