Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte) (15 page)

“Looks like we’re ready,” Clay said. “Who wants to go first?”

The two looked at each other. “I will,” Jane said, and Drew nodded. Then she opened the manila folder and drew out a large color printout of a photo of Brianna, one he hadn’t seen. She wore a bathing suit, her nose was a little sunburned and she was laughing. “Can we tape this to the front of the podium?” she asked. “Where they can’t help seeing it?”

“Good idea.” He grabbed a tape dispenser from the nearest desk, then held the door open for Jane and Drew.

The murmur of voices went silent while he carefully centered and aligned the photo, then taped it in place. They were all looking at it, he was glad to see.

He then stepped up to the podium, introduced himself even though everyone there knew him and explained that Brianna Wilson’s aunt and father each had brief statements to make, after which he and they would take a few questions.

Jane took his place. She gripped the podium on each side, her knuckles white. Not, he knew, because speaking in public made her nervous, but because this time it mattered so much.

“We’re here today,” she said, her voice pitched to reach even curiosity seekers who’d paused at the back of the pack, “to ask the public to remain alert to any glimpse of my niece, Brianna Wilson. As the days pass, it becomes too easy for people who don’t know her to put her out of their minds. For those of us who love her—” Her voice cracked. Her fingers tightened. “We cannot forget for an instant. Brianna should be—we pray will be—starting second grade this coming week. She’s smart, a little shy, intensely loyal to her friends. She must have been terrified to see her mother injured, and more terrified yet by whatever happened next.” She vibrated with intensity as her gaze moved from face to face. “Please,
please,
don’t forget Brianna. Watch for her. Pay attention if something seems wrong at a house in your neighborhood or at the end of your road. Brianna is somewhere, and her only hope is
you.
” She talked some more, ending with the offer of a twenty-thousand-dollar reward to be paid to anyone coming forward with information that led to finding her niece.

Then she stepped back and let Drew speak. His voice was ragged as he echoed her plea, breaking down several times. By the end, tears ran down his ravaged face and fogged his glasses. The huge lenses of the cameras captured it all.

Moved even though he’d orchestrated this whole thing, Clay squeezed Drew’s shoulder as he backed blindly away, then got his own message across. Who to call. Phone numbers for tips. A promise to honor anonymity when possible.

The first questions were about Melissa’s condition. Clay answered those himself, sounding more confident than he felt when he said they anticipated she would regain consciousness within the next day or two. He sensed Jane’s quick glance and hoped it didn’t show too much surprise. He wasn’t exactly setting her sister up as bait...but he wanted to alarm the assailant, if there had been one.

“Lieutenant Vahalik,” a woman from a Bend television station called, “have you been working this investigation at all?”

Clay tensed. Of course she’d been recognized.

“The accident and presumed abduction happened outside my jurisdiction.” She gestured toward the bronze placard beside the entry doors that said Butte County Sheriff’s Department. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the sheriff’s department and the Angel Butte Police Department work closely together. Sergeant Renner and I were already acquainted. I feel very fortunate he is heading this investigation. I trust he will be as thorough as I would be.”

“How does it feel to be a victim’s family member instead of an investigator?” someone else asked.

Clay hated questions like that. What did they
think
it felt like? He especially didn’t like this attempt to get Jane to bare herself for the entertainment of their viewing audiences. It was all he could do to stay impassive and not intervene, which he knew she wouldn’t appreciate.

She met the reporter’s gaze, her own naked. “I am terrified and heartbroken. That’s how it feels. I do believe I have always treated the family of victims with empathy, so I’m not sure what will change in the future beyond, of course, having a deeper sense of what they’re going through.”

Clay didn’t let anyone else jump in. He wound the thing down with a repeat of the phone numbers for reporting any sighting of Brianna Wilson or any knowledge whatsoever of her whereabouts.

Then he ushered Drew and Jane inside and led them to a small conference room, where he was able to shut the door. Drew sagged into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Jane laid a gentle hand on his back and rubbed. Clay resisted the need to do the same for her.

“You both did a good job,” he said. “I think you had exactly the effect you wanted. I’m predicting Brianna’s photo will be back above the fold on page one tomorrow, and on the local news on every station tonight.” He didn’t add, “for a day or two.” Until fresh news crowded it out again.

Drew lifted his head long enough to cast a desperate glance at Clay. “No one has seen anything yet.”

“They will,” Clay said with more confidence than he felt.

“It’s our best hope,” Jane said, but her voice was so soft he knew she feared that hope was a faint one.

He left them long enough to get cold drinks from a machine. The sugar and caffeine seemed to revive Drew, who finally asked if the reporters would be gone. Clay went out to look and came back to say that the coast was clear. Drew left after telling Jane he was going back to the hospital, but would pick Alexis up himself.

“I’ll see you later at home, then,” she told him, watching as he left.

Then she turned to Clay, her expression bleak. “I want to think we did some good.”

Aware of the expanse of glass that allowed people to see in, he couldn’t take her in his arms the way he wanted. “You did everything you possibly could,” he said, feeling how inadequate the words were.

“Will you just have to wait for tips?” she asked.

“I’m most hopeful your sister will be able to tell us something. But, no. I’m going back to Stillwell Trucking to talk to coworkers. I’m going to interview your sister’s friends. Could she have been involved with a man? Up to something else? Someone must know.”

“Wouldn’t Drew have guessed—?”

For once, she was neither tough nor cynical. The glimpse of her despair gutted him.

“I think he did,” Clay said quietly.

He expected argument but didn’t get one. After a moment, she nodded, her usual energy subdued. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Can you get away for a while tonight, Jane?” he asked, voice raw. “Maybe I could feed you dinner.”

“You mean...go out?” She sounded uncertain.

“I was thinking I could cook. Since you fed me last night.”

“You mean...at your place?” She shook her head and his heart sank until she said, “That’s a dumb thing to ask. Where else are you going to cook? On a grill at the park?”

He let himself smile. “Well, we could.”

“I think I’ve been stared at enough for one day.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you mean it, I’d like that. Unless something happens.”

He thought she was blushing. “That goes without saying,” he said easily, and it did. They were both cops; something quite often happened to interrupt previously made plans. Clay had dated more than one woman who thought his profession was sexy until she got tired of him canceling on her. He guessed men would be even less understanding of a woman who constantly put her job ahead of a dinner date.

In this case, though, he knew they were both hoping something would come up—a promising tip, or her sister opening her eyes.

They agreed she’d drive herself to his house, and set a time. Then he walked her out, feeling a complicated stew of emotions that ranged from compassion at her pain to triumph because, for whatever reason, it seemed she might be giving him a second chance after all. He took the chance of kissing her cheek before she got into her macho black Yukon. At his last glimpse of her, she was definitely blushing.

* * *

J
ANE
’
S
GAZE
LINGERED
on the Peruvian rug that hung above the river rock fireplace in Clay’s log home. He’d surprised her in so many ways tonight, she was still reeling.

The log house in the woods wasn’t a surprise; especially after becoming disenchanted with him, she’d relegated him to the stereotype of a redneck backcountry jerk, and a log cabin fit with that image. What didn’t fit was the interior. For one thing, his space was spotlessly clean, and not as if he’d hastily stashed the empty beer cans, pizza boxes and dirty socks out of sight for her benefit. Instead she had the sense an orderly environment was important to him. That didn’t mean he hadn’t enriched it. She’d been taken aback by tall built-in shelves filled with books covering a huge gamut of subjects. His stereo system and speakers were impressive, but the television was small, and from its location, appeared to be an afterthought. A tall clay sculpture filling one corner was abstract and kept catching her eye. An antique copper boiling kettle held a pile of newspapers and kindling by the fireplace. The furnishings were simple, 19th-century antiques, well cared for. One huge, glorious framed photo was taken across Sparks Lake to what she recognized as South Sister. Otherwise, he’d hung a watercolor of black-eyed Susans in bloom.

He didn’t offer her the classic bachelor fare of a grilled steak and baked potato for dinner, either. Instead he cooked chicken in a red wine sauce spiced heavily with marjoram over brown rice, with green beans that were currently in season.

Jane kept wondering over dinner whether he had any idea that he’d confounded her. She hadn’t gotten to know him when they first dated nearly as well as she’d thought she had. Had she already been nursing preconceptions? Or had Clay been protecting himself, either consciously or unconsciously? He certainly hadn’t invited her to his home.

He was the one to steer the conversation while he cooked and then while eating. They discussed national politics first, then the local electoral races.

“Does everyone in the department assume Sheriff Brock will be reelected?” she asked.

Eugene Brock was the incumbent Butte County sheriff, the one in danger of being ousted in November by her boss, Colin McAllister. Jane was aware that Colin and the Angel Butte police chief, Alec Raynor, both despised Brock.

Clay smiled at her question. “We’re very careful not to talk about it. Personally? I think he’ll lose. The dirty politics were a mistake.”

Jane nodded. Someone on Brock’s campaign staff had learned that Angel Butte mayor Noah Chandler had blacklisted Brock’s main opponent, Colin, back when the city police chief job was open. Unfortunately for Brock, the mayor had come out strongly in support of Colin and explained in a way people understood why he’d made a decision then that no longer applied. Raynor was also enthusiastically supporting Colin, as were many of the county’s most prominent citizens.

“My boss isn’t popular among his officers,” Clay said after a moment, his gaze resting on her. “He hasn’t fought for funding the way Raynor is doing in Angel Butte. Training and manpower is inadequate. As a result, deputies screw up more often than they should. There’s been a culture that encourages contempt for minorities and unnecessary violence. There may be deputies who are afraid of change. The rest of us are hoping for it.”

He had to trust her to have told her so much. His views could damage his career if Brock did win reelection.

“You’ll like working for Colin if he wins,” she said. “I’ll miss him.”

“He’s the one who promoted you.”

The restraint in his voice told her he’d heard the rumors implying she must have slept her way into the job. How else could a mere woman get so far, so fast?

“I felt unqualified,” she admitted, without telling him there were still times when she wasn’t sure she was up to the job. “Some people thought he should have gone outside the department to hire. Things had gotten so bad at that point, we’d lost a lot of people who had the seniority and experience to step in. He claims to have been impressed with how I handled the investigation into the payoffs we discovered Chief Bystrom had been accepting.”

“That had to have been tough.” Clay cradled a coffee mug in one large hand. “With him your boss, and you only a detective.”

She was grateful he didn’t add that she was a woman. If he’d said, “only a woman,” she’d have had to walk out.

“The thing is, I despised Bystrom,” she said in a burst of honesty. “If I’d had any respect for him at all, it would have been way harder to grill him.”

Clay laughed. “I only wish I had the chance to look into Brock’s activities.”

Once, she’d have been shocked. As it was, she simply raised her eyebrows. “You think he’s corrupt?”

He waggled one hand. “I’ve wondered, that’s all. What I know is that he’s lazy and incompetent.”

“Bystrom was both those things, too.”

“I’ll be voting for your boss.”

“I’ll tell him after the election, if he wins.”

“Since I can’t, without looking like I’m apple polishing?”

Jane chuckled. “Right.”

His mouth had a curve, but his eyes were serious. “Do you expect to have a shot at his job?”

“Captain? Wow. No.” Then she noticed how still he was holding himself, and felt a surge of disappointment. “You’d hate it if I got another promotion, wouldn’t you?”

His expression didn’t change. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She started to gather herself. “It’s time I be getting home.”

“No.” Clay leaned forward, pushing his empty plate away, the intensity deepening the blue of his eyes. “I didn’t say that, and I didn’t mean it. I really was just curious.”

“Not competitive.” She didn’t believe him.

“Would I feel a sting if my—” the hesitation was so slight she almost missed it “—girlfriend outranked me by that much? Sure.” He shrugged. “I could live with it. What you’ve accomplished is amazing—a woman facing down men who share the attitude I grew up with. The longer I know you, the more I admire you.”