Page 91 of The Last Close Call

“We’ve had some corroboration,” Jack said vaguely. He didn’t want to get into how he’d shown Will Anderson’s picture to several librarians, and one had recognized him. She said he’d been in numerous times to use the computers, although she hadn’t seen him there lately.

“Corroboration? As in an actual sighting?”

“Something like that,” he said. “So, tell me about Joy Kendall. Is she a nightmare to work for?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. She seems a little high-maintenance.”

“That’s man-code for you think she’s a bitch.”

“I didn’t say that. She just strikes me as demanding.”

“She’s successful. What do you expect? I bet the successful detectives you know are demanding, too.”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, she’s feeling very conflicted at the moment,” Rowan said. “She’s got a lot of guilt.”

“Why?”

“I think she feels partially responsible for what’s happening.”

Jack gritted his teeth. “There’s only one person responsible for what’s happening.”

“Still, she feels guilty.”

Jack could relate, sort of. Logically, he knew he wasn’t responsible for William Anderson’s latest crime spree. But the knowledge that with better, faster detective work, he might have prevented it continued to eat away at him like battery acid.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“You seem tense.”

“Yeah, well. Seven hours in a van will do that.”

“Sounds miserable.”

It was, but it would be more than worth it if this lead panned out.

“So, you and Joy are getting to be friends, I take it?” he asked her.

“Weirdly, yes, I guess you could say that. We don’t have much in common, but I like her. She’s got a strong personality.”

“You think she knows more than she’s telling us?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “My radar’s up with her. Every time I talk to her, I get the feeling she’s being evasive.”

“Well, maybe she doesn’t want to bare her soul to a police detective. Especially the one who showed up at her door and turned her life upside down.”

Quiet settled over them as Jack stared at the fast-food restaurant across the street. The drive-through line was busy with dinged-up economy cars, mostly belonging to college students, judging from the bumper stickers. He watched the people in the vehicles, looking for anyone who even vaguely resembled Will Anderson.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck there,” Rowan said. “But I guess I’m not, if you think you’re making progress.”

“We are. It’s just tedious. I’m pretty drained, to be honest.” He paused. “It’s good to hear your voice, though.”

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