Page 160 of Dead Man's List

“He killed Lila Ramsey so that his own wife’s murder wouldn’t stick out as unusual,” Sam said, feeling pity for both women. “But weren’t they supposed to have uniformed officers following the accused from the courthouse after they made bail?”

“They were.” Navarro checked a list on his phone, then dialed another number, once again putting it on speaker. “Dispatch, please patch me through to Officer Damon Johnson.” He waited, drumming his fingers on Kit’s desk. “This is Lieutenant Navarro. You were assigned to follow Peter Shoemaker when he left the courthouse today.”

There was a brief hesitation. “Yes, sir. We were. And we did, but he got a ride from his lawyer, who lost us. So we went right to his house and waited outside until he got home.”

“You didn’t put that in your report,” Navarro said coldly.

“I’m…No, sir. We didn’t. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Yeah, me too,” Navarro snapped. “Report to me at oh eight hundred tomorrow. Do not be late.” He ended the call and muttered, “Bert Ramsey’s wife is even sorrier that you didn’t do your fucking jobs. I wonder if Shoemaker told his attorney to lose his tail. We’re going to have to add him to the investigation.”

“But you know where Peter Shoemaker is, right?” Sam asked. “Those officers are still guarding him, aren’t they?”

“No. Shoemaker was gone when Kit and Connor went to pick him up for raping his daughter. He’s been in the wind for hours now.” He dialed Kit, then frowned. “Voice mail,” he said.

Sam got an uneasy feeling. “A man who killed seven people is running around free?”

“Nine people,” Navarro said grimly. “Marshall and Ashton finally found the guard who admitted Munro’s killer into his neighborhood. He was with his girlfriend, at her house. They’re both dead.”

Sam swallowed bile. “Where are Kit and Sam now?”

Navarro checked the time. “Past Descanso by now.”

“Why are they there?” Descanso was a town east of San Diego off Interstate 8, about an hour away.

“My team checking traffic cams found the tan Suburban pulling an unwrapped trailer. Last seen on the 8 just before the Descanso exit. Depending on how far Kit and Connor got, they might be hitting patchy cell service.”

“They need to know that Neckbeard is Shoemaker,” Sam said, lurching to his feet. “They don’t know that he was out of court in time to kill Ramsey’s wife. Let’s go. Now.”

Navarro had also risen but was frowning at him. “Stay here, Doc. This isn’t your responsibility.”

The hell it wasn’t. Kit was his responsibility. “If you leave me here, I’ll only follow you. Wouldn’t it be better to know where I am?”

Navarro rolled his eyes. “You would follow me, wouldn’t you? Then let’s go. We’ll take my car. We can use the flashing light.”

Lake Cuyamaca, California

Thursday, January 12, 8:40 p.m.

“This feels pointless,” Connor said. They’d been driving for a while and the sun had gone down. There were no streetlights along this stretch of road and Kit thought they might be searching for a needle in a haystack.

State Route 79, the road Navarro’s analysts thought the Suburban had taken from I-8, ran through some truly beautiful countryside. But it was very rural, mostly state parkland and nature preserves.

“We’re at least on the right track,” she said, earning a sigh from Connor.

“I know. But it still feels like we’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall.”

That was fair.

They’d stopped in Descanso, asking if anyone had seen the tan Suburban pulling a trailer, and had gotten a lot of shaking heads. But one gas station owner had allowed them to view his security footage and they’d caught the Suburban pulling a plain, unpainted trailer on Wednesday evening of the week before.

That was the day that Brooks Munro had been abducted from his home, so they were on the right track. But the gas station’s camera hadn’t picked up the Suburban coming this way in the days since, so Kit didn’t have much hope that they’d find their killer. At least not today.

She and Connor had decided to keep looking.

Kit had tried to call Navarro to let him know, but there was no cell signal, so she’d sent a text instead. That hadn’t gone through, either.

The gas station owner had been charitable, offering them water and the use of his landline. Kit’s call had gone to Navarro’s voice mail, so she’d left a cryptic message, aware of the gas station owner’s intense interest in her call.

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