Page 41 of Deathtoll
Something in Bing’s voice set off Kate’s internal alarms. “Is he all right?”
“I put him in the conference room. He’s a vet. He served his country. That means something to me.”
“I know. Thank you for—”
“Should have put him in the interview room,” the captain said, and as Kate wondered what the difference was, he added, “Interview room locks automatically.”
Words that pretty much clued Kate in to where this conversation was going. “What happened?”
“I told the psych consult to ring me when he was done, and I’d collect McCall.” A frustrated grunt popped through the line. “Idiot had a question and came over to my office. Leila was in the back, making coffee. McCall walked out.”
“I should have…” Kate had no idea how to finish. She didn’t know what she could have done differently under the circumstances, only that sheshouldhave done something more, because this outcome was unacceptable.
“Not your fault.” Bing huffed. “It’s mine, if it’s anyone’s. I have an APB on him. Everyone’s out looking. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m going to send Mike over to Hope Hill, in case McCall goes back there.”
“I don’t think he’s looking to cause trouble.”
“Maybe not. There’s not much I can charge him with. Not sure if I want to charge him. But having that psych eval, knowing what’s going on with him, would have made me feel better.”
“Should I go in to work? Just in case he goes back there? I’m at home. I took the day off for the funeral.”
“If he goes to Hope Hill, Mike will handle it. You might want to ask Murph to hang out at your place, just as a precaution, for a few hours. Until we locate the guy.”
Kate looked at Emma, who’d already put on coffee and was paging through the stack of magazines and catalogs that had come in the mail that week. “Ian wouldn’t come here. He has no idea where I live.”
“Almost everyone else in town does. All he has to do is ask someone.”
“Let’s hope people won’t give a stranger my home address.”
“Most wouldn’t, but it only takes one.”
Maybe so, but she wasn’t going to invite Murph over regardless, Kate thought as she thanked the captain for the warning, then hung up.
“Trouble?” Emma asked.
“The man I had that confrontation with at work yesterday busted out of the police station.” Kate walked to the window and looked at her quiet little neighborhood. “He doesn’t know where I live. We should be fine.”
“You should call Murph over.”
Why is that everyone’s first thought?
“How about I grab my own gun and keep it within reach until Ian is located?” Not that she thought it was necessary, but maybe that would convince everyone that she could defend herself, and they would get off her back. She fixed Emma with a serious look. “But, please, don’t handle it.”
“What am I, twelve?” Emma rolled her eyes, poured herself a cup of coffee at last, then leaned against the counter. “Did Linda Gonzales say when she was coming over to finish cleaning out Betty’s place?”
“First thing in the morning. Since I have the weekend off, I think we’ll have the whole house packed.”
“Is Murph coming to help again?”
Kate nodded. That was Murph. If someone he knew was moving, he offered to carry furniture. He’d mowed the lawn at Joe’s house for the past month because Joe—one of Hope Hill’s janitors—was allergic to grass, and Gracie, his wife, had broken her leg. Kate had seen Murph jump up and clear tables at Finnegan’s before when the place had been shorthanded. Apparently, he’d bussed tables there as a teenager. He was a good guy. A great guy. His character had never been the problem.
“Let’s change out of our funeral clothes, mix up some margaritas, and watch a movie.” Kate headed to her bedroom. “How aboutBridget?”
That put an instant smile on Emma’s face. “I love old movies. A drink would be nice, but no food, no snacks, not so much as a single popcorn. After that church spread, I don’t want to see a food item until the Fourth of July barbeque at Mom and Dad’s.”
“Just Mark Darcy and margaritas. And I’m going to pretend you didn’t sayold movies.”
Emma turned back from the door of the guest bedroom with a here-is-your-reality-check look. “Twenty. Years. Old.”
