Page 105 of Swept for Forever
I turned the screen toward her, showing her a name and a photo. “We need to talk to this guy.”
She frowned slightly. “Another deputy?”
“He’s heading up the Deborah Sinclair case,” I said. “Which means, for now, they’re treating the armed robbery as a separate incident.”
She hesitated. “Can we be sure he’s not another Whitaker?”
“He’s older. Experienced.” I leaned back slightly. “That could be good or bad. But if we give him something, something that helps his case, he might be more inclined to listen. And let’s hope that means he won’t push the sketch against you.”
I knew how cops worked. They were possessive of their cases and competitive with each other. And my gut told me Deputy Boone wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Whitaker.
Our ice cream arrived. One bowl, two spoons. She slid the bowl toward me, but I shook my head. She needed it more than I did.
My phone buzzed. It was Buffaloberry’s own Deputy Granger, who probably knew the inner workings of the sheriff’s office better than I ever would.
Granger’s voice came through. “Heard through the grapevine you’re back in town. Word is, for good this time?”
“That’s the plan,” I replied.
“You were looking for me?” Granger said. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten you owe me a beer, Powell. I’ve been parched.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t forget. I just figured you’d be too busy keeping Buffaloberry Hill in one piece.”
“Barely.” He clicked his tongue. “You’d be amazed at how many crimes get committed when folks run out of ranch dressing.”
“That sounds about right.”
“So, you finally calling to settle your tab?” he kept teasing.
“Not quite.”
“Knew it,” he said. “Go on, then. What’s got your lawyer brain ticking?”
“Just got back from Hamilton. Was looking for Colton.”
“Ah, poor bastard. You heard?”
“Yeah. Herniated disc. Spoke to his wife.” I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Ended up talking to a Deputy Whitaker instead.”
Granger let out a short, unimpressed sound.
“Whitaker.” He stretched the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “That rookie’s got a reputation. They call him White Lightning, the fastest case closer in the office. Kid moves fast, I’ll give him that. But there’s no shortcut for experience. I’ve been in this job for thirty years, and I know when someone’s too eager for his own good.”
That tracked.
“He made the posters?” I asked. “The sketch of that ‘wanted woman’…that was him?”
“That’s him.”
“Who reported the robbery?”
“No idea. All I know is some guy claimed he was held up at gunpoint on Blodgett Pass Trail. Whitaker got hold of it, figured the suspect was dangerous, and ran with it.” I heard him shift. “You know how these sketches are. Hell, it could look like anyone.”
I glanced at Autumn, noting the tension in her shoulders and the way she barely touched her spoon. I ran my thumb over her palm, the way I knew would calm her.
“Here’s the thing, Granger,” I said. “I might know who she is. And I know a hell of a lot more.”
Granger made a short noise of acknowledgment. “Why didn’t you tell Whitaker?”
