Page 54 of Colton First Responder (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

When he was finished, he secured it all in the back of his SUV in a crate installed there for carrying any equipment needed on the job. No one would be able to see its contents.

He’d been pondering how to look into the investigation into Ian Wright’s murder and decided to visit the Mustang Valley police station when he returned to town. He’d been seen in Wright’s office, after all, so it shouldn’t be too over the top for him to express interest in what happened.

He hoped that his usual primary contact, Senior Detective PJ Doherty, was there. Grayson felt more comfortable asking PJ questions than any of the other cops, even his distant cousin Spencer, although Grayson knew most of the pros respected him there. He decided to call PJ to check on his availability and was glad when his friend answered.

“Yeah, I’m here, and unless something comes up I should be around when you get here,” PJ said. “No first responder stuff going on at the moment that I know of, but I suspect I know what you want to talk about.”

“I suspect you do, too,” Grayson said. Of course PJ knew he’d found the destroyed vehicle and dead driver, and therefore might have a continuing interest in the escaped prisoner who was being transported. That same escapee who was in the news once more.

It took Grayson longer to get back to Mustang Valley than it had been to drive to Tucson, thanks to midday traffic, but he soon parked in a lot near the police station. No problem walking to the one-story brick building on Mustang Boulevard. Cops in dark blue uniforms filled the lobby area, a few talking to visiting citizens. Grayson stepped up to the front desk and asked the officer there to let PJ know he was there. “He’s expecting me.”

The cop got on the desk phone and in moments PJ came out, dressed in uniform. “Let’s go out for some coffee,” he told Grayson. A chain coffee shop was within easy walking distance, and they headed that way along the sidewalk.

PJ was tall, a few years younger than Grayson. He had blond hair and blue eyes and kept glancing toward Grayson almost impishly, as if he was trying to read his mind. They’d talked a few times since the earthquake but this was the first time they’d gotten together.

“Okay, what do you want?” PJ finally asked after they entered the shop. They sat down at a small round table near the door after getting their drinks.

“All that stuff in the news about the murder of Ian Wright. Has anyone mentioned I went to see the guy yesterday?”

“Yeah, we heard about that. What did you talk about?” PJ’s eyes narrowed a bit as if he was working even harder at mind reading.

Grayson knew he would need to be careful. “Well, I understood the guy represented Savannah Oliver, that prisoner who escaped from the van I found after the earthquake. I don’t have any professional reason to be interested.”

Despite what he had told Wright, PJ would definitely know that Grayson hadn’t been hired by the police department to help find the woman.

Grayson continued. “But I feel a connection anyway. I talked to him about his representing her, what he could tell me that wasn’t attorney-client privileged, which wasn’t much. I still got the impression he thought his client could be guilty. And now I’ve heard on the news that Savannah Oliver is a suspect in his murder, too. Logical, I guess—but is that true?”

“You know we don’t talk publicly about ongoing investigations for a while, till we believe we have sufficient evidence for a conviction and all, and we don’t talk about that evidence much, either. And we certainly don’t have need for a first responder in this situation. But hell, I can understand your interest, even though it’s remote. You could have found that woman in the van. Even been attacked by her if she’d been there. And now you do have a sort-of connection with her next victim.”

Grayson forced himself not to object to PJ’s assumption, but the detective must have seen some kind of reaction on his face and held up his hand.

“Okay, she’s only an alleged killer in both cases. But...look, my

friend, can I trust you to keep a secret about the evidence we found?”

“Of course.” Grayson forced himself to stay calm and not push PJ to talk more and faster. What secret?

“We haven’t revealed much to the media, but in case you’re interested, Mr. Wright was found with two gunshot wounds to the head, definitely not self-inflicted. Not sure why others in his building didn’t hear it, but the walls at his upstairs office were soundproofed. The weapon wasn’t left there, either. But something else was.”

Grayson wanted to shake it out of PJ, whose tone and teasing expression suggested that was what he wanted Grayson to do.

“You going to tell me, or do I have to wait till I see it on TV eventually?” Grayson kept his tone cool and calm as he grinned as wryly as he could toward his friend. “So why do you think she put those gunshot wounds into her lawyer’s head?”

“Because,” PJ chortled triumphantly, “he didn’t get her off the charges against her right away, didn’t succeed in even getting her bail. I’ve seen photos of her.” Not anymore, Grayson thought, but didn’t say so. “And we know she kept her long hair pulled back into those decorative clips some women wear. Because—” he said again.

“Because?” Grayson prompted.

“Because it must have fallen out of her hair at the latest crime scene. Maybe Wright and she fought for a while before she shot him, or maybe she was just careless. But one of those clips was found under Wright’s desk, a pretty thing made of what I was told is called tortoiseshell plastic—and it had initials on it.”

“Let me guess,” Grayson said, his hopes falling. It was a setup, sure. But it seemed to be working. “Were those initials SO?”

“SMO,” PJ contradicted. “Including her maiden name.”

Grayson’s head was spinning. Savannah was being framed—again. Her ex? Probably. But since he couldn’t show up in town there had to be someone else. Wells? That was more likely.

What could Grayson do to protect her? To put the cops on the right trail?

He didn’t know.

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