Page 51 of Crossing Lines

Jo grabbed her phone off the desk. “I’m going to call Vicky and see if she can come in too. We only showed her photos of Ricky Webster. We should show her Robert just in case. Maybe she saw him at the party or with Kirsten some other time. It’s a long shot but worth a try.”

She pressed the contact and held the phone to her ear, tapping her foot as she waited. After a few minutes, she made a face. “No answer. She might be busy working. I’ll text.”

Sam frowned. Vicky had said she’d be available for their call. “It’s only three. She’s probably still working. Maybe Sal doesn’t allow her to talk or text during work hours. Let’s give him a call and see if he’ll make an exception and let her talk to us.”

Jo did as instructed, her face darkening as she listened to Sal’s answer. “He said she already left for the day.”

Sam got a bad feeling. “Maybe she’s driving and can’t answer?”

“Do you think so?” Reese’s worried gaze flicked from Sam to Jo. “Doesn’t seem likely to me. What young person doesn’t have hands-free calling these days?”

* * *

The killer tried to maintain the speed limit. It wouldn’t do to get pulled over now, especially not by the annoying Chief Mason.

It was almost comical how easy it had been to pull the wool over the eyes of the White Rock police. Apparently, they weren’t the smartest group of cops. They’d been wrong about the identity of the killer five years ago, and with a little bit of clever manipulation, they could be fooled into being wrong about the killer now too.

Too bad Lucas was in jail. He’d be perfect to pin this on.

Oh well, Lucas staying in jail worked for the killer too. The killer had another sucker he could use as a scapegoat, and that person would provide extra insurance in case Lucas really did get cleared.

It had been ridiculously easy to grab Vicky. She’d agreed so readily to change the time, never once suspecting it wasn’t even Carly that had messaged her.

All it had taken was pretending the killer had hit an animal. Young women were always so easily fooled by that one, or so the killer had found over the years.

Vicky had eagerly rushed to the side of the van to see if she could help the poor animal. A little bit of chloroform on a rag and some strong hands, and she was out like a light. Shoving her in the van had been easy, and now the killer drove with eager anticipation of getting to work on her. He glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure she was still in the back, the sight of her orange corkscrew curls bringing new waves of excited anticipation.

Soon the killer would have her in his special place and could get to work.

Chapter Thirty-One

“Vicky Thompson still hasn’t answered your text?” The look of alarm on Sam’s face ratcheted Jo’s anxiety up a notch.

She glanced at her phone again even though it hadn’t pinged. “Nope.”

They’d decided to give Vicky twenty minutes in case she was busy. Maybe she was in the shower or didn’t have Bluetooth. They were sitting in the bullpen, Sam at the old desk that used to be Kevin’s and Jo at her own. He leaned out so he could be heard in the reception area. “Reese, have you heard anything from Wyatt?”

“Not in the last hour.” Reese’s voice came back along with the crinkling of a bag of chips. “You want me to raise him on the dispatch system?”

“No.” Sam pulled his phone out. “I hate that thing. I’ll just call.”

Wyatt picked up on the second ring. “No movement so far. He’s sitting tight in the house.”

“How do you know he’s in there?”

“Saw him go outside with some birdseed. Maybe filling a feeder in back. Came out a side door and went back in a few minutes later.”

Sam relaxed slightly. If Robert was the killer, then he wouldn’t have Vicky stashed while he casually strolled outside to fill bird feeders. Vicky was probably just busy or didn’t have her phone handy. Maybe she was one of those people that always forgot to recharge their phone.

“Sounds like something’s up,” Wyatt said as if he could read the worry in Sam’s silence.

Sam filled him in on their conversation with Vicky and how she had promised to answer. “She has red hair, so I’m a bit worried.”

“We can ping her cell phone and see if we can get a location,” Wyatt offered. “You have the number?”

Sam gave it to him.

“Okay, I have my laptop here and will do a trace. I’ll call you back.”

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