“He tried to about an hour ago. When you didn’t pick up, he called me, thinking you might be here.”
Ernie Pelusi was the street cop assigned the task of going from dentist to dentist, looking for the man who’d performed the cosmetic dentistry they’d noticed on one of the victims. Jonah had taken to him immediately. Ernie reminded him of one of the guys he worked with at Department 6—Roderick Guerrero. “I had my phone off. Trying to grab a few hours’ sleep.”
“You mean you don’t work twenty-four hours every day?” she teased.
Relieved to have some privacy, he closed the bathroom door and leaned against it. “Not every day. So what about the veneers?”
“A dentist by the name of Greg Johnson recognized his own work. He said the woman for whom he created those veneers was Bianca Andersen, age thirty-three.”
“If she was reported missing she’s not on any list I’ve seen.”
“As far as I know, she wasn’t reported.”
“Why not?”
“No idea. But Ernie’s got her dental file.”
Which would have her name and address. “Do we have any idea how long she’s been missing?”
“From the condition of her jaw, I’d guess over a year.”
But now that he knew her name, chances were good he could learn more.
At the prospect of having even a few answers to their many questions, a surge of hope filled Jonah. He’d solve this case and head back to California, leaving Francesca better off—safer—than she would’ve been without him. Maybe that couldn’t make up for his mistake, but at least he wouldn’t be doing any more damage. “We’re going to get this guy.”
“We don’t have any choice,” she said. “This kind of killer won’t quit on his own. You and I both know that.”
12
After summoning her courage, Francesca followed Jonah into the sheriff’s station. On the ride over, he’d told her about the Pour House card at Dead Mule Canyon, and Bianca Andersen and her veneers, which had done nothing to settle her nerves. It was bad enough thinking Butch was responsible for what she’d seen outside the gift shop in Skull Valley. Assuming he was the reason there’d been seven corpses buried in Dead Mule Canyon was simply…overwhelming, especially when Jonah kept warning her not to let Butch get her alone.
“Where the hell have you been?” Finch wanted to know as soon as he saw them striding down the corridor toward him. “I’ve been calling.”
Francesca checked her new phone. Neither county investigator had bothered to try her, but she didn’t mention it. Jonah responded. “We can still make it by ten.”
“Only if we hurry.” Finch waved at Francesca. “Get her wired up.”
“You got everything else ready?” Jonah asked, leaning on the partition.
Finch had his hand on his phone. “I’m making sure of that this very second.”
Hunsacker came out of his cubicle a few feet away, carrying a handful of wires, which he handed Jonah, along with some duct tape. “It’s harder to conceal a wire when you’re not wearing a jacket,” he said to her.
She glanced from him to Finch to Jonah. “You’re kidding, right? I wear a jacket in the middle of the summer and I might as well announce on a blare horn—‘I’m doing this to hide a wire!’”
He shrugged. “Just sayin’. I mean, you’re pretty thin. Any bump is gonna stand out.”
Compared to Hunsacker, everyone was thin. “Then maybe you should go in and wear the wire,” she said.
His lazy-dog eyes narrowed. “Funny. Almost as funny as sending us to the salvage yard in search of a dummy. Little did we know we were dealing with two dummies.”
She smiled sweetly. “And yet the woman I was looking for shows up dead on a street corner and now we’re heading right back. Who’s going to have the last laugh, Investigator?”
“Maybe Butch is.” He lowered his voice. “If he kills you today.”
“Cut it out,” Jonah growled.
Hunsacker shot him a sullen look for interfering but seemed to realize he’d gone too far. “Let’s get moving,” he said, and walked away.
“I can’t believe that guy’s married,” Francesca grumbled. “His wife must be blind and stupid.”
Finch, who’d just finished dialing, was holding the phone to his ear, but jumped into the conversation, anyway. “Stop wasting time.”
Jonah passed the surveillance equipment to her. “There’s a bathroom around the corner.”
Holding a hand over the receiver, Finch stopped her before she could go anywhere. “Whoa, wait. She won’t be able to get that on by herself. We’re in a hurry here. Help her out, Jonah.”
Jonah raised his eyebrows as if asking Finch to take care of it, but Finch wanted it to happen right away, and he was clearly busy. “I’m trying to see where the hell our utility team is,” he said. “They were supposed to be out there at seven this morning. We can’t all arrive at the same time.”
Slightly offended by Jonah’s reluctance, Francesca walked toward the bathroom. “I’ll figure it out.”
Muttering something under his breath, he caught up with her and took the device from her. “It’s not a big deal. Lift your shirt.”
She did, and he taped the tiny recording device to the small of her back. Then his fingers trailed along her bare skin as he brought the wire around her body. He stopped every few seconds to secure it with pieces of tape she tore off for him, but he kept his head bowed and worked efficiently. Indifferently.
“You can take it from here,” he said when he reached her bra. “Feed it up and under.”
“Got it.” Relieved that he was finished, that she didn’t have to smell the fabric softener on his clothes or endure the close proximity of his body anymore, she took the mic, and he turned away so fast it was as if he’d found it repulsive to touch her.
Why does it have to be Jonah who’s involved in this case? Why can’t it be someone else? she thought as she situated the mic between her br**sts and lowered her shirt.
They tested the equipment. When they were satisfied that it worked properly, they trooped downstairs and into the parking lot. She was to take her car and go alone; they were to follow in an unmarked police vehicle.
“You okay?” Jonah asked as he handed over her keys, which he’d pocketed after driving earlier.