She laughed. "I overheard Wes one time. He told his friend it sucks to have a mom who's a cop."
"Especially one who's a walking lie detector." He smiled too.
"I've got my own issues, because of Bill."
And because of Wes, she thought, but said nothing.
"We'll take things slow."
"Slow is good," she said.
He gripped her forearm, a simple, intimate and appropriate gesture.
"Now I should get back to the Family reunion."
She walked him to his temporary office, then drove back to the Point Lobos Inn.
As soon as she walked inside, she knew the atmosphere had changed. The kinesics were wholly different from yesterday. The women were restless and edgy. She noted postures and facial expressions that suggestion tension, defensiveness and outright hostility. Interviews and interrogations were long-term processes, and it wasn't unusual for a successful day to be followed by one that was a complete waste of time. Dance was discouraged and assessed that it might take long hours, if not days, to get them in a place mentally where they could once again provide helpful information.
Still, she gave it a shot. She ran through what they'd learned about Jennie Marston and asked if the women knew anything about her. They didn't. Dance then tried to resume the conversation of yesterday but today the comments and recollections were superficial. Linda seemed to be speaking for all of them when she said, "I just don't know how much more I can add. I'd like to go home."
Dance believed they'd already proved invaluable; they'd saved the life of Reynolds and his family and had given insights into Pell's MO and, more important, his goal to retreat to a "mountaintop" somewhere; with more investigation they might find out where. Still, Dance wanted them to stay until she'd interviewed Theresa Croyton, in the hope that something the girl said might be a springboard to help the women's memories, though, as she'd promised the aunt, she said nothing of the impending visit. They agreed reluctantly to wait for a few more hours.
As Dance left, Rebecca accompanied her outside. They stood under an awning; a light drizzle was falling. The agent lifted an eyebrow. She was wondering if the woman was going to deliver another lecture on their incompetence.
But the message was different.
"Maybe it's obvious but I thought I should mention something. Sam doesn't appreciate how dangerous Pell is, and Linda thinks he's a poor, misunderstood product of his childhood."
"Go on."
"What we were telling you yesterday about him--all that psychological stuff--well, it's true. But I've been through plenty of therapy and I know it's easy to focus on the jargon and the theory and forget about the person behind them. You've managed to stop Pell from doing what he wants to, a couple of times, and nearly caught him. Does he know your name?"
A nod. "But do you think he'd waste time coming after me?"
"Are you immune to him?" Rebecca asked, cocking an eyebrow.
And that answered the question right there. Yes, she was immune to his control. And therefore she was a risk.
Threats have to be eliminated. . . .
"I have a feeling he's worried. You're a real danger to him and he wants to stop you. And he gets to people through their family."
"Patterns," Dance said.
Rebecca nodded. "You have family in the area, I assume?"
"My parents and children."
"Are the children with your husband?"
"I'm a widow."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"But they're not at home right now. And I've got a deputy guarding them."
"Good, but watch your back."