Then she noticed to her alarm that Madigan had given up shooting hate rays at her, had turned and was nearly to the front door of Bobby's trailer.
"Thank you, Tabatha. Go be with your children."
"Will I have to testify?"
As Dance sprinted toward the trailer she called over her shoulder, "We'll look after you, promise!" Then shouting: "Detective! Stop!"
Chapter 12
P. K. MADIGAN'S hand was nearly to the doorknob.
His eyes slid Dance's way and she saw his face cloud with the irritation he mustered so well.
But he also seemed to understand instantly that she had a point about not wanting him to go inside.
Or, she deduced from his hand dipping toward his pistol, maybe some risk awaited.
He stepped back. So did Dennis Harutyun.
Dance hurried across the street and joined them.
"Anybody inside?" the chief detective asked sharply.
Dance steadied her breathing. "Don't think so. But I don't know. The thing is the perp--or somebody--was here this morning. Eleven, eleven-thirty. You don't want to contaminate anything."
"In here?"
"I think we should assume it was the killer."
"She know that for sure? The time?" A glance toward Tabatha's trailer.
"Probably. The TV was on and it would've been all morning. Her husband's away a lot and she'd keep it on for comfort. She'd know the time according to the show she was watching."
"Who'd she see? Can she ID 'em?"
"No. And I believe her. She didn't see a face or vehicle."
A deep sigh. He muttered to Harutyun, "Get CSU over here. And tape off the property. As much as you can. All of the trailer."
The careful deputy made a call.
Madigan and Dance both stepped away from the trailer and stood on the crumbling walk.
"What'd Edwin, or whoever, be doing here? Afterward?"
"I don't know."
"Could've been a friend, one of the crew."
"A friend maybe. I talked to the crew. They would've said something about being here or acted deceptive. And none of them did."
Silence for a moment as he stared at the door, wanting to go in. He rocked on his feet. He asked her suddenly, "You like to fish?"
"No."
"Hm." He studied the crisp, jaundiced grass. "You don't fish? Or you don't like to?"
"Neither. But I've got a friend who'd live on his boat in Monterey Bay if he could."