Dance did make a voice call--to Charles Overby. "You're on speaker with me and Michael," she told him.
Her boss called out, "Michael, hello."
"Charles."
She had, of course, called in from time to time to let him know how the incident in Orange County was proceeding. She now said, "No indication that Prescott was anything more than an oddball--a redneck, if they have rednecks in Orange County--stirring up anti-Islamic sentiment. Our office down there'll canvass his friends and family, coworkers but I'm sure that the profile'll be just that. We've got custody of his computer and one of the perp's phones and I'd like to have Jon Boling crack the passcodes and take a peek."
"That's good. Sure. And, if I recall, he's not very expensive."
Dance let that go.
Overby added, "Any thoughts about why our boy would travel all that way to kill him?"
O'Neil explained the theory that Prescott had brought unwanted federal scrutiny to the incident with the "terrorist" comments. "That's all we can think of."
They arranged a meeting tomorrow in Overby's office, to review the crime scene reports from the sheriff's office in Orange County.
Dance clicked the phone off. Then made another call.
"Hey, boss. You back from La-La Land?"
"Just landed," she told TJ Scanlon. "Eleven tomorrow in Overby's office. On Solitude Creek and Bay View."
"Be there with bells on."
She asked, "And Serrano? The second lead? What's the name again?"
"Ah, Senorita Alonzo. The Oscar-winning role of Serrano's former squeeze. Moss Landing tomorrow at nine? Good for you?"
"Yep. I'll coordinate with Al."
"Foster'll be out. Steve Two and Jimmy'll be there."
"Thanks. See you tomorrow."
They disconnected.
Silence for some moments.
"Look out," she said sharply, pointing ahead.
Two flashes of yellow, close-set eyes.
"I got it," O'Neil said, braking.
They cruised past the deer as it debated who would win the collision.
O'Neil hadn't, however, seen the creature at first. He'd been distracted. Mind elsewhere, Dance could clearly read.
More silence. His body language revealed tension, too.
Another five minutes. Finally she'd had enough. She was going to pry the truth out of him--but just at that moment his phone rang. He unholstered it and hit Accept. He listened, his face morphing to grim. "Where?"
Her heart sank. Had the unsub returned so quickly and committed yet another mass attack?
"I'm headed in that direction now. I can be there in fifteen."
He disconnected.