There was talk that he would be moved from ICU.
He would be vulnerable.
But was it possible? Was Cort Brewster a cold-blooded killer? Had he made one failed attempt on the sheriff’s life and was he even now planning a second?
“E-mail me everything and send it from some fake account that only someone like you could untangle,” she ordered.
“I don’t know if I—”
“Just do it. ASAP. We don’t have any time.”
Brewster had been out most of the afternoon in meetings, talking to the press again, and, no doubt, planning his official campaign for the next election, so Pescoli knew she’d have no trouble leaving the department without him knowing.
All day long she’d been trying to tell herself that her instincts were off, that just because she didn’t like the guy, didn’t mean he was a bad cop. So he took over Grayson’s office? So what? Maybe his rifle really had been stolen.
He saved your life, Pescoli. You don’t like him. Fine. Doesn’t mean he’s all bad.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something during the investigation, and that it had to do with the acting sheriff. It bothered her, like a sliver that she couldn’t quite dislodge from beneath her skin.
When it was nearly four she headed out, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation with her son and Heidi Brewster. And maybe good old Cort and Bess. The kids might have already asked him to meet them as well, to break the news.
Her stomach roiled at the thought and she tasted bile.
As she passed by Joelle at the front desk, she said, “Is Brewster due back today?”
She shook her head. “No.” She looked up from the box of red and pink hearts that she was sorting through. For Valentine’s Day. Of course. “I think he was going into Missoula for a meeting or was it another interview? I guess he didn’t really say.” She flashed a smile. “I told him he should visit the sheriff and he said he planned to.”
“Today?” Pescoli said and felt a niggle of fear.
“Mmm.” Studying the hearts, she sighed, then placed a lid on the box. “I’ve been told by the powers that be that I can’t decorate until February.” With a can-you-believe-it look at Pescoli, she said, “I don’t know about you, but I, for one, think we could use a little ray of sunshine around here. It’s just been so darn gloomy.”
“Amen,” Pescoli said, thinking that it wasn’t going to get better any time soon.
Once in her Jeep, she headed for the Brewsters’ home, a house she’d only visited once when Bess had hosted a celebration for Cort at the time of his promotion to undersheriff, years earlier. Located on the outskirts of town in a subdivision straight out of the 1970s, the Brewster home was a split-entry, with a garage under the main level and a daylight basement. Like most of the houses on the street, Cort and Bess’s was a big box of a house with enough bedrooms for all of the girls when they’d still been living at home. Now, only Heidi was left.
As she rounded the last corner, she spied Jeremy’s truck parked near the curb in front of the Brewster’s gray house, and she braced herself for the inevitable. Already, alone in her Jeep, she knew what she was going to hear.
“We want to keep the baby.”
“We’ll get married, Mom, it’s gonna be fine.”
“I can go to school and work, and Heidi can take care of the baby, maybe even babysit other people’s kids for some extra money.”
“We’ve got it all worked out. We’re adults now.”
But at least Heidi was old enough that Jeremy couldn’t be prosecuted for statutory rape. Dear God, how had it all come to this?
She was about to park behind Jeremy’s pickup when her phone rang. Alvarez’s name popped onto the screen. Half tempted to ignore the call, she was, after all, resigning from the department, she picked up nonetheless. For a little while longer she was still an employee of the PCSD. “Pescoli,” she said, slowing her Jeep to a crawl.
“I don’t have time to explain.” Alvarez sounded breathless. “But I think Grayson’s in danger.”
“In more danger?” she asked, slowing so that she could concentrate. A car was pulling up behind her.
“I think Verdago was set up.”
“Verdago?” A bad feeling started deep in her gut.
“Brewster’s the mastermind. Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve got proof. My worry is that he may want to finish what he started with the sheriff.”