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> Chapter Twenty-Six

Fenway walked back to the coroner’s suite. Dez was on the phone, talking in a hushed but angry voice. Fenway went to Rachel’s desk and plucked a business card from its holder; her mobile number was on it. Dez hung up, almost slamming the receiver back on its cradle.

“You’d think I was telling the lieutenant himself he was wanted for murder!”

“What was that all about, Dez?”

“The CHP. They acted like I was blaming them for Stotsky. I had to talk to three different people before they agreed to set up a road check on either side of Estancia on the freeway.”

“The blue wall?”

Dez shook her head and pointed a finger at Fenway. “Ordinarily, Fenway, I’d tell you—again!— you watch too many cop shows, but man! It sure seemed like we were getting the runaround there.”

“A CHP-issued gun was used by a former CHP officer to kill a peace officer,” Fenway pointed out. “It can’t look good.”

“Letting him get away with it would look worse. I had to threaten to call a reporter to ask them why their former officers are above the law.”

“You’ve got a reporter who would do that?”

Dez gave her a look. “You’d be surprised by what I’ve got, girl.”

“I’m sure I would. But it’s been a good hour since he walked out the door here. Isn’t it a little late?”

“You never know. He didn’t have a car here, so he might have spent an hour or two getting transportation.”

“Okay.” Fenway drummed her fingers on the desk. “Dez, where do you think Stotsky is right now? Still in town?”

Dez paused. “I don’t know, Fenway. If I were Stotsky, I’d get out of town as fast as I could. But then again, as soon as I’d heard of any kind of break in the case, I would have taken off. Grabbed as much cash as I could, liquidated everything, gone to Mexico, or Panama, or Morocco.”

“But?”

Dez thought for a moment. “Obviously Stotsky stuck around because he cares about his daughters. He might think, what good is it to protect Rachel if I’m never going to see her or her sister again?”

“Yeah.”

“When Bradley recognized him, for sure he would have tried to leave town. But if he doesn’t have a car, and since we got to the airports, train stations, and bus stations so quick, he might not have been able to yet.”

Fenway nodded. “True.”

“With his connections, though,” Dez continued, “I’m almost sure he would have been able to find some way out. A sympathetic friend or one of his direct reports at Ferris Energy hiding him in the trunk and driving to Tijuana. Getting a disguise, or a fake ID, and getting a train ticket.” She stood up from her chair and started to pace, lost in thought. “Ferris Energy has a second plane, too. We’re not sure where it is. It might be on its way to Mexicali with Stotsky onboard.”

“Are we talking to any of Stotsky’s friends or colleagues?”

Dez looked up. “Come on, Fenway, how many resources do you think we have? We’ve got a good twenty people in motion on this right now, not including those ass-draggers at the CHP. We can’t get any more coverage on it without leaving the sheriff’s office empty.”

Fenway sighed. “I bet he’s gone. I bet we missed him. He’d have just needed to take a car on any road out of the county, besides the freeway. Even with the freeway—he had a good twenty minutes to get out.”

Dez folded her arms. “Man, I know we couldn’t have really done anything, but I hate it when they get away.”

“We can contact L.A. county, San Miguelito, maybe even Monterey, right?”

“We can. But the more time that passes, the larger the radius we have to search, the more places he can be, the higher the chance of him getting away. If we had grabbed him at the station, we’d have him. Once I let him out the door, the chances of him getting away got much higher.”

Fenway looked at Dez. “Don’t tell me you blame yourself for Stotsky getting away.”

Dez waved her hand at Fenway, as if shooing a fly.

Fenway stared at the ceiling. “Okay, I spoke with McVie. He suggested I get a couple hours away from the station. I think I may get some takeout and go have dinner with Rachel tonight. He thought it would be good for her to have someone to talk with.”

“Yeah, someone who’s not her sister,” Dez agreed. “I talked to Rachel before I called the CHP. Her sister had all kinds of questions about their dad—the fact that he’s the main suspect probably complicates things, and she kept asking Rachel over and over, you know, picking at the scab. Rachel finally had to send her home.” Dez paused. “Rachel likes Italian. Zorro’s over on Broadway. She likes the penne arrabiata.”

“Thanks.” Fenway went in the conference room and closed the door. She dialed Rachel’s mobile number. It rang three times before she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Rachel, it’s Fenway. I know I told you to take some time off, but I thought maybe I could get some takeout for us tonight, and we could hang out.”

“Don’t you have to work? Isn’t my dad still on the run?”

“We haven’t found him yet. I talked to a few people here. We think he’s out of Dominguez County by now.”

“My dad’s pretty smart. If anyone could get out of the county, he could.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too,” Fenway agreed with a sigh.

Rachel was silent for a moment. “So, takeout?”

“If you’re up for it.”

“Actually, that sounds great. I’ve got to tell you, I need to get out of the house. The cop outside my door is nice and all, but he made my sister nervous, and she was asking all kinds of questions about my dad. I had to send her home.”

“You want to go to a sit-down place somewhere?”

“Maybe I can pick up dinner and come over to your place? I don’t want to be by myself right now, but I also don’t want to be around a ton of people.”

Fenway shrugged on her end of the line. “Um, sure. I mean, I just moved in, so the apartment’s not really in the best shape for entertaining, but what the hell.”

“I think I’ll be fine. Hey, is the officer going to follow me over?”

“I don’t think so.” Fenway paused. “We thought your dad might come to see you, maybe go to your apartment.”

“I don’t think he’ll try to find me. I made it pretty clear I didn’t want to talk to him.”

“Okay. And I agree, I think it would be good for you to get out if you’re going a little stir crazy.”

“Excellent,” Rachel said, and Fenway could hear the smile in her voice. “Okay, so there’s this awesome Italian restaurant called Zorro’s.”

“I’ve heard that’s a good place.” Wow, Dez pays attention to everything.

“It’s a little ways down Broadway, but they have the best penne arrabiata.”

Fenway smiled into the receiver. “That sounds great. I’m still at work, so I can pick it up after I leave.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s on the way to your house, plus I know the owners and I haven’t seen them in a while. They usually give me some free stuff when I go—garlic bread, tiramisu, something like that.”

“You okay to be in a crowd? It is Friday night.”

“It’ll be a quick in-and-out. I’ll be fine,” Rachel assured her. “What do you want? They’ve got a good veggie lasagna, and their pastas are great.”

“I’ll get the penne arrabiata, too.”

“Awesome! You’ll love it. I’ll call it in and pick it up in about half an hour. I should be at your house by seven forty-five.”

“See you then.”

This would be Fenway’s first dinner with another person in her new place; beers with McVie didn’t count. She had her plates and silverware unpacked, and she still had two beers left. For one of the first times since moving to Estancia, Fenway felt like she might belong. She had a similar feeling during that first lunch with McVie, and again at the office with Dez. And, despite Rachel’s awkward confession the evening they met, she and Rachel might be forging a friendship.

Fenway left the conference room. “Okay, Dez, I’m heading out for a while—dinner with Rachel, like McVie suggested. He said he’d keep me up to date on what’s happening. You let me know too, okay?”

“Sure. I want to follow up on Stotsky’s financials anyway. I got wind he might have an offshore account.”

“Okay. If that’s the case, he will want to leave the country.”

“He’s probably halfway there already.” Dez heaved a sigh. “Say hi to Rachel for me. Hope she’s doing okay.”

“I’ll do that. I can’t believe it’s been the longest workday of my life and I’ve done it all in these stupid heels.” Fenway kicked out her foot, inspecting the shoes in question.

“Yeah,” Dez said. “That’ll teach you to try to look sexy for a married man.”

“Gosh, thanks,

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