Page 28 of Nowhere Good

“I’m told you have a suspect already.”

“Had. I just got proof of his alibi—it’s not him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She went quiet, and Seth dreaded what would come next. “Winslow, listen, I know you prefer to work alone, but you were sent there to solve one murder, not two. We have our hands full here, but if you’re in over your head, I can send someone down to be your partner.”

She meant well, but the last thing he wanted was to seem in over his head. “Lieutenant, I appreciate the offer, but this all unfolded very fast, and I’m still getting started. I can handle it. The locals are working with me.”

“Understood. I know you’ve arrested at least one serial killer in your career.”

“I’d hate to classify this as another one, but the media will want me to say it.”

“Of course they will. Don’t feed them.”

“Never. It’d only cause panic.”

More panic equalled more chaos, and more chaos would only distort the investigation. Seth had certainly dealt with high-profile before. The Brooklyn Butcher had been active for a while by the time he and his partner back in New York were assigned the case, but this situation was new. Seth had the chance to stop there from being a third, a fourth, a fifth—

“And Winslow?” Delaney said. “It wasn’t your fault about the second girl. Nobody was expecting you to solve this case on your first day.”

Seth let out a breath, but it got caught in his throat. Lieutenant Delaney still believed in him. For now. “Thanks, LT.”

As they hung up, Seth’s attention drew to the front doors of the station as two people came out. One of them was tall and white-haired, wearing a tartan shirt. The other was shorter, her curly black hair cropped above her ears, a badge on the breast of her police uniform.

Ron Dyer and Chief Wells.

They smiled and shook each other’s hands like old friends. Awfully friendly, considering Wells had Ron’s beloved Dillon in custody.

Unless, of course, they were dropping Dillon’s charges and letting him off scot-free for assaulting an officer.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Seth muttered, then stepped into the afternoon heat. He paced toward them as they stood by the front doors of the station.

“And hey, you’ll have to bring the grandkids in for some brunch next Sunday,” Ron was saying. “I was talkin’ to the girls about bringin’ those blueberry pancakes back, the ones your little Alessa likes.”

Chief Wells let out a wholesome chuckle. “Those pancakes had them bouncing off the walls for a week, so my daughter tells me.”

“They are somethin’ else, aren’t they?”

“Hey,” Seth said. They both turned—Wells with calculated indifference, Ron with what Seth could swear was amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Detective Winslow.” Wells hooked her hands to her belt, drawing herself up. “Nice of you to come back. I should head in.” She nodded at Ron. “Nice talking with you, Ron.”

“Always a pleasure, Ros,” Ron said. With that, Chief Wells went back inside.

Ron’s gaze slid over Seth, squinting in the sunlight. Seth was usually one of the taller people in a room, but Ron Dyer dwarfed him. He must’ve been at least six-foot-eight. A man as big as him must’ve walked through life with doors opening, even into his sixties.

“We were just discussin’ Dillon’s situation in there,” Ron said. “They’ve been nice enough to drop the charges, but we figure he can stew for one more night, let ’im think about the consequences of his actions.”

“I admit, I’m surprised you aren’t bailing him out sooner,” Seth said.

Ron's smile widened a fraction. “Won’t hurt the boy to learn a lesson. Nice to see ya, Detective.”

As Ron moved past, he patted Seth's shoulder—one might say a friendly gesture, but his hand was as heavy as wood. Seth fought to keep still. The smell of Ron's sweat lingered as he meandered by, boots scuffing against the asphalt on his way to his pick-up truck across the lot. Something didn’t feel right, and Seth couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Hold on, Ron,” he said, jogging over to him. Ron faced him. “Question for you. Call it a hunch, but I’m pretty sure that story you gave me yesterday about Dillon was bullshit. Why didn’t you want him talking to me at the bar?”

“Huh.” Ron leaned back and feigned confusion. “Sorry, Detective, you’ll have to forgive me, but if I’m understandin’ correctly, Dillon ain’t a suspect in your murder case no more, so I think that makes us finished here.”

“Why’d you lie, Ron?”