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“No rush. Seriously.”
Kara jumped back into the Bronco. “He okay?” Marcy asked.
“He’s fine. Headache. It’s been a long day for us.”
“Want to grab a bite?” Marcy asked as she pulled into the parking lot behind the sheriff’s station. “I have paperwork, but I’ll be done in thirty.”
Kara was starving, but it was nearly five and Matt wanted everyone to debrief. She also hoped he had answers to what had knocked Ryder out.
“Work calls,” Kara said.
Marcy seemed to be a competent cop. Kara liked that she was quiet and observant, but she also didn’t want to be her BFF. At the same time, they’d be working together for the foreseeable future, so Kara needed to keep it friendly. She was good at playing the part but wasn’t in the mood right now.
“I run most mornings at five thirty,” Marcy said. “If you’re up for it.”
Kara didn’t want a running partner, but hadn’t she just been thinking she needed to play nice?
“That I can do.”
“There’s a great path along the water, north of the harbor, that’s just over five miles round trip. Meet me at the main harbor entrance.”
“I’ll be there.”
Kara headed to the conference room and Marcy went down the opposite hall.
Catherine was the only one there.
Kara grabbed a water bottle from a mini fridge and eyed the energy bars—she’d already eaten three, and the thought of another made her feel sick. Ryder would never stock up on junk food. She’d have to remember to grab chips and trail mix sometime tomorrow.
She drank half the water in one long gulp. “You heard about what happened at Agent Devereaux’s house.”
Catherine looked up at her.
“Yes.”
“Where’s Jim?”
“He’ll be here momentarily.”
Kara wasn’t sure what to make of Catherine. She’d met her Sunday morning during their initial debriefing on the bombing and she’d been standoffish, which normally didn’t bother Kara. She wondered if their conversations back in March, when Kara was involved in the Triple Killer investigation and Catherine was working the case from DC, had something to do with it. Kara was blunt—if she had something to contribute to a conversation, she did. She was a cop, after all—she knew what she was doing when it came to murder and mayhem. Not everyone appreciated bluntness.
Kara took a seat and looked at the whiteboard. Catherine had been busy—she had the victims listed and ranked them high or low as potential bombing targets. Then she noted potential motives on the other side. Right there in a starred box was Madelyn Jeffries.
Kara drained her water bottle and tossed it in the recycling can. “Madelyn didn’t kill her husband,” she said. “I’d move her to low. Cross thet’s and dot thei’s, but it’s not her.”
Catherine said nothing, continuing to read the file in front of her.
Kara was tired, hungry, and her first instinct was to argue. Instead, she bit her tongue and stared at the board, trying to see the evidence as Catherine saw it.
Sure, on paper, a young, beautiful wife, middle-aged rich guy—the perfect recipe for murder. But people weren’t paper. Stereotypes could be true, but reliance on them got cops in trouble.
Kara didn’t think that Pierce Jeffries’s kids had the guts to murder anyone, and she didn’t get the vibe that they wanted their dad dead—though if Madelyn had been on the boat and Pierce had stepped off, she’d believe it. They hated their stepmother and were clearly unhappy with the idea that she was pregnant with their half sibling.
She needed to follow up with Justin Jeffries, who had worked with his dad. Madelyn said he was fair, and he spent the most time with his father. Business? Maybe. But not personal unless there was a deep scandal they hadn’t yet uncovered.
Let Catherine think what she wanted, no skin off Kara’s nose.
“She’s pregnant,” Kara said.
