"What the hell?" Dalton says. "You haven't wanted to do anything since you got here, and now you want to join the militia? The hell you do. You just want inside information, and you think this is the way to get it."
"No, I want to--"
"Detective Butler?" a woman steps from the shadows. I know who it is, but I stare, as if I must be wrong, because it seems to be Val. Out of her house. At a town conference.
Dalton seems ready to snarl at her, too, but he stops himself and looks at me, silently asking first. Do I feel up to dealing with Val? If not, he's happy to threaten her too--it's not as if their relationship can possibly get worse.
I say to Val, "Sure, I can spare a few minutes. Jen, talk to me about that later, okay?"
Dalton's lips tighten at that last part. He's warning me I shouldn't encourage Jen--since I got here, she's been nothing but a bitch to me, and I have every reason for refusing to even entertain her request. But I'll listen. I have to give her a chance.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I shouldn't have gone with Val. Anders and Dalton weren't exaggerating--I'm beyond exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, each seeming to sap energy from the others. In short, I am in no condition to deal with Val.
We get inside, and she says, "These murders. Do you think they were committed by the same man who took Nicole?"
I open my mouth to give a neutral response and instead say, "Does it matter?"
Val blinks. "What?"
"Oh, sure," I say. "It matters to me. Huge implications for the investigation. And it matters to the average citizen. Are we looking at a serial pattern here? Or are there multiple monsters preying on Rockton women? But does it matter to you, Val? Does anything? You sit here with the blinds drawn and wait for it to all go away. Wait until you can go away. What even is your purpose here? You're not the town leader. You're a glorified telegraph operator ... and we barely send a telegraph a week. It's the worst example of bureaucratic inefficiency in a town that can't afford any inefficiency."
She stares at me.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm tired. Very, very tired. I'll come back tomorrow and answer your question properly."
I get up and start for the door.
"Wait," she says.
I stop, my hand on the doorknob.
"I know what you think of me, Casey, and I would argue that I do much more than operate the satellite radio, but I suspect you know that. You are tired. Tired and frustrated, and perhaps, with me, you have reason to be."
I stay where I am.
"I would like to hear your thoughts on these crimes," she says. "If you have a moment."
I turn to face her. "On the understanding that I may say things I shouldn't?"
Her lips twitch, just a little. "I believe I already know that."
I go back to the living room.
"My gut says one perpetrator," I sa
y as I sit. "But I'm being careful not to jump to that conclusion. I need proof beyond the fact that all three victims were from Rockton and found in that cave system."
"And the condition of the bodies? Would it ... suggest...?"
"Suggest Robyn and Victoria had been held captive, too? It's hard to tell, given how long they'd been there, but there were signs of prolonged captivity, consistent with what we see in Nicole. I still can't presume it's one perpetrator without proof. That would seriously affect my investigation. First, it would mean he couldn't be from Rockton."
"Here? Why would he be from here?"
Of all people, she should know, but she seems genuinely shocked, and if I explain, I'll tumble headfirst into anger again.
"A single perpetrator means the only locals who've been here long enough are Eric and Isabel," I say. "Nicole last saw her captor the day before we rescued her, when Eric was in Dawson City. And her captor was clearly male, so it's not Isabel. Therefore, one perpetrator would mean an outsider."