Chapter 43 Jordan
FORTY-THREE
JORDAN
Q: How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: None. They’d rather keep their clients in the dark. #LawyerJokes
Jordan slid behind the wheel as he watched the MCC bus lumber off the shoulder and signal its turn into the Chukchansi Gold Resort and Casino.
Wen climbed into the passenger seat, already working her phone.
It sounded like she was talking to Ellett, her redheaded keyboard jockey, as she ordered someone to round up security camera video from downtown Oakhurst and use some ominous-sounding database to capture bus ticket purchases in Madera County over the last twelve hours.
Jordan called Beto, who answered with, “Just a sec,” and put him on hold.
He couldn’t decide what to think about the bus.
Had he and Wen simply made two bad assumptions?
Despite her earth-mother appearance, Rae Ann Salter was a cool customer.
She hadn’t confirmed his question about where she’d dropped Campbell off, but she hadn’t denied it, either.
Either she was simply trying not to perjure herself while protecting the fugitive—or she had craftily sent them in the wrong direction.
And either the lobby ID of Campbell was bad to begin with, or she had been there but was smart enough not to get on the bus.
Where was she?
“Sorry,” said Beto, coming back on the line. “Little busy here.”
“You can pull our guys off Madera Intermodal,” Jordan told him. “We just swept the bus and she wasn’t on it.”
“Did you look underneath? Maybe she tied herself on with a belt.”
Jordan almost snorted. “Your jokes are so rare, I never see them coming.”
“Laughter is the best medicine.”
“Maybe I’ll have Amber immortalize that one in needlepoint.”
Beto chuckled.
“I know libraries don’t release patron search records,” Wen was saying beside him. “But you can find the library’s IP addresses, right?”
In his ear, Beto asked, “So what’s next, boss?”
“You never call me boss unless you don’t have any ideas.”
“Well, I’m fresh out.”
“Me, too.”
Jordan and Wen ended their calls at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her poke the red button on her screen almost hard enough to crack the glass.
She turned, scowling. “Are you going to drive?”
“Tell me where.”
His voice sounded a little more hopeless than he intended, but he was starting to wonder if they’d truly lost Campbell. The Ford rocked and settled as a semi rolled past. Then silence filled the cab.
Jordan’s phone vibrated. Amber Alert.
“Kind of busy at the moment,” he told her, even though it wasn’t true. He just felt weird talking to her with Wen around.
“Turn on your radio. KMJ. That’s 105.9 FM.”
She hung up before he could ask why. He so rarely listened to over-the-air radio that it took him a few precious seconds to remember how to work the tuner. When he located the station, he heard a man’s polished voice, milking the moment.
“—betray my client’s confidence. I can’t say anything about her whereabouts or what she intends to do.
I believe she is safe. Her voice was strong, and her spirit is unbroken.
I hope to work with both her and the authorities to negotiate a safe surrender.
As at trial, Cara Campbell maintains that she did not kill her husband. ”
“We have to learn this from the news?” Wen said angrily as an anchor cut in.
Jordan’s scalp prickled. Suddenly, he knew. He fucking knew. He pounded the steering wheel with the heels of his hands.
Wen shot him a look. “Is that how you treat government property in Madera County?”
“She’s going to LA.”
“That’s not what lawyer man said. How do you know?”
Jordan closed his eyes and pictured Cara Campbell’s face in the bright white light of his headlamp on the bank of China Creek.
She was cold, tired, and afraid—but she didn’t look suicidal.
Just before she’d thrown herself into the raging water, he saw a hint of a smile, then a hard glint of determination.
He’d dealt with a few murderers in his time. None of them were like her.
“She wants to clear her name. Her home turf is the only place she can do it.”
“So she’s, like, crazy.”
Jordan shifted into drive, checked his mirrors, and pulled into traffic.
“You’re going the wrong way, Sheriff,” said Wen. “My ride’s back up there in the hills.”
“Do you want to get to LA before Campbell or not?”
“Leaving right now. With you driving me there.”
“That’s the idea.”
Wen huffed out a sigh and shook her head but seemed to be considering it. “It’s a little out of your jurisdiction.”
“You lead a multiagency task force. I’m just one more funny-shaped badge.”
“And why do I need a county sheriff pounding the pavement in my city?”
It was a good question. This would be nothing like chasing Campbell through the woods. He’d visited LA a number of times over the years, but it wasn’t like he knew his way around without GPS, and he had no idea how to navigate the maze of law enforcement that was Wen’s specialty.
“Because I can’t let it go, I guess.”
As Jordan lit the overheads and pushed down on the accelerator to move around a slow-moving car, Wen glanced down at his feet and smirked.
“OK, you can come. But I’m warning you, you’re wearing the wrong kind of shoes.”