“Bullshit.”
“Nevertheless, while I might be able to charge him with illegal disposal of roadkill?—”
“Roadkill?!”
“Which is how the law terms an animal struck by a vehicle,” he pointed out, annoyingly reasonably, although I could tell he was on edge, too. “I can’t actually tie him in any way to the Crane property. Not definitively.”
“Shit,” I said again.
Now I was really worried. Because if Buettner had been interviewed—or, worse, interrogated—then it might push him todo something more drastic than what he’d already done, which could mean that Elliot was in more immediate danger.
“Do you still have people patrolling near the house?” I asked Smith.
“I’ve put in that order, yes,” he replied. “But I’m going to be honest here, it doesn’t seem like highway is taking it all that seriously, and Crane doesn’t want there to be a patrol car on his property.”
Of course he didn’t. Not when some of his father’s killers had connections to the police. I couldn’t say that I blamed him, although I suppose that also meant that the attempt to use the police to keep an eye on things was probably not as effective as I might have hoped.
“Is that your way of suggesting that I stay there again?” I asked him. Not that I really needed an excuse to go over to Elliot’s house.
“I’m not going to tell you to do that,” he said. “But I also wouldn’t be upset if I thought Elliot Crane won’t be alone for a few days while we work this out.” He paused. “Unless he wanted to stay somewhere that wasn’t his house.”
I wasn’t sure he’d want to stay in my tiny apartment, but it was something I could offer. Especially since I had to go back there anyway to get clothes, because I didn’t want to spend more than one day in the exact same outfit. There should also besomefood in my apartment, and raw flour and some baking supplies didn’t count because you couldn’t make much of them without at least some oil and eggs.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I told Smith.
“That, and get me the reports on everything you still have. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“I’m on it,” I told him, and then hung up.
You could come to my place?
Then I could do laundry and see you.
Text me when you leave work.
I’ll come over.
Should I bring dinner?
I needed to get groceries. Badly. I had nothing for even a casual, light breakfast. No almond milk. No cereal. No bananas. No bread.
I need groceries.
I have nothing for dinner or breakfast.
So I can text you when I’m done with that.
Or I can bring you groceries.
You don’t need to do that.
But I would rather do that and see you sooner.
Okay, but I’m going to pay you back.
If you insist.
He’d already paid for enough of my food.
