Bird Treaty Act of 1918.
—The Turkey Vulture Society
Colleton County Sheriff’s Department—
Tuesday afternoon (continued)
Sorry, Dwight,” Sigrid said when they were back in his office. “What will you do now that there’s no physical evidence to link her to the murder?”
“The usual slog. We’ll talk to her parents, see exactly how long she was there Saturday evening. Canvass the neighborhood again. Talk to the guy who washed her truck. Hope we get lucky and that someone will’ve noticed her truck around seven or seven-thirty. The owner of the real estate agency told me that one of the selling points of that house was that it was nearer Ginger Todd’s parents. That’s the same neighborhood Becca Jowett used to run in, so it’s only logical that Ginger saw her and one thing led to another, but right now there’s not enough to get a warrant to search their house for bloody clothes.”
“You couldn’t get Deborah to sign one for you?”
He gave a half smile. “Forbidden under our separation of powers agreement.”
“I was wondering how that works,” Sigrid admitted.
“Besides, if she had the truck cleaned, I doubt if she kept any bloody clothes. Everybody knows about DNA these days.” Dwight picked up the mug on his desk and contemplated the cold coffee inside. “What’s interesting to me is that Wesley Todd swaggers around like an alpha male and she acts like the submissive little wife with him and yet she seems to hold the balance of power.”
“Confirming Deborah’s take on divorce?”
“Either that or she’s hell on wheels when she gets fired up.”
Sigrid took her phone from the pocket of her parka. “And you’re still no closer to finding the Harper boy’s attacker?”
“No. I told Crawford I’d be back out today. You reckon he’s still with your mother?”
“I was about to call her and ask that myself. Get out of your hair.” She touched the buttons, waited for Anne to answer, then asked if Martin was still there. “What?”
She looked at Dwight in dismay. “When? Why didn’t you call us?”
“What?” Dwight asked.
“Mother’s on her way home from the Raleigh-Durham Airport. She dropped Martin off there about a half hour ago. His plane leaves this afternoon. Mother? I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
Dwight heard her protest, but overrode it. “What airline, Anne? What time?”
As soon as she told him, he grabbed his hat and jacket and headed for the door. It was now 4:42, Crawford’s plane was scheduled to leave at 6:00, and the airport was west of Raleigh.
“I’ll come, too,” Sigrid said, and before he could decide whether or not this was a good idea, they were out in the parking lot and he was sliding a key into the ignition switch of a prowl car.
With blue lights flashing and sirens wailing, he dug out of the parking lot and headed for I-40.
As a rule, Dwight liked to amble along no more than a mile or two above the speed limit, but when expediting, he turned into Richard Petty, expertly weaving in and out of the westbound rush hour traffic, zipping past the cars and trucks that slowed and moved over.
Sigrid, who appreciated competence wherever it was found, realized that there was more to this big, slow-talking lawman than his laid-back surface implied.
Like Martin, she thought. Kate had once mentioned a military intelligence background, but it hadn’t fully registered till now.
No wonder he so quickly tagged Martin as MI6. Like calling to like? He cut between two cars with only inches to spare, but she didn’t flinch, so confident was she now that he knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the traffic, they pulled up in front of the international terminal with almost a half hour to spare.
They flashed their badges at security and checked the board for the flight to Gatwick, then raced down the concourse, dodging luggage and passengers, to the proper gate.
And there sat Martin Crawford, neatly groomed and looking like an ordinary tourist in his tailored black suit with his carry-on roller bag by his feet. Sigrid noted that he wore the old-fashioned black onyx signet ring that she and Anne had brought home from Mrs. Lattimore’s bank, a heavy gold ring that had belonged to Martin’s grandfather. He seemed engrossed by the screen of his laptop, yet appeared unsurprised to look up and see them approach.
“Ah, Bryant. Sigrid. Come to arrest me?”
A woman seated in the next row turned and stared at them.
Dwight looked around as the loudspeaker called flight numbers and destinations and arriving passengers streamed toward