shall I cuff you?” He shot a look at Deputy Jewel, whose name was embroidered over his left front shirt pocket. Jewel was young, sweating and scared, the hand holding his gun visibly shaking. Settle down, Griffin thought. No need to panic. To his surprise, the young deputy seemed to relax a bit. The other deputy, Brewster, was older, with sparse gray hair, thin lips, and hard eyes. Griffin pegged him for a bully, probably violent when he drank too much. This was the man to watch.
Sheriff Bodine said, “So where’s your cars?”
Carson said, “My car’s back at my rental house.”
“And your car?”
Griffin said, “It’s parked at Jenny Wiley’s house.”
“Now that’s interesting, but not important right this minute. So both of you walked here, didn’t want people to notice a car, right?”
Carson said, “Look in the basement, Sheriff. You’ll find the duct tape Rafer used to tape my wrists and ankles.”
“Every man has duct tape in his basement.” Sheriff Bodine looked at Griffin. “You gonna say he knocked you out, too? Dragged you here to his house to kill you? Duct-taped you, too?”
“Dr. DeSilva was a gymnast, got her hands under her butt, that’s how she got free. Me? I was taking a walk, enjoying the park and the town. I heard her yell for help and came running. I’ve been in Gaffer’s Ridge less than a day, Sheriff, here to visit friends.”
“Yeah? What friends?”
“Like I told you, I’m staying with Jennifer Wiley and Aimée Rose Wallberger, longtime friends from college. They own Jenny’s Café. I told you as well, I left my car at their house.”
He eyed Griffin up and down, gave a loud bray of laughter. “Not that either of those two ladies would give you a second look, no matter if you look like a fricking movie star. Let’s go. Jewel, you and Brewster follow close. Be alert.”
Griffin said, “Sheriff, what about Rafer Bodine? Are you detaining him? Is one of your deputies going to follow the ambulance and guard him?”
The sheriff stared at Griffin, slowly shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about Rafer. Quint’s boy isn’t going anywhere. I told you, Gaffer’s Ridge is his home, our family’s been here for generations. This is where he conducts his business. There’s no place for him to go.” He flicked a look at Carson. “It’s you two who are the strangers who could run, not Rafer, you two accusing my own blood of murder.”
Carson couldn’t help it, she said, louder this time, “Sheriff, I told you, he’s very probably a serial killer, no matter he’s your nephew.”
Sheriff Bodine gave her a disgusted look. “The two of you get in the back seat. Now.” Once he’d pushed them inside, the sheriff shut the door. There was a mesh partition dividing the front from the back. They heard the door locks click. The sheriff eased his bulk into the front seat, pulled out his cell, pressed a number. “Fayreen, I’m bringing in those two strangers.” He listened, then said, “Yep, the one who called you declaring he was an FBI agent. What they’re claiming will make your eyes bug out. Get ahold of Judge Pinder. He’s gotta be the one to decide what to do with these two.” He punched off, slipped the cell back into his pocket.
Carson said to Griffin, “I know what Alice must have felt, but Gaffer’s Ridge isn’t any Wonderland.”
17
* * *
WASHINGTON, D.C.
DUPONT CIRCLE
MARU DOJO
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Nikki Bexholt tied her white obi belt over her white gi, and slipped on her zori sandals. She looked up when she saw Claire Farriger, her practice partner for the past four years, walk in and change into her own gi, fasten her black belt, and retrieve her ebony wooden Bokken sword from her locker. Nikki’s own white belt was her constant reminder she still had a great deal to learn before she could make the leap to black. Claire was her superior and her mentor in aikido, and at forty-six, she was in her prime. Nikki tried not to feel jealous of her, a constant battle. Claire had accomplished so much. She’d been a highly successful CIA field operative, spoke fluent Russian and Serbian, and had hopscotched her way up the CIA ladder to become the assistant director of the CIA for Europe and Eurasia analysis, second-in-command, reporting to the director of CIA. She’d confided to Nikki that she wouldn’t be allowed to become director, all politics, she’d said. It was the same for Nikki—she knew she’d never