was jealous, of course. He’d imagine any other man would be coveting her, I’m afraid. As for family—his mother used to live with them, but she decided to go back to Mexico last year.” Silence suggested Karin was thinking. “Chiapas. That’s what Lenora said. Roberto was mad that she went.”
“Chiapas.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So I suppose it’s reasonable that he might run for Mexico.”
“Maybe. But how would even a mother take the news that he’d killed his wife—tried to kill his wife,” she corrected herself, a hitch in her voice, “and murdered his wife’s aunt?”
“Depends on the mother. I’ve met some crazy ones.”
“You mean, the ones who pay a hit man to knock off the judge or prosecutor?”
“Or a rival cheerleader,” he noted dryly.
“Well…yes. But I had the impression Mama had thrown up her hands over Roberto. There was another son, if I remember right, still in Chiapas. But Roberto was the elder, so of course he thought she should stay here.”
“What—to babysit and keep a stern eye on his wife?” Bruce loosed a tired sigh. “No sign he’s bought airline, Amtrak or bus tickets, and we’ve got the state patrol here and in Oregon watching for his car. Sounds like it’s a beater, though. I doubt he’d make it all the way to the border, never mind damn near to Guatemala. I think you’re right about the economic stratum.” He paused. “How’d she pay for the sessions with you?”
“Department of Social and Health Services program. When a woman or child needs us, we find funding.”
“Ah.” He softened his voice. “You should get some sleep, Ms. Jorgensen.”
“Karin.”
“Karin. The night’s not done.”
“No.” Her breathing told him she hadn’t hung up. “I just keep thinking…”
Understanding stabbed him. “You’ve never been assaulted?”
“No. And now I’m thinking how—how glib I must have sounded to women who have. Ugh.”
God. Here he’d considered her as a colleague, in a sense, who’d seen it all. Of course she hadn’t. She’d only heard it all.
“I’ve been told by people who know that you and your colleagues at A Woman’s Hand are the best. I doubt you’ve been glib.”
Even through the phone line, her exhalation sounded ragged. “Thank you for that. And for calling. Oh. Have you talked to Lenora’s sister yet?”
“Sorry. I meant to say that first. They’re in Walla Walla. Asparagus harvest. No phone—I had to send an officer around. But they’re on their way. What is it—a three-, four-hour drive? They should be at the hospital by dawn.”
“Thank goodness. When Lenora wakes up…”
An optimist. He’d guessed she would be. He was well aware that he’d be wasting his breath to suggest she go home and go to bed. She felt responsible, justly or not, and wouldn’t let herself off the hook. Lenora wouldn’t know Karin was holding vigil, but Karin did, and would think less of herself if she didn’t.
There wasn’t much more he could do tonight. He’d sent officers out to canvass near neighbors to Julia and Mateo Lopez shortly after the body was found. None had heard a thing. Evidence techs had taken over the house and were still working. He wouldn’t get results from the crime lab on exactly whose blood was on the tire iron until tomorrow at best. He knew damn well what the results would be, given that no weapon had been located in or near the Lopez home.
There was a limit to how much he could do before morning to find Escobar’s rat hole, either. He’d put out the description of the vehicle and the license number, but not until tomorrow would he be able to access bank records or speak to co-workers and—if any existed—friends. Mateo was so distraught he’d had to be sedated. Bruce hadn’t gotten much out of him, not once he’d been told about his wife.
Resisting the temptation to drive to Harborview and keep Karin Jorgensen company in the waiting room, Bruce went home. Tomorrow would be a long day. He’d done what he could tonight to set a manhunt in motion. Now he needed a few hours of downtime.
Funny thing, how he fell asleep picturing Karin Jorgensen. Not with her face distraught, but from earlier in the evening, when she’d still been able to smile.
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