Stranger at the Window by Dan Padavona

Author:Dan Padavona
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2023-07-13T23:00:00+00:00

31

T he dusty fluorescents buzzed above Deputy Kendall Chavez as she stood in Sheriff Bud McBride’s office. Seven victims. Seven dead ends. Seven months of spinning her wheels while a monster roamed free.

McBride leaned back in his chair, fingers laced over his paunch. “It’s time we brought Emilio Tomes in for questioning.”

Chavez bit her tongue. Not Tomes again. “We’ve been over this. Tomes runs a drug ring. He’s not our guy.”

“He’s an outsider. A drifter.” McBride’s pale eyes gleamed with suspicion. “The kind of man who could do something like this.”

Men like you see threats in every shadow.

Chavez bit back the retort. Antagonizing McBride would get her nothing but another slap across the face. She took a breath and softened her tone.

“I understand why Tomes seems suspicious, but we can’t ignore the facts. All the evidence points away from him. Toward someone far more dangerous. Perhaps two strangers. We know they broke into the victim’s house.”

McBride’s frown etched deeper into his weathered face. “This is my county, and I’ll run the investigation as I see fit. Bring Tomes in for questioning. That’s an order.”

Chavez stared at the sheriff, torn between duty and instinct. She couldn’t defy a direct order. But she couldn’t let McBride derail the investigation, not when the killer . . . or killers . . . were still out there.

The truth rose in her throat like bile. This wasn’t about justice or public safety. This was about McBride’s ego, his need to prove he was still in control.

“Yes, sir.”

Her voice implied submission, but her hands curled into fists at her sides.

Like a vindictive parent, he walked Chavez to her office and waited until she pulled up the Tomes file before turning on his heels. She hesitated until McBride’s footsteps receded down the hall before slipping into her office and locking the door behind her. Fury and frustration churned in her gut.

She ducked her head around the corner and drew a steadying breath. Then she hurried to her desk and flipped open her laptop. The traffic cameras. If she could find footage of vehicles near Becca King’s house last night, she might catch the two strangers who broke inside.

The grainy footage flickered across the screen as she scanned through the recordings, searching for anything out of the ordinary. A few cars and trucks were familiar—neighbors coming and going, a delivery van making rounds.

Then a dark sedan rolled into view, turning toward King’s street. Chavez leaned closer, peering at the monitor. There—for a moment as it passed beneath a streetlight—she glimpsed a partial license plate before shadows swallowed the numbers.

Not much to go on. But it was more than she’d had an hour ago. She didn’t recognize the sedan. This wasn’t the vehicle she’d spotted the man and woman in.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, trying to zoom in on the plate and sharpen the image. But it was no use. The footage was too grainy, the angle too oblique. She cursed under her breath, sagging into her chair. So close.

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