Nowhere to Hide by Nancy Bush Page B

really hit his father hard. His words made September feel even smaller and meaner that she already had for the rash accusations she’d hurled when she was eleven. She’d been just a kid, sure, but the way she’d transferred her pain to Nigel—going so far as to tell him it was his fault , and she hated him !—was like a splinter under her skin to this day, one that still had the power to hurt at unexpected moments. Nigel’s dismissal from The Willows by Braden was another attack on an innocent man.
    â€œBut she was still married to you,” Gretchen questioned Dempsey, unable to keep from inflecting disbelief into her words.
    â€œI didn’t see her much,” he muttered. “Stayed with her parents some . . . or at friends, whoever they were. That other policeman asked me all this, y’know.”
    Gretchen finished wringing Greg Dempsey dry of any useful information, and she and September headed back outside to the department issue Jeep. Gretchen swung into the driver’s seat and September climbed into the passenger’s.
    â€œWhat a shithead,” Gretchen observed as they drove away. “His wife gets strangled, carved up, and raped and all he can do is talk about what a bitch in heat she was.”
    September nodded.
    â€œWeasel knew Sheila from The Barn Door. He ever meet this guy?”
    â€œCalled him a narcissist,” September said. “We should talk to him about Dempsey. I know he checked on Dempsey’s whereabouts during the time Emmy Decatur was killed and basically cleared him.”
    Gretchen snorted. “Yeah, what was that again?”
    â€œDempsey has the graveyard shift at a convenience store off Vick Road. The one in the strip mall. I think it’s a 7-Eleven. He was there. Cameras on him all night.”
    She made a growling sound and said, “Maybe he switched the tapes.”
    â€œHe’s a bastard,” September said, “but I don’t think he’s good for it. He didn’t react when you introduced me just now. I was standing right there, but he barely noticed me. He didn’t send my artwork to me.”
    â€œIf it’s all connected.”
    â€œYou and Auggie . . . you think I’m reaching?”
    Gretchen made a face. “Nope. I just wish assholes like Dempsey were wiped off the planet. All right, what’s next? This Jake Westerly?”
    September said carefully, “Let’s go see the Schenks, Sheila’s parents.”
    She made a grunt of acceptance. “I’m going to call this deputy—Dalton—and see what he thinks about Dempsey. I don’t blame him for wanting to pin the thing on him, but he sure dropped the ball.”
    â€œD’Annibal basically squeezed it away from county.”
    â€œOnly after Emmy Decatur’s body was found,” Gretchen reminded her. “Sounds like Dawson was just sitting around on his ass like George does instead of getting anything done.”
    â€œIs that the tack you’re going to take?”
    Gretchen turned to September, a little surprised. “You want to get warm and fuzzy on a homicide case?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI know you don’t like my style. And you know what? I don’t fucking care.”
    â€œWhy don’t you let me talk to him?” September suggested.
    â€œThink you can do better?”
    â€œProbably not,” she hedged. She didn’t want to get on Gretchen’s bad side, but good God, Sandler could be a downright bully sometimes.
    â€œFine, you take Dalton. After you talk to him, let’s go to The Barn Door, see if anybody knows this Westerly. Dempsey said Sheila liked cowboys and The Barn Door’s got that going in spades.”
    Uncomfortable, September nevertheless kept her mouth shut. She would call Dalton and see if he had anything else to add to the investigation.
    The Schenks lived in Portland on the east side of the Willamette River, and when Gretchen and