He couldn’t argue.
“So, is it true that Kara McIntyre didn’t even wait for a doctor’s release to leave the hospital? Did she really just walk out, past all the guards even though Whimstick General had all kinds of security on-site?”
“You know I can’t comment on that,” he said, irritated that he’d run into her, even more irritated that his new partner was going to witness the conversation.
“Oh, come on, Cole. What about Jonas? My sources say he’s already hired a new attorney and that he, too, is trying to get out of the hospital.”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
Her lips pulled into a tight little knot. “Are you reopening the McIntyre Massacre case?”
“We’re investigating Merritt Margrove’s death.” He figured that was safe. Common knowledge.
“I know. Any suspects?”
He smiled. “You know me, Sheila. Everyone’s a suspect.”
“Don’t try to be cute,” she threw back at him, and from the corner of his eye he saw Johnson give him a what-the-hell look. “I heard the nine-one-one call and don’t ask me how, but Kara McIntyre called in the murder. Was that before or after she picked up her brother?”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing case.”
“Like hell,” she said, challenging him. “And what about the accident? How did that happen?”
“We’re still figuring that out.”
“Why were both Kara McIntyre and Jonas McIntyre, barely out of prison, at Merritt Margrove’s cabin on Mount Hood?”
“As I said, the investigation is ongoing.” Which was the truth. But it was complicated. Jonas had been Merritt’s client, his conversations with his attorney privileged.
“Is Merritt Margrove’s death connected with Jonas McIntyre’s release from Banhoff Prison?” she asked, and waved a gloved hand toward the van parked up the street. “Is he a suspect?”
“We’re looking at all angles.”
“Oh, come on, Cole.” She was frustrated, bordering on angry. “What about Kara McIntyre? How is she involved? Why was she up there? Was it to meet her brother?”
Another quick, frantic wave and the door to the news van opened, a big cameraman hopping to the ground. He was hoisting the shoulder cam in one arm, while in the other hand he was pressing a cell phone to his ear. He kicked the door shut and started heading their way.
“I can’t comment on that.”
“And you don’t know where Kara McIntyre is?” she said.
“No.”
“So she just walked out of the hospital? How? Isn’t her car wrecked?”
“I don’t know.”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed, thick lashes thinning. Over her shoulder, she said, “Carl, can we set up here?” And then to Johnson, who was just slipping her phone into the pocket of her jacket, “So she took Uber or Lyft or had a friend pick her up?”
“Don’t know.”
Thomas’s phone rang and he answered. “Detective Cole Thomas.” He paused, frowned, then glanced at Johnson. “Come on. We gotta go.”
“What?” Sheila’s eyes laser-focused on him. Her reporter instincts went into overdrive. “What’s going on? Who called you?”
“Official business,” he said, and they walked back to the car.
“Meaning what? Does this have something to do with Jonah McIntyre? Or Kara?” Sheila called after them, the cameraman trailing behind. “Well, of course it does or you wouldn’t be here.”
He kept walking, using his remote to unlock his vehicle. The Chevy responded with a flicker of its lights and a sharp beep.
“Co-le,” Sheila said, making two syllables of his first name. She sounded frustrated. “Remember—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I owe you. So you’ve said. Got it.”
“You don’t want me to . . .”
She let the threat linger and he turned. “What I don’t want is for you to threaten me. It won’t work.” He held her gaze for a brief moment, then added, “You should know that.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again and whispered something to the cameraman.
Thomas and Johnson climbed into his Tahoe.
As he started the SUV, Johnson pulled the passenger door closed and strapped in.
“Thanks.” He drove up the slight rise in the street, the beams of his headlights catching the swirling flakes as snow continued to fall.
She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “She wasn’t going to give up.”