Read Online Stand Down by J. A. Jance - Free Book Online

you name it. As a consequence, she never goes anywhere without two complete sets—­one in her purse and one in her pocket. She held the key ring up, in the air jingling it triumphantly in front of my face. “We’ll tell them you used this.”
    Months earlier, for Christmas, I had given her a collection of small squares of plastic tiles, containing locator chips. With the devices attached to her key rings, no matter where she misplaced one of them, we could use our iPhones to find it.
    â€œThose are designed to work inside houses or apartments,” I objected. “It would never cover this much distance.”
    â€œTechnology is mysterious,” Mel declared. “Nobody else knows that for sure, and what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
    Sam saw that as a signal to take his leave. “I’d better go check on my passengers and let them know everything’s all right,” he said, backing away from us.
    It was a good thing we’d already made arrangements about handling the locator beacon because, at that point, a string of cop cars with lights flashing and sirens blaring came streaming into the parking lot. Someone grabbed up Austin Manson and hustled him away, first into the back of a patrol car and later into a newly arrived ambulance.
    I expected that investigators would immediately separate Mel and me while someone else went to talk to Sam. That’s what cops usually do—­they separate witnesses and suspects in an effort to keep them from comparing notes and collaborating as far as their various stories are concerned. I was grateful that Mel and I had managed to get our stories straight before the new arrivals got there.
    But before we could be separated and interviewed, something unexpected happened. A white Buick sedan nosed its way into the crush of cop cars, and a woman I later learned was Mayor Kirkpatrick bounded out of the car and started throwing around her considerable weight. I have no idea how she learned about what was going on as fast as she did. Maybe she was monitoring police scanners. Maybe someone called her directly to let her know.
    She hustled up to Detective Walsh, the officer in charge. “Is it true?” she demanded. “Is Austin Manson behind all this?”
    Walsh was a cop with a duty to protect the integrity of both the crime scene and the investigation. Even so, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the woman’s authority. Rather than doing his job and ordering her away, he simply nodded. There was so much deference in the gesture that I more than half wondered if the old bat had been his Sunday school teacher once upon a time.
    â€œAustin’s mother, Mona, is a good friend of mine,” Mayor Kirkpatrick continued. “He’s been staying with her ever since his last divorce and becoming more despondent every day. She called me earlier this morning, worried that he had stormed out of the house in such a state that he might do something to harm himself or others.”
    â€œNice of you to let us know,” Mel muttered under her breath.
    Another vehicle pulled into the lot—­a media van. As ­people sprang out, expecting to set up their equipment, Mayor Kirkpatrick immediately shooed them away. “No cameras and no microphones,” she announced firmly before any of the media folk could unpack. “We’re dealing with a mental-­health issue, and we’re required by law to respect the patient’s privacy. Isn’t that right, Detective Walsh?”
    To my amazement, the reporter scurried back to the van without a single word of objection. When it came to wielding influence, Adelina Kirkpatrick was a marvel. Within moments, the entire press corps beat a hasty retreat.
    I looked back at the detective. He was clearly torn—­torn between doing the right thing as a professional cop and knowing which side his bread was buttered on; between the old guard, the mayor, and the