CHAPTER 18
THE THUMPING OF the rotor blades as I flew up to Redding’s Gap didn’t help my headache. Neither did Otis’s incessant moaning on the last hour of the journey. If I had to make many more visits, I needed to seriously consider getting my own vehicle here because, otherwise, the town would have another murderer on its hands.
I posed for my strip search, feeling an uncharacteristic twinge of embarrassment at the hickey on my left breast. I didn’t even remember getting it, but then again, my mind had been on other things—okay, people—last night.
As I expected, the prison officer was mighty interested in the photos of the crime scene, and not at all keen to let me keep them.
“Why not?” I asked. “What’s he going to do, give me a paper cut?”
“We’re not supposed to let you take anyth
