Dixon pulled a note card from the envelope and looked at it, frowning.

“She put that in the mailbox on my front porch,” Ballencoa said. “I found it this morning.”

“Did you see her do it?” the sheriff asked.

“No.”

“Then how do you know it was her?” Dixon looked at both sides of the note and the envelope. “There’s no signature. If you didn’t see her do it, and there’s no signature or anything else to indicate the note came from Mrs. Lawton, I don’t see how we can help you, Mr. Ballencoa.”

“Her fingerprints will be on it,” Ballencoa said. “You must have fingerprinted her last night when she was arrested.”

“Mrs. Lawton hasn’t been processed,” Dixon said. “We’re waiting for word from the district attorney.”

Ballencoa went very still, like a snake ready to strike. “You didn’t charge her? She attacked me. She destroyed my camera and a lens worth more than five hundred dollars. Now she’s threatened me.”

“It’s a case of simple assault, Mr. Ballencoa,” Dixon said. “A misdemeanor. And Mrs. Lawton can make a damn good argument that she feared for her child. It’s the DA’s discretion whether or not to charge that out. You can press the issue with Kathryn Worth if you like, but frankly, I don’t think she’ll touch it. You are, of course, free to pursue the matter of any monetary loss in the civil courts.”

“This is outrageous!” Ballencoa snapped. “You’ll be hearing from my attorney, sheriff. That woman should be arrested and put away.”

“She says the same thing about you, Mr. Ballencoa,” Dixon returned. “My suggestion is for you each to stay away from the other or I’ll see you both in jail. My detectives have actual crimes to investigate. I don’t appreciate wasting manpower on something as juvenile as this note.”

“It’s a threat,” Ballencoa argued.

Dixon frowned at the note and shrugged. “That’s a matter of interpretation,” he said, “just as you may construe this however you like, Mr. Ballencoa: Don’t waste my time or the time of my office with petty game playing and bullshit.”

On that note, Dixon turned and left the room.

Sitting relaxed at the table, Trammell looked up at Ballencoa and spread his hands. “That didn’t really work out for you, did it?”

Dixon entered the break room and handed the note to Mendez. “File that somewhere.”

“Under ‘Pain in the Ass,’” Tanner suggested.

Mendez looked at the note.

Typed across the center of the note card were the words: Did you miss me?

And scrawled beneath in an angry hand: I’d sooner see you in hell than see you at all.

Heat crept up from his chest to his throat to his face. He could feel Tanner’s eyes on him.

“What’s wrong?”