“I’m not concerned about identifying him. We have his image, we have Quinn’s eyewitness testimony that he hit the kid, and we have Andy’s last call into dispatch about the Camry spotted on this block.”

“Still need a conviction, unless SPD gets itchy trigger fingers.”

Matt didn’t want Glen Hamilton dead. Well—he wanted him dead, but he wanted a trial first. He wanted to do this the right way. Find him, arrest him, prosecute him, execute him. The evidence was slowly but surely being collected, and they would have more than enough for a conviction.

Now they just had to find him before anyone else got hurt.

Matt glanced at his phone. “Shit. Andy’s girlfriend is at the station. Dunn went to do the notification, but she’d already heard a cop was injured. I need to talk to her.”

“You need to find this bastard.”

“We got all the warrants we wanted, but we don’t know where he is. Ryder is working with headquarters on getting his phone, bank, and credit records, which could be a huge win for us. He has to be staying somewhere in the Spokane Valley. But it’s going to take a couple hours.”

“Andy was a good cop. Tell her that.”

“Andy was a small town cop. He wasn’t supposed to be murdered.”

Matt found Michael Harris putting Peter Richmond’s family into a police car and sending them off. “We’re taking them to her sister’s house in Coeur d’Alene for now,” Michael said. “I have their contact information, but they’re not going to be able to get into the house for a while.”

“Thanks.” For the last hour the family had been at the next-door neighbor’s house, but getting them out of town for a couple of days was smart. Not so much for their safety—Matt didn’t think Hamilton would go after them again—but to ease the shock. “Anything from the canvass?”

“One witness. A neighbor kitty-corner,” Michael gestured to a small, older brick home across the street, “said she’d seen a dark gray sedan in the neighborhood several times over the last few weeks.”

“It’s a common car.”

“She’s a Mrs. Kravitz.”

It took Matt a minute to understand what Michael meant. He wasn’t in the mood for pop culture references. “You mean she keeps an eye on the neighborhood and knows everything that goes on. Gotcha.”

“Yeah. She didn’t recognize Hamilton’s picture or the sketch, but the car stood out to her because twice it parked at that corner and the driver didn’t get out. She almost called the police the second time because she thought it was odd, but then he drove away. She said he was a youngish man, but couldn’t identify him.”

“Did she see it today?”

Michael nodded. “She came out at eight-thirty this morning to bring in her flowers because of the storm, and said the car wasn’t there. But she didn’t look out again until she heard the gunshot. She then saw a man—she again couldn’t identify him, and he was wearing a dark jacket—running to the car. He was holding his left arm. He drove down Vine—past the house—and turned right.”