Wrong Turn by Diane Fanning Page A

patience had been shredded at high speed in a food processor. He picked up the receiver and called to find out what was up.
    ‘I told you I’d call you, Lovett.’
    ‘I’m not a patient man.’
    ‘Well, it’s a massive SNAFU and I’ve been busy trying to calm down the guy that we falsely arrested. In fact, I just dropped him off at his campsite where his wife lit into him for disappearing but when he pointed at me and said, “He arrested me at gun point when I went to take a leak,” she jumped on me and let loose the wrath of God. The woman had more obscenity laden ways to tell me I was an irresponsible moron than I heard from anyone since my first wife.’
    ‘Back up,’ Jake said. ‘What’s this about a false arrest?’
    ‘When he told us he wasn’t Mack Rogers, he was telling the truth. When he gave us his identification, I told him we’d charge him with identity theft. Turned out the fingerprints didn’t match Rogers but did match the ones on file when he was in the Marines.’
    ‘You’re kidding. How could you make a mistake like that?’
    ‘I swear, Lovett, you don’t need to get on my case, too.’
    ‘Sorry,’ Jake mumbled. ‘But what went wrong?’
    ‘I’ll send you this guy’s booking picture. I promise you, you won’t be able to tell the difference between him and Rogers either.’
    ‘That close, hunh? Did you check to see if he was related to Rogers?’
    ‘He said he never heard of him and we couldn’t find a connection anywhere.’
    ‘What about the possibility that he’s an accomplice of Rogers?’
    ‘Before we got word on the fingerprints, we were checking on his whereabouts when those girls disappeared. He was posted out of the country when all but the most recent ones had gone missing. In that time frame, he said he was living in Idaho and hadn’t travelled out of state. We couldn’t find anything to contradict his statement – no plane, bus or train tickets back east. And looking at his work records, the only periods of time when he had enough days off to drive to Virginia and back did not coincide with any of the deaths.’
    Jake sighed. Another dead end. ‘Thanks for your efforts. Let me know if anything else turns up.’
    ‘Next time, I’m not going to let anybody know anything until I’m damn sure, Lovett – I don’t relish another round of public humiliation, thank you very much.’
    Jake almost objected to the agent’s attitude but quickly realized that he’d feel the same way and he couldn’t blame the man a bit. ‘Sorry it all turned out like this. I know you’re as disappointed with this outcome as I am.’
    ‘Just find that bastard, Lovett. And nail his hide to the wall.’
    Jake had nothing to do but start another round of calls. He heard about a transvestite who was harassed in Alabama. The poor trannie’s birth name was Mackenzie Rogers but any similarity to the fugitive ended there. The deputies refused to call her Marie but bullied and insulted her for eleven hours before allowing her to return home. Predictably, they did not offer her a ride back in a squad car. When she hitched and accepted a ride from the wrong person, she was beaten and dumped on the side of the road.
    Dozens of ex-wives pointed an accusatory finger at their former husbands – most of whom had never been in the state of Virginia, let alone anywhere near the house on DeWitt Street. They were questioned and released, their days ruined and, in some cases, their jobs imperiled. Many who were acquainted with those temporarily accused would never look at them the same again. Once those kinds of suspicions are expressed, you can’t completely take them back; the stain corrupts for a lifetime.
    Jake wished that local law enforcement would be more circumspect in handling potential suspects; but was grateful that the description of Rogers made it clear that he was not Black or Hispanic. The harassment potential if the case involved a person of color would have spread like a virulent