After reading urgent text messages about the Sadana shooting, Cole jumped in his car and headed toward Rockford down I-43. It was only an hour and a half at normal driving speed, interstate the whole way. But Cole wasn’t driving normal. He planned to be at the murder scene in an hour.
He tried Jeffers’ cell phone, leaving a voice mail letting him know he was on his way and requesting a return call. Jeffers got back to him a half-hour later, just as Cole screamed past the exit for Lake Geneva, Wisconsin at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.
“Cole, here.” He kept his hands on the wheel and utilized Bluetooth and the car’s speakers.
“Yes. I know that, since I called you and you answered.”
Cole fought back a harsh comment. “Just letting you know I’ll be on the scene in a half-hour.”
“No. You won’t. I’ll be there and I’ll have everything and everyone I need there before you hit the Illinois border. Turn around and head back to Milwaukee.”
Cole pounded the dash. “Olson told me to stay close to this, to help out in any way I can. We need to work together.”
“They put me in charge, Cole, and I don’t need you in Rockford. We’ve got competent people on it. So head back. This isn’t a request.”
“Listen. I know I can help!”
“Head back,” Jeffers repeated coldly, then hung up.
Cole came up to a turnaround in the median used by state troopers and emergency vehicles. He glanced in his rearview mirror and rode his brakes hard when he saw nobody immediately behind him. The car shuddered to a stop in the middle of the turnaround. The Dodge was idling, but his mind was racing. He was at a crossroads. He could keep heading to the murder scene in Rockford and have it out with Jeffers in front of a horde of agents and reporters. He could head back to Milwaukee and sulk. Or, he could head to Prairie du Chien where he was becoming convinced the answers lay.
His nerves were shot. One of the things that made him a good agent was his ability to keep his cool when others became unglued. But the twists and turns of this case combined with Jeffers’s attitude were wearing on him. Toss in the small doses of fitful sleep he’d been getting and he felt like he was losing it. He took a couple of deep breaths and did a slow Y turn that had him aimed southwest again. At the first break in traffic, he jumped on the gas and shot onto the interstate. He knew that two exits down he could get off and connect with US Highway 11 heading west toward Janesville. From there he would head north, skirt west around Madison, and then make the straight shot west to Prairie du Chien.