Читать книгу The Closer He Gets - Janice Kay Johnson - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU HAVEN’T BEEN with us very long,” Sheriff Brown said kindly, although his eyes were a lot less friendly. “I know you come from a large city police department. Different atmosphere. We don’t get much turnover here, and there’s a reason. We think of ourselves as one big family. Times of trouble, we stand behind one another.”

Zach’s primary emotion was disbelief.

His initial, brief interview yesterday with Paul Stokes had been direct, an appropriate opening to a serious investigation. His impression was that the undersheriff had been as disturbed as Zach had been by the situation.

The talk he’d had earlier today with Stokes had been different. The undersheriff had been a little more closed off, his questions sharper, as if he was trying to shake Zach. He had suggested they handle this “incident” internally.

Zach now had a pretty good idea who had been leaning on him.

Sheriff Brown had used the word “incident,” too, when he’d made it clear that he wanted it swept under the carpet. Zach was supposed to be the broom.

His disbelief progressed through pissed to full-on fury.

A few minutes ago, as Zach had arrived in answer to the sheriff’s summons, Hayes had swaggered out of the office. As they’d passed within a foot of each other, he’d given Zach a look dark enough to lift the hairs on the back of his neck.

“You’re right,” Zach said calmly now to the sheriff. “My experience is with a considerably larger police force. Professionalism was emphasized.” He paused, watching Sheriff Brown’s eyes narrow. “What I saw yesterday was a deliberate, brutal beating that led to a death. Maybe Deputy Hayes didn’t intend it to go that far. I can’t say. But the fact is, it did. What I heard gives me reason to believe the confrontation was over a personal issue, but Hayes was wearing the uniform when he instigated it, and he used his police baton as part of the beating. As far as I’m concerned, that takes him a step over the line from second-degree murder. He shamed law-enforcement officers everywhere.”

That hard stare never wavered from Zach’s face. Until now, he hadn’t made up his mind about the longtime sheriff. In his sixties, George T. Brown was mostly bald and carried forty or fifty pounds too much. His strength was a folksy, reassuring charm that appealed to voters.

Call him a cynic, but from his initial job interviews, Zach had suspected Brown was a figurehead, with the real decisions being made by Stokes, the undersheriff.

Looking into these shrewd, angry eyes now, Zach changed his mind. Brown was no figurehead. And he had to have been leaning heavily on Paul Stokes.

In his short time with the department, Zach had heard some sexist and racist jokes he didn’t like. There were only a couple of female deputies on this force. He couldn’t help noticing how few Hispanic deputies had been hired, too, considering the county population had to be a third Hispanic. One had risen to sergeant. Otherwise the command structure was Caucasian and male. Ditto for the detectives.

He’d heard the same kind of jokes on his last job, and the hiring of female and ethnic officers had lagged in most police departments. Here in Harris County, part of the problem lay in the fact that so many deputies were long-timers. Change would come, but only as those long-timers retired.

He wondered whether the prevailing attitude might have been a little different if the dead guy had been Caucasian. Say, the son of a local businessman instead of an uneducated farmworker who had turned out to be in this country illegally.

That meant the uncle and brother, presumably also illegals, had disappeared, unable to demand justice for Antonio.

The sheriff’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “Son, I’m going to give you a few days to think about this before you damage the reputation and career of a fellow officer. You go that route, I can’t swear anyone will buy in to what you have to say, anyway. Judges, prosecutors, defense attorneys...they all know and respect Andy Hayes. The man is a sixteen-year veteran of this department. You have any idea how many times he’s testified in court in those years?”

Zach didn’t say a word.

“Nobody knows you.” He gestured, as if holding a weight in each hand. One sank while the other rose. “One thing for sure, I can guarantee you won’t be real popular in this department if you hold on to what looks a lot like a vendetta. You might find yourself deciding to go back to your big-city department.” The last was a drawl barely disguising a sneer.

Zach kept his expression from changing in any way. He held the stare long enough to make it plain he wasn’t intimidated and rose from the chair he’d been offered facing the sheriff’s desk. “Sir,” he said politely, bending his head and walking out of the office.

He knew he was in deep shit, made worse because he was the new guy. A couple other deputies had quietly expressed their support, but a number had urged him to retreat from his “story.” Andy Hayes was a fine officer, a good guy. He wouldn’t have just beaten a man to death for the hell of it. No, sir. Accidents happened. If the fellow’s head hadn’t happened to hit that concrete step... Damnedest thing, him stumbling back and falling in just the wrong place. But when a man went for a police officer’s gun? Well, he was asking for anything.

Zach was ninety-nine-percent sure Antonio Alvarez had not gone for Andy Hayes’s gun. Even if he had, Hayes had dominated the encounter from that moment on. He could have had Alvarez on the ground, cuffed and arrested without breaking a sweat. Zach couldn’t think of an excuse in the world for Hayes to have beaten the shit out of the guy. What’s more, he had a suspicion Alvarez had been dead before he’d hit the concrete. Maybe he’d only lost consciousness, but he’d looked like a dead man from the instant his head snapped back and his body collapsed like a puppet’s with the strings cut.

Nobody wanted to talk about why Hayes had been there in the first place—well out of his patrol sector. They weren’t talking about the results of the autopsy, either—if it had even been done yet. As was common in rural counties, the coroner wasn’t a physician. Zach wanted to believe he wouldn’t cooperate with a cover-up.

No matter at what point Alvarez had died, going for a police officer’s gun was not a crime deserving of the death penalty, not if the officer had the ability to control the situation. Which Hayes unquestionably had.

Zach had no doubt he’d already have been fired if the sheriff hadn’t been afraid of the repercussions. Whatever Stokes thought personally, publicly the undersheriff would have to bow to his boss. Right now, they controlled the contacts Zach could talk to. If they cut him loose, they had to know he’d go straight to the press, the county commissioners, activists representing the Latino community.

The killing of an unarmed Hispanic man by a red-neck white deputy had the potential to explode into a scandal of nationwide proportions. The sheriff and undersheriff had to be seeing Ferguson and Pasco in their nightmares.

Too bad no one had had a camera phone, Zach thought grimly.

The good news was that he hadn’t been the only witness. It was pretty clear the woman hadn’t backed down yet, at least. She hadn’t gone to the press, either, but if they pushed too hard, they couldn’t stop her.

Zach knew her name now. Teresa Granath. Ms. Granath, the detective had said with sarcastic emphasis.

Zach had just come in from patrol. The sheriff’s department couldn’t afford to lose two of them at the same time and, as was standard practice, Hayes had been placed on administrative leave since a man had died during an altercation.

The incident.

Having finally clocked out, Zach had decided to contact Ms. Granath. He’d been careful yesterday once Stokes had arrived at the scene not to make eye contact with her or to try to speak to her. He didn’t want anyone thinking he’d influenced what she had to say. He’d be in trouble if he was seen with her now, but he’d passed the point of caring. He wanted to know how much shit they’d been giving her and whether she could stand up to it. Whether he could depend on her.

He assumed she’d have left her workplace, which he’d learned was a home improvement store. He’d planned to pay it a visit one of these days, anyway, because he was only days from closing on a house that needed work. He’d be out significant money if he lost his job.

But forget the house. If he didn’t last on this job, he’d lose the chance to investigate his sister’s murder. His jaw was tight as he jumped into his pickup. Damned if he’d give up this easily.

No Teresa Granath appeared in the local phone directory, so, despite the rules against it, he’d accessed DMV records to find her. She lived within the city limits of Clear Creek, which would reduce the likelihood of anyone from the sheriff’s department happening to drive by and see his Silverado parked out front.

Just to be on the safe side, he left it a block away. The neighborhood consisted of nice family homes, ramblers and some split-levels. Most probably dated to the 1980s. Hers was a rambler, not a big place but in good shape, with a white picket fence and flowerbeds. She or someone she lived with was a gardener. The concrete walkway passed under an arch covered by rose canes unfurling green leaves.

If she was home, her car was in the garage. He rang the doorbell and waited...

He frowned and glanced toward the front window. Unfortunately the wood blinds were drawn.

At the sound of the door opening he turned back sharply. The sight of her disturbed him, renewing the strange bond they’d formed yesterday when they’d looked at each other over the dead body.

This time he was able to assess her, although no physical evaluation would tell him how strong an ally she’d be. As a man, he did like what he saw.

She was pretty, with beautiful hazel eyes and a cute bump on the bridge of her nose. A few freckles gave her a girl-next-door look—except that she had a sexy mouth. The hair he’d vaguely thought of as brown was actually glossy and caramel-colored.

Otherwise...she was tall for a woman. Five ten or even eleven, and slim. He’d have said skinny except she did have curves. They were subtle but plenty female. And long legs. Damn, it was no wonder she’d crossed that lawn so fast.

“Deputy,” she said, her voice just a little husky.

“Ms. Granath.”

Her mouth curved. “Your detective really wanted me to be a miss or a missus. ‘Ms.’ seemed to disturb his sense of order.”

Zach chuckled, although her smile along with those really fine legs stirred his body in uncomfortable ways. He reined it in. “This area seems to be lagging a little behind the times.”

She made a face. “I’ve noticed. Please, come in.”

He followed her in and waited while she closed the door.

“Why don’t you come on back to the kitchen?” she suggested. “I was working on dinner.”

“I’ll try to make it brief, then. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you’re being treated decently.”

He was distracted as they went by the glimpses he had into her living room, what looked like a library and home office and a dining room. He was impressed. She must have had some serious work done.

He doubted floors in a house of this era had originally been hardwood, for example. The molding could have been from a 1920’s cottage, the effect enhanced by wood blinds either white-painted or warm-maple-stained throughout and a French door that led from an eating area out to the back garden. Kitchen cabinets had a cottage look, too.

The stained maple was the same color as her hair, he couldn’t help noticing.

Countertops had been tiled in a bold red picked up by the display of antique stoneware on a shelf above the upper cabinets.

And, damn, something smelled good.

“You’re a gardener,” he said, gazing out at a backyard that, like the front, wasn’t very big but was bound to be a profusion of cottage-garden bloom in another couple months. There was color even now, mostly from daffodils and crocuses and a shrub with vivid yellow blooms. She seemed to have a lot of rosebushes.

“I am,” she agreed. “It’s my hobby. I especially love antique roses. There are moments I wish I had a way bigger yard so I could grow more of them, but I remind myself how much maintenance what I have takes. I don’t want gardening to quit being fun and start being work.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “I just bought a fixer-upper to flip.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I’ve remodeled a couple before,” he explained, “and made a decent profit when I sold them.”

“Really.” After adjusting the heat on a stove burner, she leaned back against the counter. “You know I’m in the home improvement business.” She waved at the bar stools. “Have a seat.”

Because he wanted to ease into his real purpose, he asked a few questions and learned she didn’t just work at Fabulous Interiors, she and a partner owned it. Her area of specialty was window treatment and ceramic tile. Her partner, flooring. The partner was a man—she called him Greg—but Zach couldn’t get a feel for whether the relationship was business-like, friendship or romantic.

He was irritated at himself for even wondering.

“What got you started flipping houses?” she asked. Pretty obviously, she was sounding him out the same way he was her.

So, okay, he could give a little.

“I had a stepfather who was a contractor.” Actually the stepfather whose name he’d taken. “I worked for him summers during high school and college. That’s not what I wanted to do for a living, but I enjoy working with my hands.” He shrugged. “It’s a good hobby.”

She glanced ruefully toward her garden. “Except you actually make money at your hobby.”

He had to laugh. “Mostly. When too many problems don’t turn a house into a sinkhole.” After a pause he asked, “Are you a local?” This was edging a little closer to what he really needed to know. How woven into the fabric of this community are you? Can I depend on you not to buckle under the pressure?

He hoped she hadn’t noticed his stomach rumbling. He’d try to get out of here before he embarrassed himself.

“Yes and no. I graduated from high school here, but left for college. I came back three years ago because my dad is in poor health. Mom is gone...and I thought he needed me.” She huffed. “Not that he agrees. He’s determined to stay in his house. And although he finally let me hire someone to do the housework, he still insists on doing too much.”

“Heart?”

“Stroke.” Grief shadowed her face. “It’s probably just a matter of time before he has another one.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

“Thank you.” She turned back to the stove, giving something a stir before turning off the burner and pulling the pan off. This time, when she turned to face him, her expression was resolute. “You didn’t come to exchange gardening and home improvement tips.”

“No.” Zach moved his shoulders a little to ease the tension. “The department wants the ‘incident’ never to have happened. The two of us are an inconvenience.”

“I’ve noticed.” Her tone was dry. “Should your department be investigating when it’s one of their own officers accused of a crime?”

“No,” Zach said bluntly. “My guess is some of the pressure is being applied now in the hope the department doesn’t have to hand off the investigation to someone else. Which, in my opinion, should have happened immediately.”

“Well, it definitely hasn’t been. Detective Delaney—excuse me, Delancy—grilled me two ways from Sunday. And then he stopped by the store again today. He seems to think if he keeps circling back, I’ll either change my story or he’ll get me to admit that Antonio and I were having a torrid affair and I’m lying through my teeth because—who knows?—I’m protecting his memory. I haven’t a clue.”

He nodded. “Ms. Granath, I won’t ask you what you’ve told him, and I’m not going to tell you what I’ve said, either. It’s easy to be subconsciously influenced once you share what you saw with other witnesses.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. Please, call me Tess. You’re Deputy Carter?”

“Zach Carter.”

Her gaze became challenging. “Are you here to lean on me a little, too? Point out how much damage I’m doing to an upstanding officer’s career?”

One side of his mouth tipped up. “Never crossed my mind. I will tell you that Andrew Hayes is an ass.”

Her carefree laugh came out of the blue, considering what they’d been discussing. “In that case, unless you’re expected home for dinner, you’re welcome to share mine. It’s chicken in a wine sauce on brown rice.”

“It smells amazing.” Damn, he had to swallow his saliva. “Are you sure you have enough?”

Eyes hinting at amusement, she said, “Positive.”

He asked where he could wash up and she sent him to a half-bathroom connected to a small laundry and mudroom.

Tess had produced a salad by the time he returned to the kitchen. She’d set the small table by the French doors rather than the larger one in the dining room. Bright red tulips in a simple white pitcher sat in the middle of the table. A few petals had fallen.

“These were already in bloom?” he said in surprise.

“Oh, I doubt it. I assume they were forced. Truthfully, I bought the bouquet at the grocery store. I spoil myself by buying some occasionally through the winter. I grow daffodils and tulips, but not enough for cutting.”

They served themselves then looked at each other across the table. “I guess I kind of stuck you with company, didn’t I?” he said ruefully.

Smiling, she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have invited Deputy Hayes to stay for dinner if he’d dropped by. Or Detective Delancy.” Her green-gold eyes met his. “Do you know him very well?”

“No. I’m new with the sheriff’s department. I haven’t even finished my third week. I moved up from Portland.”

“What brought you away from the city?”

Zach hesitated. He should have thanked her for the invitation but then declined. He’d have to make it clear to her before he left that they needed to keep their distance from here on out—at least, until the review and trial. And that could be a very long, drawn-out process. Just the prosecutor’s decision to file charges—or not—could be six months or more away.

He was attracted to her, but shutting down anything like that wouldn’t be a problem. Yeah, they had some interests in common, but didn’t share anything close to the same underlying motivations. He liked turning a dump into a house, but not because he was creating a home for himself the way she obviously had.

As far as women went, he enjoyed sex, but only when it came with no strings. Nothing in his life to this point had made him even distantly imagine himself ever getting married. He rarely had a relationship—if you could call it that—that lasted longer than a couple months.

An alliance was what they were building, one that would ensure justice was done.

“I lived here in Clear Creek until I was nine,” he said abruptly. “Then my parents split up and...” He shrugged. “I’ve gotten to an age when I needed to figure some things out.” Like who raped my little sister and then strangled her.

“Oh.” Tess’s expression softened. He was pretty sure she wasn’t thinking anything close to what had happened. “Do you still have...? I mean, are your parents alive?”

“My mother is. My father...” Another shrug. “No idea.”

She went still with a bite suspended halfway to her mouth. “You mean you didn’t see him after the divorce?”

“No. He went one way, Mom the other.” Although he could have kept seeing his father, that decision had been allowed to be his.

Her eyes searched his. After a moment she said, “I’m sorry.”

Jaw tight, he nodded.

She started eating again and kept her gaze on the table, which made him feel like a jerk.

“What about you? Any other family to help you with your father?”

“A brother, but he’s in Alaska. In a pinch he’d fly down to help with moving Dad or cleaning out his house but, you know, it’s hard for him to get away and expensive to make the trip.”

Zach nodded, feeling awkward again. “Ah... Antonio. Was he a friend?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him.”

“I’ll stay away from anything you saw. I would like to know if they’re going to be able to trip you up by claiming you’re not an impartial witness.”

“No,” she said flatly. “That detective tried. I knew Antonio’s name only because Lupe waved and said hello a couple times when we were coming or going. I nodded and smiled at him a few more times. I don’t even know if he spoke English.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“As someone who took it in high school, which was way too many years ago. My vocabulary has increased because we get customers in the store who don’t speak very good English. But all I’m capable of are broken sentences in a lousy accent. Oh, and I don’t remember anything I learned about verb tenses. I’ve actually been thinking of either buying a set of language tapes or taking a class at the community college.”

“Lupe speaks English, I take it?”

Tess smiled. “Lupe and I went to high school together. They let her take fourth-year Spanish, which totally destroyed the bell curve. Of course, she pointed out that the rest of us got to take English, which wasn’t any more fair to her.”

Zach laughed then looked down at his empty plate. “This was great. Thank you.”

“There’s a dab more if you have room.”

A polite man would say no. “Uh...”

She dished it up and he polished it off.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any dessert to offer,” Tess said. “But if you’d like a cup of coffee...?”

He would have loved a cup of coffee. And maybe to see her smile a few more times. Which meant it was past time he left.

“Thank you, but I’d better be going.” He hesitated. “I shouldn’t have come at all. I won’t ask you to lie, but it would be better if nobody knows we’ve talked.”

“If you’re parked out in front...”

“I’m not.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you want to sneak out the back and hop over the fence?”

“I’d probably trample on whatever you have growing out there, tear my pants on the fence and discover your next-door-neighbor has a Doberman.”

Tess chuckled. “No Doberman, but the rest sounds possible.”

“Let me give you my phone number in case you run into trouble.”

She nodded and jotted it down. He hoped she’d put it in her phone. She would probably never need it, but...the stand they had taken was infuriating a dangerous man.

She walked him to the door. “I’m glad you were there,” he said. “With two of us speaking out, we may be able to force the department to hold Hayes accountable.”

She offered her hand. “If you hadn’t been there, I’d have lost all faith in the police. So thank you.”

They shook, her hand fine-boned and a little cool to the touch. He opened the front door to find that dusk would enable him to depart unseen. He’d pass through the circle of light from only one streetlamp. No sheriff’s department cruiser lurked. “I’ll hope to see you in court,” he said politely. And not until then.

She’d retreated as obviously as he had. Like his tone, her smile was courteous and no more. “Don’t forget Fabulous Interiors when you get to that stage on your house.”

“I won’t.” He took the porch steps two at a time and moved with long strides to the sidewalk and down the street. Behind him he heard the quiet sound of her door closing.

* * *

SUNDAY, TESS VISITED Lupe again, giving only a single, shuddering glance at the small house next door. That was enough to tell her nobody had cleaned up the blood that had dried on the step and the concrete walk. Had the police ever even put up that yellow crime scene tape? If so, it was gone. Probably the landlord would eventually slosh soapy water and wash Antonio’s lifeblood off into the unkempt lawn.

It bothered Tess to know that everything Antonio and his relatives owned had been left behind, too, to be thrown away or given to a thrift store. Unless neighbors knew where his uncle and cousins had gone and helped them reclaim their possessions. Tess rather hoped so. She was tempted to ask if Lupe knew, but didn’t want to put her on the spot.

Lupe and Rey wanted to know what the police had said and what they’d asked Tess. She was even more conscious of the tension from Rey. He wasn’t hostile, but his usual wariness around her had been better disguised by civility. Lupe kept stealing quick, nervous peeks at him.

Tess made her excuses and left sooner than she’d planned.

She felt both angry and disturbed all evening. Reading about tragedies like Antonio’s death was one thing, seeing it in too vivid color was another. And the police response was just as unnerving. Her simple faith in her friendly local cops had been shattered.

Except for Zach Carter, of course, who’d made it clear he’d be keeping his distance.

She was a little bit sorry about that. He was a sexy man who also had integrity and construction skills. It was hard not to wonder whether he might have been interested in her under other circumstances.

Well, chances were she wouldn’t see him again until they both appeared in court—if that happened.

* * *

MONDAY MORNING SHE had parked in her usual spot in the alley behind the store and rounded the Dumpster before seeing the piece of paper pinned to the plain back door of Fabulous Interiors. That was odd. A message from one of their installers?

Ten feet away, she froze, clenching the straps of her handbag in a white-knuckled grip. In livid red marker, someone had printed BACK OFF BITCH OR ELSE.

Deep breaths, she told herself. Sticks and stones. Really, as threats went, this was high-school caliber. Immature and not specific.

But when she blinked, she saw Andrew Hayes’s face, flushed with uncontrollable rage. His fists flew. Blood spattered. Antonio’s head snapped back and he fell.

Deputy Hayes might be immature, but he was big and muscular and violent. And she was a threat to him.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Fear seized her until she shook, but a rising anger gradually enabled her to move again. What she should do was call 911, wait for a Clear Creek PD officer to arrive and then let him talk to Detective Delancy.

What she did was take the piece of paper between her thumb and forefinger and carefully peel it off the door along with the packing tape that had been used to hold it in place. She then returned to her car. The sheriff’s department wasn’t ten minutes away. Before she put the car in gear she called Greg, told him she would be about half an hour late and asked if he could open.

“I might be five minutes late, but no more,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, but I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

She parked in a visitor spot in front of the sheriff’s department that, along with county offices like the assessor’s, was attached to the county courthouse. After carefully picking up the piece of paper with the same two fingers in the same place, she stalked inside.

Going straight to the counter, she glared at the officer behind it. “I want to see Detective Delancy. Now.”

He looked twitchy, so her glare must have been effective. “Uh... I don’t know if he’s in or free to speak with you right now, but I’ll find out. Your name?”

She told him.

“Thank you, ma’am. If he isn’t in yet, I’m sure another detective is—”

“I want him.” She must have looked as mad as she felt, because he hurriedly picked up his phone and held a low-voiced conversation coupled with darted glances at her and the piece of paper she was holding in front of her as if it was a soiled diaper.

“You can go on back,” he told her, indicating a door at the end of the counter.

Just as she reached it, she heard a lock disengage.

She wasn’t impressed by the detective bullpen, if that’s what this was, she thought as she stepped through the door.

There was something like ten desks, each with a computer. A bank of file cabinets suggested not all records were computerized. Besides Delancy, the only other two people present were a middle-aged man and a younger one half a head taller. Both turned to look at her when she entered, but her eyes never left Detective Delancy’s as he rose from behind one of the desks.

“Ms. Granath.”

Gee, he’d gotten it right.

“This—” she thrust the paper at him “—was waiting for me when I arrived at work this morning.”

He grabbed her wrist and turned it so he could read the threat. “It would have been better if you hadn’t touched it.”

“I was very careful to touch it only on the one corner. But, really, what idiot doesn’t know how not to leave fingerprints? Especially since this was very likely left by a police officer.” Her voice had been rising. She let the paper flutter onto his desktop.

“That’s a serious allegation...”

“Yes, it is. Murder is a serious crime, Detective. It does not seem unreasonable of me to assume Deputy Hayes or one of his friends is responsible for this.”

Out of the corner of her eye she was aware that the other two men had taken a few steps closer. What did they think—she was going to pull out a gun and start blasting?

Delancy gestured. “Please have a seat, Ms. Granath.”

“I don’t have time. I need to get to work. All I have to tell you is that this was taped to the back door of my business when I arrived this morning.”

He frowned. “That’s within the city limits.”

“Yes, it is. But we both know this has to do with Antonio Alvarez’s death and my insistence on being honest about what I saw.”

“There’s nothing that specific here.” His eyebrows rose. “You might even have an unhappy customer.”

“I am not currently involved in collecting on a debt. Otherwise, unhappy customers want faster service. They are annoyed because an installer failed to show or was late. The absolute last thing they want is for me to back off.”

“Now, Ms. Granath, you’re getting pretty riled over something that may be entirely unrelated to the events you witnessed.”

She stared hard at him then shook her head. “Maybe what I should be asking is how close you are to Deputy Hayes.”

He stiffened. “Your implication is offensive.”

“This is offensive. And I’m here to tell you I won’t be backing off. Feel free to spread the word. And, oh, by the way? I’ll be going to the press if this investigation isn’t taken over really soon by another agency that has some semblance of impartiality.”

She spun on her heel and walked out, both exhilarated by the electric crackle of her anger and a little bit afraid because she might as well have waved a red cape.

Come and get me.