“Shut the fuck up,” I say as I rise. “Kenny? Secure—” Blood trickles into my mouth. I wipe it away. “Secure Roy. And—” I hear the slap of the front door. “Hey! No one leaves—”
The thunder of running boots cuts me short. Dalton barrels through with, “What the hell is going . . .” He sees me, staggering, blood dripping.
His eyes go wide. Then he pulls himself up short and wheels on the remaining mob. “You heard Casey. None of you fucking moves. Anyone who does will spend the rest of the year on shit duty.”
“We—” one begins.
“You witnessed an officer being assaulted, and you stood and fucking watched it happen. I don’t want to hear a word from any of you. Sit on the floor. Shut your mouths. And pray that when it comes time to pass sentence, I’m not half as pissed off as I am right now. Sam? Get out there and watch them.”
As soon as Sam leaves the cell room, Dalton kicks the door shut with, “Better if I don’t see their fucking faces right now.”
He strides to me.
“I’m fine,” I say. Which is a lie. I’m seeing double, my nose is streaming blood, and my lip is split. But I’m upright, and that’s the important thing. I’d seen the look in Roy’s eyes when he came at me with that knife, and I know I got off easy.
Dalton takes my chin in his hand, and he’s checking my injuries when I catch his eye and shake my head. His lips tighten. He knows what I mean. It’s what stopped him on his way in—made him tend to the mob before me. The job comes first, as long as I’m standing.
“Where’s Will?” he asks Jen.
I answer, “Hatchet mishap with the lumber party. Nothing serious.”
He grunts and tells Jen to get the backup first-aid kit from the clinic. She takes off. Then he strides into the next room, without a word to anyone there, and returns with a wet cloth. He hands it to me, and I press it against my lip as he walks to Roy.
“What the fuck happened here?” Dalton asks.
Roy blinks, as if surprised he’s asking him first.
Before Roy can answer, Brady says, “These rednecks formed themselves a lynch mob, Sheriff. Took advantage of you and the deputy being gone and tried to storm the station. Your detective stopped him. He pulled a knife on her. Knocked her around. But she took him down. Too bad she wasn’t carrying her sidearm.”
“She’s got her fucking sidearm,” Dalton says, his gaze on Roy. “She knew she didn’t need to use it on a useless piece of shit like you.”
“I wanted to try him,” Roy says. “A trial. Not a lynch—”
“You said you were going to string me up,” Brady says. “We call that a lynching where I come from.”
“Can you add anything to contradict what I just heard?” Dalton asks Roy.
“She went off on me. Started beating the shit out of me.”
“After you stabbed and punched her.” Brady glances at Dalton. “The stabbing was unprovoked. She took him down after that. There was a commotion, and he got free and started hitting her. That’s when she went off on him.” He smiles. “It was awesome.”
No, it wasn’t. I lost control. I don’t say that now. I’ve been a cop long enough to know this is a situation I discuss with my superior officer . . . alone.
“Feel free to correct him,” Dalton says to Roy.
“You’re listening to a murdering—?”
“Feel free to correct him.”
Roy glowers.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dalton returns to the main room and comes back with a handcuff strap. He tosses it to Kenny. “Let him chill in the icehouse until I feel like talking to him. Better grab him a parka, too. It’ll be a while.”
17
Dalton deals with the mob. None of them may have thrown a punch, but in Rockton, witnessing a crime and doing nothing about it is a punishable offense. This law of Dalton’s wouldn’t fly down south, but up here, with such a small police force, we can reasonably expect better.
I’ve let Storm in, and I’m consoling her while Dalton chews out the mob. When Jen comes in with the first-aid container, I point to the back porch. She hesitates, but I march her out.
“Here’s—” she begins, holding out the kit.
I thrust the discarded petition at her. “You set this up. You knew Eric and Will were both gone. You chose that moment to hit me with this.”
“Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to you alone because you’re the only person who actually listens to me.”
“You took advantage of that to distract me while the others—”
“What? My petition was for a public inquiry, not a trial. Sure as hell not a lynch mob.”
“Bullshit. You kicked Storm, knowing that was a guaranteed distraction—”
“No.” Guilt flits over her face as looks at the dog. “I’m genuinely sorry about that. If Eric wants to come up with a punishment for animal abuse, I’ll take it. I kicked her, and that was uncalled for. My past experience with dogs isn’t an excuse. I reacted badly.” She eases back and eyes me. “I think you know something about that, considering those scars on your arms and the way you went after Roy.”
“That—”
“In your case, it was justifiable anger. Mine was not.”
She’s being reasonable, and I’m not sure how to handle that. I feel as if I’m being set up, and I’d prefer the old Jen, someone to snap back at me, someone I can rightly vent my rage on.
“You guys need to do something about Roy.” Before I can snarl a response, she lifts her hands. “Yeah, I know, you don’t need me giving you more work right now, but he’s a nutjob.”
“We’ve had a few run-ins with him already. He has issues with authority.”
She snorts a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. What you just saw didn’t come out of nowhere. I can tell you stories . . . and he’s only been here a month.”
“If you can tell stories, you should. As part of the militia.”
“I did not have anything to do with what happened in there,” she says, ignoring my comment. “You aren’t going to find any of those names on my petition. I knew you were alone here, and Roy knew you were alone here. Two totally separate incidents.”
I open the first-aid kit.
“People don’t like what’s happening with this Brady guy,” she says.
“Really?” I scrunch my nose. “Personally, I can’t see it, but that may be because I’m seeing two of everything right now, after getting clocked by a guy who . . . Wait, he’s upset about Brady, isn’t he?”
“I’m just—”
“You’re pointing out the obvious, as usual.” I yank out a bandage and lift my shirt. “You have your petition because you think we’re overreacting. Roy tried to lynch Brady because he thinks we’re underreacting.”
“You need to clean that wound first.” She picks up my discarded wet cloth from the railing.
Dalton peeks out the door.
“She’s fine,” Jen says.
Dalton ignores her and says to me, “I’m still dealing with these idiots, but if you need anything . . .”
I manage a smile for him. “I can stitch myself, remember?”
“Yeah, but don’t. You need me, shout. Otherwise, I can help in five minutes.”
He retreats inside.
I turn to Jen. “I know how you feel. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I’m fucking up, as usual. Now just go.”
“I just think it’s a dangerous situation. Especially after this. Whatever Brady did, does it really deserve this treatment?”
I stare at her. Then I march inside.
Dalton stops lecturing the coconspirators and arches his brows. I wave for him to continue. Then I unlock a drawer and remove the letter that came with Brady. I walk outside and hand it to Jen.
After she’s read it, I give her the details.
When I finish, she’s pale. Then she says, “Maybe Roy has the right idea.”
“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” I throw up my hands. “I try to share information with you, so you understand why we’re keeping him locked up, and you do a total one-eighty. Now we’re wrong for not lynching him.”
“I never said lynching.”
“We are doing our best here,” I say. “We need people to trust us. Like I trusted you with that letter. If I find out that anyone else knows those details? I know where it came from.”
“I don’t like this,” she says as I walk away.
“No one does,” I say, and take Storm inside to help Dalton.