What if I were a resident, someone who barely knew Anders? What if someone threatened to reveal my past for supporting him?
I wouldn’t be cowed into silence, but that’s more stubbornness than courage. I could not let someone hold such a threat over my head, or else they’d never stop holding it, and I’d hate myself for allowing it.
I will not judge these people. I understand that the situation is complicated, and to many, the whistleblower didn’t really do anything wrong.
When I do get a hit, I should be thrilled. Finally, a resident willing to stand up to the bullies and defend a good man. Yeah … Not exactly.
I rap on Ted’s door. Ted is the guy Isabel singled out at the town meeting. The dean who’d been accused by multiple female students of trading academic favors for sex.
You’re facing disciplinary action for drunk and disorderly behavior? I can fix that. You’ve been accused of cheating on an exam? I can fix that.
Ted had been very particular with his victims, selecting those who were already trouble. Those who wouldn’t be believed if they complained. He’s a predator, and I’ve had my eye on him since he arrived in Rockton.
He’s been careful, though. It probably helps that he works in cooking prep, with no power over anyone. Also, the youngest female resident is in her mid-twenties, and Ted liked them on the cusp of legality.
Yep, I’m not a Ted fan. But with this case, I need to take my leads wherever I can get them.
Ted opens his door, takes one look at me, and says, in a booming voice, “I have nothing to say to you, Detective Butler.”
I inwardly wince at his community-theater performance, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stick to his script. “I am legally permitted to search your apartment.”
“On what grounds? I haven’t done anything wrong. I have an alibi for last night, when Deputy Anders’s house was broken into, and the night before, when someone posted that sign.”
His voice echoes along the street. Making sure everyone knows he isn’t a suspect, and he doesn’t want to speak to me.
“I know,” I say, still following the script. “But you did purchase paper last week, and I need to follow up on that.”
“Fine. Come in and see my paper. Twenty sheets. All present and accounted for.”
He lets me in then and shuts the door behind me. “You could have spoken louder.”
“You were speaking loud enough for both of us. If anyone asks, I’ll stick to your story. I came to check your damned paper supply. Now, what have you got for me?”
As he leads me into his kitchenette, I take a better look at him. Is that bruising on his jaw? He hasn’t shaved, which makes it hard to tell. Not shaving because he’s hiding a bruise?
We sit at the table. Then his voice drops low enough that I have to strain to hear it.
“I want immunity,” he says.
I tense. “For what?”
“You’re lucky I don’t sue this town for breach of contract. I came here with the promise that my past would remain sealed. I paid very well for that, and then I stood in the town square while the local bartender called me out.”
“As the bar owner and the brothel owner, Isabel receives the names of anyone who has been accused of a sex-related crime. It’s a watch list. She has no idea what you did. She was needling you, and I have spoken to her about that. It was unacceptable, and I apologize.”
“So she was given my name as a sex offender?”
“No,” I say carefully. “She was given your name as someone who had been accused of a sex-related offense.”
“Nothing was ever proven.”
Because you fled to Rockton before it could be. I don’t say that. I force myself to nod semi-sympathetically. “That’s why it’s a watch list. If you were convicted, you would have been barred from Rockton. You may feel misled, Ted, but I can bring out the forms you signed. They state that anyone requiring knowledge of your past will receive the minimum data needed, protecting your privacy as much as possible.”
He leans back in his chair. “It’s a ten-page form. You didn’t expect me to read it, did you?”
“The point is that Isabel only knows you were accused of something sex-related. You said you want immunity. I’m presuming you had something to do with that sign. Or the break-in?”
“Of course not,” he snaps. “I mean I want immunity from those accusations. Someone out there has a hit list. Will Anders was the first, but he won’t be the last.”
I stiffen. “Who’s saying that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? This is just the first step. Everyone knows it. That’s why I’m talking to you. To shut it down before it gets to me. I spent the last six months living like a goddamn monk. I don’t know what you expect straight guys to do, when there are three of them to every woman, and some of those women aren’t even straight.”
“One, access to sex isn’t covered under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Two, that’s why there’s a brothel.”
“Do I look like a man who needs to pay for it?”
No, you just coerce eighteen-year-old girls into giving it to you free.
He continues, “I finally have a girlfriend. Frieda. She’s not exactly my type.” Being over eighteen and not under your control. “Beggars can’t be choosers, though, right?”
I’m sure she’s thinking the exact same thing.
“The problem,” he says, “is that she’s a bit of a feminazi.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just last week, she was telling me about this friend of hers who lost her job after accusing her boss of harassment. I said she should consider the possibility that her friend lost her job because she was a lousy employee, and she’d been screwing the boss to avoid getting fired. Frieda…” He gestures wildly. “Blew up. Walked out. Stayed away until I apologized.” His face gathers in a scowl. “How humiliating was that? I had to lie and say I was sorry.”
“Uh-huh. So what you’re saying, I think, is that you’re afraid if she hears your backstory, the sex pipeline is going bone dry.”
“Exactly. Obviously, if you catch the person behind this, I don’t have to worry. But if you don’t get him—or get him fast enough—and my story comes out, I want Sheriff Dalton to say it isn’t true. I want him to say that the evidence proved that my accusers banded together in a concerted effort to oust me from my position.”
He looks at me. “Sheriff Dalton has always struck me as the sort of man who understands these things.”
I have no idea what that means, other than that it proves Ted may be the world’s worst judge of character.
“I’m not sure that would be necessary,” I say slowly. “I’m not sure you’d even want it. Having Eric blame your accusers could turn every, uh, ‘feminazi’ in town against you. Which would be a problem.”
He nods. “There seem to be a lot of them here.”
“Right. It would be better if—were you accused—Eric simply said the whistleblower’s information is wrong. Phil would confirm it. They obviously confused you with someone else.”
“That’d work,” he murmurs.
“All right then. We have a deal. If your past is revealed, Eric and Phil will claim it’s incorrect. Now, what do you have for me?”
* * *