“It’s okay, son.” Fred put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “He’s got to cut the bandage off.”
Joel should’ve thought before he pulled the knife, but if he needed any proof that Scott had been scared for his life, it was standing right before him. “Do you want your pa to do it?”
“You can.”
Separating one layer and slicing through the bandage was the work of a few seconds, but from the way Scott expelled his breath, you’d think that it was a year-long ordeal. Finally able to act, Scott unwrapped the bandage, which showed red after the first few layers. The final round found it stuck to his neck. He grimaced as he tugged it free.
It wasn’t deep. Couldn’t be if the boy was still alive, but it sure enough had the length and width consistent with a sharp blade being held against vulnerable skin for a lengthy conversation. Not a swipe, not a jab, but a slow sawing meant to subdue the victim with fear.
Joel looked Scott deep in the eyes. Getting a first response could only happen once. If Scott was going to falter, it’d be this time, so he had to see it.
“Is there any chance that you did this to yourself?”
Scott drew back like he’d been socked in the jaw. “What? Cut my own throat? Why would I do that?” Such confusion would be hard to fake. Joel studied Fred and Calbert to see if their reaction matched. Neither of them had even considered staging the injury.
Calbert stood and pulled a wrapped bundle from his vest pocket. “I went back to where it happened, and sure enough, I found this knife in the ravine.”
Joel took it, unwrapped the handkerchief, and flipped the knife blade in his palm. It wasn’t a man’s knife—not really. Too small. You wouldn’t skin an animal or saw through a rope with it. He tested the blade with the rough part of his thumb. Razor sharp. Surgical, even.
“If there’s nothing else you need . . .” Calbert looked to the door.
“Sit,” Joel said, and then because of Mr. Huckabee’s age and partially because he happened to be Betsy’s pa, added, “Please, sir.”
Joel turned to Scott. “Are you sure the man you shot fell into the ravine?”
“Yes, sir. I saw him lying at the bottom before I lit out for home.”
“But I didn’t find no one,” Calbert said. “Only the knife.”
Joel stood and paced to the back door, trying to figure a chain of events that made sense. A man attacked Sheriff Taney, left him for dead, and then jumped Scott when he came along? Had Bullard, disguised as a Bald Knobber, tried to frame his enemies with the death of the sheriff, but Scott walked into his trap? Either way, the culprit had escaped, leaving a frightened boy and a wounded lawman behind.
He studied the three men sitting before him, each sharing the same concern but expressing it by different measure. Poor Fred looked like he’d been milked dry of his last drop of blood. Calbert sat stonily, and Scott trembled in waves.
“I’m not a judge, you understand.” Joel had heard Sheriff Green back in Blackstone County give this speech several times, but he hadn’t counted on doing it this soon. “I have to present the evidence to the district attorney, and he’ll make the call on whether or not you are tried. But the good news is, there’s no evidence of murder.”
At the word, Scott flinched. “It was self-defense. He had a knife to my throat.” He gestured to the bloody gap, his eyes wild with fear.
Joel continued. “But there hasn’t been a body found. No body, no murder. But I’m obliged to go look again.”
“What if you find a body this time?” Fred leaned forward.
“With Scott’s injury, it’d be hard to prove that his life wasn’t in danger.”
“So what’s that mean?” Calbert asked.
“It means that Scott needs to write out a statement telling exactly what happened. Any other evidence that you possess”—he stared pointedly at Calbert—“needs to be turned in, including the gun.”
“I . . . I dropped the gun,” Scott said. “I left it there.”
“I found it when I went back,” Calbert said and then, at Scott and Joel’s shocked expressions, “At least I didn’t give it back to the boy.”
“Well, it needs to be in my possession.” At least Joel knew the culprit hadn’t turned around and used the .22 that Scott dropped to leave a .38 wound in the sheriff. “I’ll present all of this to the authorities, and we’ll see what they say.”
Scott squirmed on the bench. “Until we hear back from the district attorney . . . ?”
Joel pulled his desk drawer open and produced a bound leather journal. “Considering that you came in of your own volition, I think we can trust you to stay in the area should we need to question you further.”
“You mean I can go home?” Scott’s eyes filled with tears as his mouth twisted. His chin wobbled as he tried to make his words clear. “I’ve been so scared. I thought the worst was when that man laid ahold of me, but ever since then, nothing has been right. No matter what I did that night, it’s like he still was going to make me pay.”