But the front door opened and Mrs. Haines waved him in.
I stayed put in the truck, holding Sophie as the other paramedic carried a stretcher inside.
Then the sheriff’s car pulled up. Two men got out and approached us. One of them greeted Sophie by name. “Are either of you hurt?” he asked.
“Not at all. Just shaken up,” I answered for both of us.
“Don’t go anywhere,” they told me.
“We’ll wait right here.”
They went inside, and the sound of Sophie’s father shouting emerged from the open door.
Sophie took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll have to talk to the sheriff.”
“I know, baby. But there’s no rush.”
“Did you see the seatbelt in the picture I sent you? Do you know what it means?”
My stomach did a swerve. “I think I do.”
The door of Sophie’s house opened again, and the EMTs emerged with their stretcher. The chief was strapped onto it, cursing. When they reached the end of the walkway they turned, and that’s when the chief saw me in the truck with Sophie.
“FUCK!” The man actually tried to roll off the stretcher in my direction, and the two EMTs staggered as the balance of gravity shifted. But they kept him on it.
“Calm down, Chief,” the sheriff said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I already read you your rights. If you don’t stay put I’m going to add resisting arrest.”
“And you’re getting your ass sued,” Chief Haines hissed. But it’s hard to look threatening when you’re bleeding from an ass cheek on a stretcher.
One of the deputy sheriffs went with the ambulance, and the other one came to take our statement.
“What happened?” the man asked, his pad and pencil ready.
“It’s a long story,” Sophie said, sitting up straighter.
“I’ve got the time. Shall we talk inside the house?”
Sophie turned to take my hand. “He goes where I go.”
“That’s fine.”
We went inside together. Sophie’s mom looked shaken, but she didn’t freak out about my presence. She just watched me with wide eyes as I took a seat in her living room for the first time ever.
“I need to get something from my father’s den,” Sophie said. “The reason he freaked out today is because I found some photographs he’s been hiding.”
“All right,” the sheriff agreed. “Let’s see them.”
*
During the next few days, things happened fast for me.
The sheriff’s office called in the Vermont Office of Internal Affairs. Those policemen interviewed Officer Nelligan and then Sophie. We learned that Nelligan had been fired by Chief Haines before the chief had his violent outburst at home.
Sophie’s father was charged with a long list of things, including tampering with evidence and hampering an investigation. He was deemed a flight risk and denied bail.
The criminal case against me was reopened with the help of May’s lawyer friend, though now he had to play catch-up in order to represent me.
Another surprise was that I liked my lawyer immediately. I’d expected a stuffy guy in a blue blazer. But this counselor was not cut from the prepster mold. He had eyebrow piercings and Celtic tats peeking out from his rolled-up shirtsleeves. In addition to the usual diplomas, his office wall was hung with framed photographs of vintage airplanes.
Best of all, he didn’t talk to me like I was a loser.
I met him two days after the chief’s arrest. He opened with: “So, I really want to throat-punch the public defender who represented you in court.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded, his piercings glinting in the light. “I can tell this case had a real stench from the first minute. But he didn’t seem to smell it.”
“I heard he was disbarred.”
My lawyer tapped his pen on the desk. “Maybe they gave you the town clown intentionally. It’s something to consider. I’m hiring an investigator so we can look into it.”
That sounded expensive. “How can I help?”
“I want to ask you to recount the night’s events to the best of your memory.”
“My memory is the main problem.”
“I understand that. You probably had a concussion that nobody diagnosed. Luckily, your girlfriend did an excellent job finding some holes in the official story, and we’re going to do our best to exploit them. So start at the beginning.”
I did.
An hour and a half later I’d drunk two bottles of water and recounted every last thing I could remember about the night of the crash. My lawyer burned through half a legal pad taking notes, and he recorded our conversation.
“I’m going to get started right away on your petition,” he said. “I want to manage your expectations…”
“I know,” I said quickly. “We might get turned down.”
He grinned. “We might. But usually I’m starting from scratch. This time I have Internal Affairs and a prosecutor already looking into the matter. I’ve never had a case start off like this before. It makes me feel optimistic.”