Page 46

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Matt

MATT JUMPED THE CURB parking his cruiser and didn’t much care. His hand slipped off the gearshift three times before he managed to get it in park, and he scraped his knuckles on the steering column when he went to retrieve the keys.

Every inch of his body trembled and wouldn’t stop.

He’d never been shot at before.

Hollows Bend just wasn’t that kind of place.

He had friends in other jurisdictions where gunfire was an everyday part of the job, particularly in some of the more rural portions of New Hampshire where the opioid crisis was running rampant, but not here, not in the Bend.

The Bend was different.

Matt gripped both sides of the wheel and drew in a deep breath through his nose, held it for a moment, then let it out from his mouth.

Get it together , he told himself. You need to get it together.

A palm smacked against his window, and Matt jerked.

Stu Peterson.

He had a 9mm on his left hip in an open-carry holster and was holding Jimmy Newcomb by the back of the neck. The man’s hands were bound behind his back with what looked like a length of clothesline.

When Matt got out of the car, Peterson thrust Newcomb toward him. The man was like a rag doll in Stu Peterson’s meaty grasp. “Caught him trying to get into my house through the storm cellar. Clipped the lock with a pair of bolt cutters.”

Newcomb’s eyes were bloodshot, his clothing stained with sweat. He twisted his face toward Matt. “I needed a gun, and I knew this asshole wouldn’t give me one.”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” Peterson said. “You voted for Prop 84. Why the hell would I give you anything?”

Prop 84 was a hot topic during the last election. If passed, assault rifles would have been banned throughout Monroe County. Jimmy Newcomb and his wife had spent Voting Tuesday in front of the courthouse holding up homemade signs in support of the bill, while Peterson made it a point to circle the block and yell at him. Neither man had escalated—Matt had been thankful for that—but it put an end to the weekly poker game down at the VFW.

“Why do you need a gun?” Matt asked Newcomb.

The man stared at him as if that were the craziest question he’d ever heard. “Why do I need a gun? For the bears. Why else?”

“What bears?”

“I seen at least five grizzlies come down off Mount Washington today alone, and if I saw five, you know there’s more. Fuckers tore apart my trash cans and nearly killed my dog.”

“We don’t have grizzlies around here,” Matt told him. “There’s a few black bears out there, but that’s it. They don’t come down this time of year.”

Newcomb’s face grew red. “You think I don’t know the difference? These bears were brown, not black. Way bigger. And the claws on them were at least four or five inches long. That ain’t no black bear. They were grizzlies!”

Still gripping the man by his neck, Peterson gave Newcomb a solid shake. “Don’t matter if you saw the Viet Cong marching down off that hill, you don’t get a free pass for trying to break into my house.” He glared at Matt. “I want to press charges. Write him up for whatever you can.” He reached into his pocket and took out a USB drive, pressed it into Matt’s hand. “Got it all on video, right here. He’s such a fan of the law, let him experience it firsthand.”

Matt twisted the USB drive between his fingers, then dropped it in his pocket. He took out his pocket knife and sliced the rope from Newcomb’s wrists.

“What the hell you doing?” Peterson barked.

“I’ll write it up,” Matt told him. “Ellie will decide if she wants to press charges.”

“But it’s on video!”

“I’m sure she’ll take that into consideration. In the meantime, I want both of you to go home and stay there.”

“What about the bears?” Newcomb said, rubbing his wrists.

“Just stay inside. You see them again, call me.”

“Think I didn’t do that first?” Newcomb told him as he started down the street back toward his house. “Maybe you should tell Sally to pick up the phone.”

When he was gone, Peterson growled. “That was stupid, Matt. We don’t need folks like him around here, and you’re throwing away your chance to rid us of him.”

“Go home, Stu. If Ellie wants to pursue charges, we know where to find him.”

“Where is Ellie?”

Matt couldn’t tell him the truth, no way. “She’s cleaning up a mess out on 112.”

“You know I got a police radio back at the house, right? I haven’t heard her on there all morning.”

“Radios are down.”

Peterson’s eyes narrowed, and he poked Matt in the chest. “Seems lots of things aren’t working the way they should today. Got a meeting at my house in an hour to talk about that very thing with a few of the guys from the VFW. Maybe you should stop by, explain yourself.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wanna tell me about that naked girl who strutted into the diner? This shitstorm started with her.”

Matt knew better than to take the bait. He stepped past Peterson and started for the entrance to the sheriff’s station. “Go home, Stu.”

A wall of noise hit him the moment he stepped inside.

“Things get hairy, you’ll want me as a friend, Matt,” Peterson said as the door swung shut between them.