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CLAYTON SPEARS WONDERED quietly if the little old woman he’d just put in the back of his cruiser was the oldest person he’d ever had back there. There wasn’t much crime after a person hit seventy—either because they were dead, too dumb to stay out of jail, or too smart not to go legit by then. Sure, he’d had people of a certain vintage in the vehicle. Only a month earlier, he’d been cruising around town on a hellishly rainy day and had spotted an older man getting drowned on his way back from the supermarket. He’d given him a ride, but in the front passenger seat. The back was for the perps. He watched Shauna Bulger in the rearview mirror as he radioed in for updates. She seemed to be panting softly like an exhausted bird. He assumed this was her first ever arrest. Guilt clawed at his insides.

“Sheriff Spears back on the line,” he sighed into the radio. “Dispatch, what’s the lay of the land? Over.”

“It’s really kicking off here tonight, Sheriff!” the radio crackled. “Boss, we got a possible drag race in Dogtown, minor assault in a hotel on Washington Street, couple of reports of prowlers over the north district.”

“I’ll be right in,” Clay said. He tossed the mic back at the receiver. “OK, Mrs. Bulger. I’m gonna need you to get your mind around what’s gonna happen over the next few hours. Seems like we got some dramas in town. The last couple of days have been madness all over Gloucester.”

He started the engine and pulled out, taking the curved road around the marina toward where she had said she’d parked Bill’s car.

“We’re gonna get this box of evidence you’ve been toting around, and then I’m gonna have to drop you and it at the station,” Clay said. He straightened in his seat, making the leather groan unflatteringly. “I would have liked to come in and process you. Get you into a nice comfy holding cell of your own. Maybe see if I could rustle up a cup of tea. But it’s not that kind of night, ma’am. So you’ll be stuck in the bullpen, I’m afraid, with the riffraff.”

Only a cough sounded from the back seat in response. He glanced in the mirror. Shauna Bulger was red faced, still panting.

“Are you feeling all right?” Clay asked.

“Have you got any water up there?” she rasped. Clay started to get a sinking feeling in his belly.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Let me…” He spotted Bill’s car up ahead. “Let me just pull over here.”

By the time Clay had pulled over and slipped out of the driver’s seat, Mrs. Bulger was on her side, curled on up on the faded leather bench seat like she’d been sucker punched. Her rattling coughing filled the car as he tore open the door.

“Oh man,” Clay said and lifted her out of the car like a doll and set her on the roadside. “Oh Jesus! What’s goin’ on?”

“My chest hurts.” She sucked in shallow sips of air.

Clay had the cuffs off her wrists faster than he’d ever released a suspect in his life. The guilt was now thumping in his eardrums like a sonic beat.

He was bending over her tiny body, trying to roll her into the recovery position, when Mrs. Bulger’s arm whipped around, her hand mashing a palm full of dirt into his wide, concerned eyes. Clay grabbed at his face, his yelp of surprise morphing into a yelp of pain as he felt her drive her knee into his crotch.

Clay hit the gravel at the side of the road like a bag of bricks. He gripped her ankle briefly as Shauna Bulger slipped away. He was only just clearing the dirt from his eyes when he was blinded again by the dust her tires threw up as she sped off in Bill’s car.