Page 14

THIRTEEN

SHERIFF HUDSON

“The press is ready for you,” Marcy says, poking her head in my office just as I set my phone down.

I acknowledge her with an “Okay.”

Sarah’s reaction to Ryan’s suicide attempt doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I figured she’d drop him as a client, given the media leak. She might have even been happy to hear the news. I tightly close my eyes, unable to get the image of Stevens out of my head. His frozen eyes. The belt taut around his neck. His skin a mix of burst blood vessels and bruised discoloration. I inhale deeply, trying to expel it, but it’s still there—right in front of my eyes, whether they’re closed or not, only for me to see. The doctors think Ryan will pull through. They said I got to him just in time. A minute later and he would have been dead. When he does wake up, I’m sure he’s gonna be just as pissed at me for saving his life as I am at him for ruining mine.

I look at the piece of paper on my desk, my statement to the media. I didn’t write out a full one, just about a dozen words, reminders of what to say and what not to say. I don’t want it to come off as too rehearsed. I figure the public and the media will think our office knew about the corruption for a long time if I do. But the shit storm Ryan’s caused has barely begun. It’s gonna hang over my head, raining down accusations, lawsuits, terminations, budget cuts, firings, smear stories in the press—like tennis ball–sized hail trying to crush everyone and everything in this building. That’s my forecast for now and for years to come. But I’m a better sheriff than Ryan ever was, so I’ll get us through this no matter what it takes. With the statement in hand, I stand from my desk and make my way to the front of the station.

Marcy is waiting for me in the lobby with a tight-lipped smile, like she’s saying, Sorry you have to go through this.

Me too, Marcy , I think. I hold my head high and pin back my shoulders, exiting the sheriff’s office. Reporters and cameramen are lined up at the bottom of the concrete steps. A half dozen deputies are positioned off to the sides of the podium, where I’ll be delivering my statement. Beyond the media, there are barricades in place with more officers standing guard in case the public gets out of hand. About forty or so people have gathered, many holding signs. I scan the crowd, quickly reading each sign, trying to garner their overall sentiment.

Adam’s innocent!!

ACAB

Send Stevens to the electric chair!

Kill all cops!

Recall Sheriff Hudson!

I take the steps slow, and before I can even reach the podium, reporters are already shouting questions and the crowd is frenzied, shouting and chanting. Their mouths are moving, but I can’t make out their words. I’m sure whatever they’re saying is just as vile as the signs they’re holding. A couple of my deputies look to me, displaying their solidarity with me and this office. The sun shines bright on us today, even though it shouldn’t. I briefly glance at the sky, reminding myself that this is all so small in the grand scheme of things, and then I return my attention to the crowd. My mind is racing a hundred miles an hour down a busy highway, and I can feel my heart beating in every part of my body. I’ve gotta slow my thoughts down, so I steal a firm, deep breath and focus on myself in this moment. Three things I see: Gretchen Waters from Channel 5 News standing poised a couple feet in front of her colleagues. It’s hard to pick out two more things when there’s so much chaos in front of me. A small dog cradled in the arms of an older woman. A man wearing a baseball cap, pulled down to shield his eyes. A thick blond beard covers what I can see of his face. He looks like he’s trying to blend in, but he stands out, thanks to his posture, which makes him appear like he’s ex-military or former law enforcement. He’s dressed in plain clothes, and he’s taller than nearly everyone around him. I know this man, but I can’t place him, at least not right now.

“Sheriff,” Lieutenant Nagel whispers from my side, pulling me from my frantic thoughts.

I take another deep breath and acknowledge him with a nod before looking out at the crowd.

“Good morning, I’m Sheriff Hudson of Prince William County,” I start. People shush one another and a silence falls over them. “I’d like to start off with some news regarding former sheriff Ryan Stevens...” When I finish telling them what has occurred, several people in the crowd yell out inflammatory comments. They’re beyond cruel, and each one feels like a punch in the gut.

Good.

Let’s finish the job.

Stevens sucks at everything, even suicide.

He deserves to die.

They don’t see Ryan as a human being. They see him as a uniform, just like the rest of us that have sworn to protect and serve. But unlike Ryan, I’ve kept my oath. I swallow hard and continue with the statement, moving on to what they’re all really here for. They want to know what we’re doing to right this ship.

“As many of you are aware, new information regarding the Kelly Summers homicide investigation has come to light as a result of Ryan Stevens’s recent arrest.” The crowd begins to quiet again.

“I want to assure each and every one of you that no one is above the law, including the former sheriff. That is why he was promptly arrested for the DUI crash that took the life of forty-four-year-old Jackie Clarke. My department followed protocol by entering Ryan Stevens’s DNA into CODIS to see if there was a connection between him and a hit-and-run accident that occurred last summer, resulting in the death of Tim Redding. No link was found, but I speak on behalf of the entire Prince William County Sheriff’s Office when I say that we were just as shocked and devastated as all of you were to learn there was a connection between Ryan Stevens and the Kelly Summers case. I know how upset this community is. Believe me, I share your sentiment.” My mouth forms a hard line, and I pause to scan the assembled crowd.

“As sheriff, I swore to protect and serve this community and that is exactly what I will continue to do, as I have done since I took office a mere five months ago. This new information undeniably calls into question the validity and handling of the Summers homicide investigation. Like all of you, I want justice, and I want to be one hundred percent certain the person responsible for this murder pays for their crime... no matter who it is. As of this morning, I have ordered the investigation into Kelly Summers’s murder to be reopened.” Whispered conversations ensue after this announcement.

“It is now an open and active investigation, so I will not be taking any questions. Thank you.” I fold the piece of paper that I never even looked at once and slip it into my pocket.

The media erupts with questions, reporters screaming simultaneously. The crowd is in an uproar too, but their sentiment is now split. Some are cheering. Others are still spewing hateful remarks. At least I got a handful of them on our side. This is already going to be a tricky investigation given how long ago the murder took place, so having the public’s support is vital. I turn from the spectacle before me and begin to climb the steps to the sheriff’s office, taking each one nice and slow so I don’t appear like I’m running away from this.

At the top of the steps, Marcy holds the door open. “Great job, Sheriff.”

“Thanks,” I say, entering the lobby. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

She delivers a small smile as I part ways with her. Rounding the corner, I run smack-dab into my second-in-command here and first-in-command at home, Chief Deputy Pam Olson. She’s petite but tough as hell, which is why she’s not sent reeling backward when we collide. The pad of paper and folders she was carrying fall to the floor, and I quickly bend down to pick them up for her.

“Sorry, Marcus,” she says. “I mean, Sheriff Hudson.”

She calls me Marcus outside of work and Sheriff or just Hudson here, but sometimes she mixes them up, which I find endearing. We’ve been dating for over two years, long before I made sheriff. Even though I’m in charge now, I don’t play favorites—as much as I would like to with Pam because I wouldn’t be where I am without her.

I stand and hand the folders back to Olson. “What’s the rush?”

“I came to find you,” she says, restacking them.

“Is there another closed investigation coming back to bite me in the ass?” I say it teasingly, but I’m serious.

“Negative, but I just met with a woman named Deena Walsh. She came in to file a missing person’s report on her roommate, Stacy Howard. She hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly three days.”

“Okay, so put out an APB on Ms. Howard and assign a deputy to it,” I say, starting to walk away because I’m not sure why she’s bringing this to my attention, considering the shit show we’re dealing with.

“Hudson,” she says firmly. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”

I sigh and turn to face her, noticing the seriousness in her eyes. “This better be good, Olson.”

“Deena said she received a text from Stacy on Monday night around five p.m., saying she wouldn’t be home when Deena got off work, which would have been just after ten p.m., because she was planning to meet up with a guy she’d been seeing.”

“Okay, and...?”

“The guy Stacy said she was going to meet is Bob Miller.”