Page 17

SIXTEEN

SHERIFF HUDSON

Pam and I are seated across from one another in a booth at a small bar, mostly frequented by cops—which is good, because we need distance from the public while we work to undo the mess Ryan’s gotten us in. The place is dimly lit and quieter than usual. Aside from the two of us, a couple of older guys on the force are bellied up to the bar, arguing over the evaluations of some company showcased on an episode of Shark Tank . They don’t care what this town thinks of them because they’ll be able to take off those uniforms soon enough, collect their pensions, and live the peaceful lives they’ve worked the last forty-odd years for.

Pam pulls her chin in and clasps her hands around the beer bottle set on the table in front of her. “So, how are you feeling... about Ryan?”

She and I haven’t really talked about it yet because each time she’s asked, I’ve changed the subject. The image of Stevens slumped forward with a belt cinched around his neck flashes before my eyes again. I’ve seen far worse, but I’m usually primed for it. When I’m called to a crime scene, I’ve already gotten a heads-up on what’s happened and what I’ll be encountering, so I can somewhat prepare myself. But with Stevens, I had no idea what I was walking into. The moments that shock you are the ones that live with you forever.

“Marcus?” Pam snaps her fingers a few inches from my face.

I blink several times, and she comes into focus again. She always brings me back.

“I’m just glad he’s going to be okay,” I say, staring into my glass at the brown liquid.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I lift my head and give her the faintest smile, knowing she’s not gonna let me talk my way out of talking this time. Before Pam came into my life, I bottled up everything, pushed it all down, so it would fester and build. I thought it was a good way to cope with the trauma that comes with the job, but it took its toll on me. I’ve been on the force for thirteen years now, witnessing the worst of the worst. I’ve seen all forms of evil, gruesome crime scenes, bodies in every stage of decay. You carry all of that with you even if you don’t want to. The best way to deal with it is to talk about it—or at least that’s what Pam says.

I look to her. “I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”

She holds my gaze for a moment and then nods, accepting my answer because it’s the honest one, and she knows it. Pam takes a swig of her beer and sets it back on the table.

“Okay, how are you feeling about our interview with Bob Miller?”

“I think he’s hiding something and not just about Stacy Howard’s disappearance.” I sip whiskey from a highball glass.

I’ve never been a beer guy. I like the hard stuff because it burns when it goes down. Some things in life are meant to be enjoyed and some aren’t. I always thought alcohol fell into the latter category. Like the truth, just give it to me straight, no matter how much it hurts.

“I got the same feeling,” Pam says. “Like why would he assume we brought him in to talk about the Summers case?”

I rotate the glass, busying my hands. “I have to admit, he did have a good explanation for that since he was a suspect at one point, but he really downplayed why he was ever a suspect to begin with.”

“What do you mean?” She squints.

Pam started working at the station five years ago, so she doesn’t have firsthand knowledge of the Summers case. Prior to that, she lived in Florida, but it does feel like she’s always been here. Maybe that’s just because she fit in so well, right from the start. I haven’t had a chance to catch Pam up on the Summers investigation, and I know she hasn’t had a chance to go through that behemoth of a case file.

“Kelly was married to Bob’s brother, Greg. She went by Jenna back then. The two of them lived in Wisconsin. Greg was murdered, and she was charged with it, but the case against her fell apart when key evidence went missing during the trial. After that, Jenna changed her name to Kelly and relocated down here to Virginia to start a new life.”

Pam’s mouth slightly parts. “That’s quite a motive.”

“It is, and we—well, Stevens—explored it back then, but as Bob mentioned, he had a solid alibi. He was out of state at the time of Kelly’s murder.”

“Unless he hired someone to do it,” she says, lifting her drink and taking a quick swig. “Did the department ever look into his finances?”

I tuck my chin in and shake my head. “No, Stevens had tunnel vision on Adam. Everyone else that could have been a suspect was cleared almost immediately, when really, they shouldn’t have been. Back then, I tried to do some digging on my own, but it was Ryan’s investigation, so I was just met with lots and lots of red tape.”

“Did you think Bob did it?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” I lean forward in my seat. “For the longest time, I actually thought it was Sarah.”

Pam gives me an amused look, waving a hand at me. “Why? Because it’s always the wife?”

“No,” I say with a small but serious grin. “She had motive. The victim was sleeping with her husband after all. But Ryan ruled out opportunity.”

“How?”

“Sarah was out for drinks in DC at the time of the murder with her assistant, Anne.”

“And that was corroborated with a bar receipt, security or traffic cam, or other witnesses like a bartender or a server?”

“No,” I say, staring into my glass. I’m embarrassed at how sloppy our police work was. Everyone thinks because we have protocol, that means we always follow it. Yes, we take an oath, and we wear a uniform—but underneath that uniform, we’re human just like everyone else. We’re flawed. We make mistakes, sometimes accidentally, sometimes intentionally. It’s clear what Ryan did was deliberate. He saw Adam as a slam dunk, and he needed that investigation closed as fast as possible so no one would ever find out about his affair with Kelly. I even question how Adam was able to escape from jail following his arrest. It never made any sense to me, but maybe Ryan set him up, gave him the opportunity to run. It would make Adam look even more guilty, and it did—because innocent people don’t run.

“What about fingerprints on the murder weapon?” she asks.

“It was never found.”

“That’s convenient,” Pam says, tilting her head. “Do you really think Sarah could have set Adam up for the murder of his mistress?”

“She represented him in court. It’d be quite the play. But Kelly was stabbed thirty-seven times, so I find it hard to believe that a woman could do that to another woman.”

“I’ve learned that anyone is capable of anything if they think they’re doing it for the right reasons. Look at Ryan. He withheld and tampered with evidence, failed to recuse himself from the investigation, and didn’t disclose his relationship with the victim. He must have thought he was doing it for the right reasons.” Pam swigs the rest of her beer and sets the empty bottle on the table.

“Like covering for himself?”

“Those would be the right reasons for him.”

“I could kill Ryan right now.”

She reaches her hand across the table and rests it on my balled-up fist, her touch instantly relaxing it. “No, you couldn’t, Marcus. Your reasons are right because they’re moral, not because they’re what’s best for you.”

“I hope that’s true,” I sigh.

“I know it is.”

I bring Pam’s hand to my lips and kiss the top of it. She has more faith in me than I’ve ever had in myself, and I don’t know where she found it.

“The only thing I know,” I say with a determined look on my face, “is that you and I are going to figure this out, and we’re gonna do it right this time.”