"I think that seems pretty obvious, doesn't it?" Miles answered.
"This isn't the time or place for jokes, Miles. I need some answers and I need them now, starting with Sims. I want to know where the paperwork is, why you let him go, and what the hell he meant by this matter of life and death. And then, I want answers as to why you went charging out of here and why Otis is locked up downstairs."
Charlie crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Miles told him what had happened. Charlie's jaw dropped open, and by the end, he was pacing around the office.
"When did all this happen?"
"A couple of years ago. Sims didn't remember exactly."
"But you believed the rest of it?"
Miles nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I believed him. Either he was telling the truth, or he's the best actor I've ever seen." In the wake of the adrenaline rush that was slowly dissipating, Miles felt tired.
"So you let him go." A statement, not a question.
"I had to."
Charlie shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. "That wasn't your call to make. You should have come to me first."
"You had to have been there, Charlie. He wouldn't have said anything at all if I started running around here, trying to cut deals with you and Harvey. I made a judgment call. You might think I was wrong, but in the end I got the answer I needed."
Charlie looked out the window, thinking. He didn't like it. Not at all. And not just the fact that Miles had overstepped his bounds and there was a whole lot of explaining to do.
"You got an answer all right," he said finally.
Miles looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It just doesn't sound right, that's all. He knows he's going back to jail unless he can cut a deal, and he suddenly has information about Missy?" He turned to face Miles. "Where was he the last couple of years? There's been a reward, and you know how Sims earns his money. Why hasn't he come forward before now?"
He hadn't thought of that. "I don't know. Maybe he was afraid."
Charlie's eyes darted toward the ground. Or maybe he's lying now.
Miles seemed to read Charlie's mind.
"Look, we'll go talk to Earl Getlin. If he corroborates the story, we could cut a deal so he testifies."
Charlie said nothing. Christ, this was a mess.
"He ran down my wife, Charlie."
"Sims says that Otis said he ran down your wife. There's a big difference between the two, Miles."
"You know my history with Otis."
Charlie turned, holding up his hands. "Of course I do. I know every part of it. And that's why Otis's alibi was among the first we checked out, or don't you remember that? There were witnesses that put him at his house the night of the accident."
"They were his brothers...."
Charlie shook his head in frustration. "Even though you weren't in on the investigation, you know how hard we looked for an answer. We aren't a bunch of buffoons running around here, and neither are the men at the highway patrol. We all know how to investigate a crime, and we did it right, because we wanted the answer as badly as you did. We talked to the right people, we sent the right information into the state labs. But nothing tied Otis to this thing--nothing."
"You don't know that."
"I'm a lot more sure of it than I am of what you're telling me," he answered. He drew a deep breath. "I know this thing has eaten you up since it happened, and you know what? It's eaten me up, too. And if it had happened to me, I would have acted the same way you are. I would have gone crazy had someone run down Brenda and gotten away with it. I probably would have looked for answers on my own, too. But you know what?"
He stopped, making sure that Miles was listening to him.
"I wouldn't have believed the first story that came my way that promised an answer, especially if it was from a guy like Sims Addison. Think about who you're talking about here. Sims Addison. That guy would turn on his own mother if he could get money for it. When his own freedom is at stake, how far do you think he'd be willing to go?"
"This isn't about Sims--"
"Of course it is. He didn't want to go back to prison, and he was willing to say anything to ensure that. Doesn't that make more sense than what you're telling me?"
"He wouldn't lie to me about this."
Charlie met Miles's gaze. "And why not? Because it's too personal? Because it means too much? Because it's too important? Did you ever stop to think that he knew what it would take to get you to let him out of here? He's not stupid, despite his boozing habit. He'd say anything to get himself out of trouble, and from the looks of it, that's exactly what happened."
"You weren't there when he told me. You didn't see his face."
"No? To tell you the truth, I don't think I had to be there. I can imagine exactly how it went. But let's just say you're right, okay? Say Sims was telling you the truth--and let's totally disregard the fact that you were wrong in letting him go without talking to me or to Harvey, okay? Then what? You said that he overheard people talking. That he wasn't even a witness."
"He doesn't have to be."
"Oh, come on, Miles. You know the rules. In court, that's nothing more than hearsay. You don't have a case."
"Earl Getlin can testify."
"Earl Getlin? Who's gonna believe him? One look at his tattoos and his rap sheet and there goes half the jury. Throw in the deal I'm sure he'll want, and there goes the other half." He paused. "But you're forgetting something important, Miles."
"What's that?"
"What if Earl doesn't back it up?"
"He will."
"But what if he doesn't?"
"Then we'll have to get Otis to confess."
"And you think he'll do that?"
"He'll confess."
"You mean if you lean on him hard enough . . ."
Miles stood up, not wanting to listen anymore. "Look, Charlie--Otis killed Missy, it's as simple as that. You might not want to believe it, but maybe you guys did overlook something back then, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let it go now." He reached for the door. "I've got a prisoner to interrogate--"
With a swing, Charlie caught the door, closing it.
"I don't think so, Miles. Right now, I think it would be best if you stay out of this for a little while."
"Stay out of it?"
"Yeah. Stay. Out. Of. It. That's an order. I'll take it from here."
"We're talking about Missy, Charlie."
"No. We're talking about a deputy who overstepped his bounds and shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place."
They stood eye to eye for a long moment before Charlie finally shook his head. "Look, Miles, I understand what you're going through, but you're out of it now. I'll talk to Otis, I'll find Sims and talk to him, too. And I'll make a trip up to see Earl. And as for you, I think you should probably head on home. Take the rest of the day off."
"I just started my shift--"
"And now you're finished." Charlie reached for the doorknob. "Now go on, go home. Let me handle this, okay?"
He still didn't like it.
Twenty minutes later, sitting in his office, Charlie wasn't convinced.
He'd been a sheriff for almost thirty years, and he'd learned to trust his instincts. And his instincts now were flashing like strobe lights, cautioning him to be careful.
Right now, he wasn't even sure quite where to start. Otis Timson, probably, since he was downstairs, but he really wanted to talk to Sims first. Miles said he was certain that Sims was telling the truth, but for Charlie, that wasn't quite enough.
Not now. Not in these circumstances.
Not when it was about Missy.
Charlie had witnessed firsthand the struggle that Miles went through after Missy died. God, they'd been in love. Like two young kids, they couldn't keep their eyes and hands off each other. Hugging and kissing, holding hands, flirty looks--it was like no one ever bothered to tell them that marriage was supposed
to be hard. It hadn't even changed when Jonah came along, for God's sake. Brenda used to joke that Miles and Missy would probably be making out in a nursing home, fifty years from now.
And when she died? If it wasn't for Jonah, Miles probably would have joined her. As it was, he practically killed himself anyway. Drinking too much, smoking, losing sleep, losing weight. For a long time, all he could think about was the crime.
The crime. Not an accident. Not in Miles's mind. Always the crime.
Charlie tapped a pencil on the desk.
Here we go again.
He knew all about Miles's investigation, and despite his better judgment, he'd looked the other way. Harvey Wellman had cursed up and down when he'd learned about it, but so what? They both knew Miles wouldn't have stopped his search, no matter what Charlie had said; if it had come right down to it, Miles would have turned in his badge and kept investigating on his own.
He had, though, been able to keep him away from Otis Timson. Thank God for that. There was something between those two, something more than the normal tension between good guys and bad guys. All those stunts the Timsons had pulled-- Charlie didn't need proof to know who'd done it--were a big part of it. But combine it with Miles's tendency to arrest the Timsons first and figure the rest out later, and it became a combustible mix.
Could Otis have run down Missy Ryan?
Charlie pondered that. Possible ... but though Otis had something of a chip on his shoulder and got into a few fights, he had never crossed the line. So far. At least that they could prove. Besides, they'd quietly checked him out. Miles had insisted on it, but Charlie was already a step ahead of him. Was it possible they'd missed something?
He grabbed a pad and, as was his habit, started jotting down his thoughts, trying to keep them straight.
Sims Addison. Was he lying?
He'd given good information in the past. In fact, it had always been good. But this was different. He wasn't doing this for money now, and the stakes were a lot higher. He was doing it to save himself. Did that make him more likely to tell the truth? Or less?
Charlie had to have a talk with him. Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the latest.
Back to the pad. He jotted the next name.
Earl Getlin. What was he going to say?
If he didn't corroborate, end of subject. Let Otis out of jail and spend the next year convincing Miles that Otis was innocent-- at least of this particular crime. But if he did corroborate, then what? With his record, he wasn't exactly the most believable witness in the world. And he'd no doubt want something in return, which never played well to the jury.
Either way, Charlie had to talk to him right away.
Charlie moved Earl to the top of the list and jotted another name.
Otis Timson. Guilty or not?
If he'd killed Missy, Sims's story made sense, but then what? Hold him while they investigated openly this time, looking for additional evidence? Let him go and do the same thing? No matter what, Harvey wouldn't look too kindly on a case that relied solely on Sims Addison and Earl Getlin. But after two years, what could they hope to find?
He had to look into it, no doubt about it. As much as he didn't think they'd find anything, he'd have to start the investigation again. For Miles. For himself.
Charlie shook his head.
Okay, assuming Sims was telling the truth and Earl backed him up--a big assumption, but possible--why would Otis have said it? The obvious answer was that he'd said it because he'd done it. If so, it was back to the problems of building a case again. But...
It took a moment for the thought to coalesce into the form of a question.
But what if Sims was telling the truth? And what if Otis was lying that night?
Is that possible?
Charlie closed his eyes, thinking.
If so, why?
For his reputation? Look what I did and got away with. . . .
To scare Earl into getting the money? This will happen to you, unless . . .
Or had he meant to say that he'd simply arranged it but hadn't done the dirty work himself?
His thoughts circled and zigzagged from one extreme to the next as he considered them.
But how the hell would he have known she'd be out jogging that night?
This whole thing was a mess.
Getting nowhere, he set aside the pencil and rubbed his temples, knowing there was more to consider than the situation with just those three.
What was he going to do about Miles?
His friend. His deputy.
Cutting a deal with Sims and losing the paperwork? Letting him go? Then charging out like this was the Wild West to bring Otis to justice without even bothering to talk to Earl Getlin?
Harvey wasn't a bad guy, but he was going to have problems with this. Serious problems.
They all were.
Charlie sighed. "Hey, Madge?" he called out.
The secretary popped her head into the office. Plump and graying, she'd been around almost as long as he had and knew everything that went on in the department. He wondered if she'd been listening.
"Is Joe Hendricks still the warden up at Hailey?"
"I think it's Tom Vernon, now."
"That's right," Charlie said, nodding, remembering he'd read about it somewhere. "Can you look up the number for me?"
"Sure. Let me get it. It's in the Rolodex on my desk."
She was back in less than a minute, and when Charlie took the slip, she stood for a moment, not liking the look in his eyes. She waited to see if he wanted to talk about it.
He didn't.
It took almost ten minutes to get Tom Vernon on the phone.
"Earl Getlin? Yeah, he's still here," Vernon answered.
Charlie was doodling on the paper in front of him. "I need to talk to him."
"Official business?"
"You could say that."
"No problem from this end. When are you planning to come up?"
"Would it be possible this afternoon?"
"That fast, huh? Must be serious."
"It is."
"All right. I'll send word down that you're coming. What time do you think you'll make it?"
Charlie checked his watch. A little after eleven. If he skipped lunch, he could be there by midafternoon.
"How about two o'clock?"
"You got it. I assume you'll need someplace to talk to him alone."
"If that's possible."
"It's no problem. See you then."
Charlie hung up the phone, and as he was reaching for his jacket, Madge peeked in.
"Are you heading up there?"
"Have to," Charlie said.
"Listen, while you were on the phone, Thurman Jones called. He needs to talk to you."
Otis Timson's attorney.
Charlie shook his head. "If he calls again, tell him that I'll be back around six or so. He can reach me then."
Madge shuffled her feet. "He said it was important. That it couldn't wait."
Lawyers. If they wanted to talk, it was important. If he needed to reach them, it was another story.
"Did he say what it was about?"
"Not to me. But he sounded angry."
Of course he did. His client was behind bars and hadn't been charged yet. No matter--Charlie had the right to hold him for now, anyway. The clock was ticking, though.
"I don't have time to deal with him now. Tell him to call later."
Madge nodded, her lips together. There was more she seemed to want to say.
"Anything else?"
"A few minutes later, Harvey called, too. He needs to talk to you as well. He says it's urgent."
Charlie slipped into his jacket, thinking, Of course he did. On a day like today, what else could I have expected?
"If he calls back, give him the same message."
"But--"
"Just do it, Madge. I don't have time to argue." Then, after a moment: "Have Harris come in here for a second. I've got something for him to take care of.
"
Madge's expression made it clear she didn't like his decision, but she did as she was told. Harris Young, a deputy, came into the office.
"I need you to find Sims Addison for me. And I need you to watch him."
Harris looked a little uncertain of what he was being asked to do. "Do you want me to bring him in?"
"No," Charlie said. "Just find him for me. And baby-sit him. But don't let him know you're there."
"For how long?"
"I'll be back around six, so at least until then."
"That's almost my whole shift."
"I know."
"What do I do if I get a call and have to leave?"
"Don't. Your job today is Sims. I'll call and get another deputy in here today to cover for you."
"All day?"
Charlie winked, knowing that Harris would be bored out of his mind. "You got it, Deputy. Ain't working law enforcement grand?"
Miles didn't go home after leaving Charlie's office. Instead he drove around town, drifting from one turn to the next, making a haphazard circuit through New Bern. He didn't concentrate on his route, but propelled by instinct, he soon found himself approaching the marlstone archway of Cedar Grove Cemetery.
He parked the car and got out, then wove his way among the headstones, toward Missy's grave. Set against the small marble marker there was a batch of flowers, dried and withered, as if they'd been placed there a few weeks back. But there were always flowers here, no matter when he seemed to visit. They were never left with a card, but Miles understood that no card was necessary.
Missy, even in death, was still loved.
Chapter 21
Two weeks after Missy Ryan's funeral, I was lying in bed one morning when I heard a bird begin to chirp outside the window. I'd left it open the night before, hoping for a break in the heat and humidity. My sleep had been fitful since the accident; more than once, I awoke to find my body covered in sweat, the sheets damp and oily, the pillow soaked through. That morning was no different, and as I listened to the bird, the odor of perspiration, sweet ammonia, surrounded me.
I tried to ignore the bird, the fact that it was in the tree, the fact that I was still alive and Missy Ryan wasn't. But I wasn't able to. It was right outside my window, on a branch that overlooked my room, its call shrill and piercing. I know who you are, it seemed to say, and I know what you did.
I wondered when the police would come for me.
It didn't matter if it was an accident or not; the bird knew they would come, and it was telling me that they would be here soon. They would find out what kind of car had been driven that night; they would find out who owned it. There would be a knock at the door and they would come in; they would hear the bird and know I was guilty. It was ludicrous, I know, but in my half-crazed state, I believed it.