"Butler is doing just fine. Without her, you'd have had another body in that fire. I'm also not convinced tonight's crime is connected to the others."
"So your lack of progress is emboldening others--"
"It's been two fucking weeks, Val. Do you know how often we catch killers faster than that? Only when they're standing beside the damned body, sobbing a confession. That's pretty much the only sort of murders we get. This is different. Let us do our job--"
"The council is not pleased."
"Fucking shock of the century. Tell them I don't give a shit. Those exact words, please." Footsteps as he heads for the door.
Val calls after him. "One building destroyed. Another damaged. Our entire stockpile of wood gone. Half our supply of water depleted."
"Yeah, it's called a fire. Which is why I've been telling the council for years that we need to be better prepared for one. If Casey and I hadn't been there in time, we could have lost half the fucking town. I'll pass on the council's thanks."
More footfalls. He is heading to the rear door. I back up past the corner.
"Murder, drugs, fire--this town is a mess, Eric. If you can't do the job--"
"The council will boot my ass out the front gate. Heard it. Not concerned. I'm the best damned sheriff you've had since this place opened. And yeah, that includes my father. Otherwise, the council would have hauled him back to deal with these murders. Good night, Valerie."
He saunters out the back, his head high. The door slaps shut behind him, and he thumps down the porch steps. In a few long strides, he's beside the house. Then he stops, out of sight, and that steel melts from his spine and there's a moment there, of turmoil and fear, so unguarded and raw that my gut twists in shame for watching. I'm backing away when he notices the movement.
"I'm sorry," I say as I walk to him. "I heard voices and--"
"It's fine."
He starts walking and motions for me to keep up. At the road, he pauses to look at the still-smouldering lumber shed, at the smoke creeping over the town, at people with scorched jackets and soot-streaked faces on porches catching their breath, no one talking, everyone realizing how bad it could have been. He falters, that unguarded look returning for a moment before he blinks it back. Down the road, someone sees him and steps off a porch to wait. Someone else follows.
"Fuck," he says.
"I'm sure they just have questions, but you don't need to deal with that right now."
He exhales again, that slow stream of exhaustion. "Nah, I should ..." He trails off, as if he can't even summon the energy to finish his sentence.
"We need to check the forest," I say.
"Hmm?" He looks over, eyes unfocused.
"We should check the forest, in case sparks spread to fire there."
"It couldn't have ..." He catches my look and nods. "Right. Yeah. Should make sure."
"You head on in. I'll run over and tell them you'll make a statement later."
It's dawn now, which would make a lovely sunrise as we head east ... if we weren't surrounded by towering evergreens. As it is, it's a peaceful walk, the early morning light seeping through. I think we're wandering aimlessly. Of course, we aren't. Dalton leads me to a fallen tree, one so big I need to jump up to perch on top of it.
I unhook the backpack I brought and take out two beers, wrapped in a towel.
"I snagged these from the station," I say. "We haven't slept, so technically it's not morning yet."
He takes one with a grunted thanks. We drink, staring out at the forest.
"Do you know Val was attacked out here?" I say. "Shortly after she arrived?"
"What?"
"She got separated--"
"Yeah, I remember. I wasn't part of the patrol party, but I helped search. She wandered off, got lost, and showed up in the morning."
"After being attacked by two men. Hostiles, I suspect, given her description. She said they threatened to teach her a lesson about trespassing and then fell asleep, letting her escape."
He looks over, frowning.
"They didn't fall asleep after threatening her. Not right away, at least."
He exhales. "Fuck."
"Yes, but she denies it, and we need to let her keep that delusion for now. But it explains why she hates this place and why she stays in the house. And partially why she doesn't trust you. You're connected to this forest. To the place that hurt her. To the men who hurt her. It isn't logical, but I get the impression that Val likes her compartments. Everyone fits neatly into one."
"Yeah." He stretches his legs. "I've always known she doesn't like me much. It's worse than that, isn't it?"
"Val's a bitch," I say. "What happened to her is horrible, but it doesn't make her less of a bitch."
"Nah. She doesn't have the spine to be a bitch. I wish she did, because that would be something I could fight. This?" He shakes his head. "Makes me feel like a dog barking at a dishcloth snapping in the wind. It might annoy the hell out of me, but barking at it doesn't do any good."
A few minutes of silence, and then I say, "It's bullshit, threatening to kick you out. They never would. They need you."
He shrugs.
"Seriously," I say. "No one would want to lose you."
"Locals, you mean. They're the ones who have to live here, and as much shit as I give them, they know this place needs hardcore law and order. But the council doesn't have to live in Rockton."
"While I still don't think they'd ever kick you out, it might help to have a plan B. To imagine what you'd do in the worst scenario. So you feel you have some control."
"I already know what I'd do."
"And it doesn't help?"
"Nope. Because I don't want to do it. It's just the only option. For me."
That's all he says. I'm curious, of course, but I know to keep my distance, too. We sit there, drinking, until he points his bottle at the forest and says, "I'd go there."
"Live in the forest?"
He tenses, as if he's assessing my tone. After a moment, he relaxes. "Yeah. There's nothing for me down south."
"If it's because there'd be a learning curve ..." I say slowly.
"No, it's because I'm not interested."
Maybe that's partly true, but it's partly bullshit, too. Dalton has too much ego to deal with the constant sense that he doesn't fit in. And I'm not sure there is a satisfying life for him down there. He's thirty years old and runs an entire town. People snap to attention when he enters a room. They respect him and they fear him and they admire him. Down south? He'd be like a dictator in exile.
"You could start a new Rockton," I say.
He snorts a laugh.
"I'm serious," I say.
He looks over, lips still twitching, that smile extending to his eyes, warming them to a soft blue-grey. "You gonna help me start a new town, Casey?"
"I don't know. It would take time, and someone's only letting me stay six months."
He laughs at that, and it's a good sound to hear, a damned good sound, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are sparkling and I feel ... I feel things I don't want to feel, because I know there's no room in Eric Dalton's life for that, but I don't care. I'm not going to do anything about it, so there's no harm in feeling it.
"Build a new town, huh?" he says. "Sure. No big deal."
"Are you saying you couldn't handle it?"
He catches the challenge in my voice, and that smile ignites into a grin.
"You'd need to start small," I say. "Just take whoever would join you from Rockton and not worry about admitting new people for a few years. It would take at least that long to grow from a camp to a town. That's how you'd have to begin--as a camp. Preferably in spring, so you have until fall to get the first houses up."
"You're fucking serious."
"I am absolutely fucking serious, Sheriff Dalton. At least fifty people from town would follow you. That includes Will, Beth, and pretty much everyone in essential services. Hell, even I'd go, if someone decided I could stay more than
six months."
He chuckles and shakes his head again.
I twist and lean toward him. "I'm not saying you should do it, Eric. I'm saying you should plan to do it. Work through all the details. Talk to Anders and Beth. They both know the shit the council puts you through. Make a plan. A solid plan. And the council will lose their hold on you because you have a backup, ready to launch."
He finishes his beer and sets it aside. Then he sits there, rubbing his chin, and I'm certain he's thinking of how to tell me I'm crazy without kiboshing my enthusiasm.
"Couldn't be too close to here," he says. "Fifty, a hundred kilometres away would work. There's plenty of land ..."
Seven
Dalton never says he's going to follow my advice and devise a solid backup plan. But we do spend the next hour hashing it over, so I know he'll give it serious consideration.
He also never says anything about extending my six-month stay in Rockton. Was I hinting there? Yes, I was. I hate feeling that if I don't find a killer, I'll get my ass booted out before spring thaw. It also makes me feel like Dalton still doesn't consider me more than a casual acquaintance, someone whose company he enjoys well enough, but if she disappeared tomorrow he wouldn't miss her all that much. No insult intended, Butler. That's just how it is.
I don't dwell on that. There's plenty more to occupy my mind, starting as soon as we get back to town and see Kenny running for my house. He catches sight of us and jogs over, panting. "Casey? We need you at Diana's place. Now."
I take off at a run. Dalton is at my side. He twists to talk to Kenny, only to see the man running five paces behind. An angry wave lights a fire under Kenny, and he catches up.
"Is she okay?" I ask Kenny. "Did something happen?"
"She woke up. Now she's freaking out. I sent Paul for the doc, and then I had to call two guys in to restrain her, and she clocked one of them and ..."
I don't hear the rest. I kick it into high gear, leaving Kenny and Dalton behind.
As I climb the stairs to Diana's apartment, Jen blocks my path with "You'd better shut her up. Or I will." I refrain from hitting her. I may push her aside. She may stagger down a couple of steps. But any injuries sustained are due to Dalton's "Get out of my fucking way," which startles her enough that she tumbles down the rest of the stairs. He steps over her. I'm already running into Diana's apartment, where she's struggling against two of the militia, shouting, "I want Casey! Where's Casey?"
As soon as she sees me, she stops. Then she launches from the bed and into my arms, sobbing, "What's going on? I woke up and my shirt's soaked in blood and all I can smell is smoke, and they drugged me, Casey. Someone drugged me, and when I woke up and tried to ask for you, they threw me on the bed--"
"We restrained her, Casey," one of the guys says. "I swear, that's all we did, and only because she was going to hurt herself."
I'm not sure Diana even hears him. She's sobbing against my shirt. Dalton tells the guys to leave, and they do. He takes a seat across the bedroom.
"Wh-what's going on?" Diana says after a minute.
I guide her back to bed. As I do, she sees Dalton.
"Why's he here?" she says.
"There's been a crime," I say. "The fire you can smell. I have to talk to you about what you remember, and he needs to be here."
"Why?"
"Because I'm your friend, and if I speak to you in an official capacity, there should be a witness."
"Then ask Will."
"Eric is my boss. Just talk to me. What do you remember?"
"Nothing. Not a fire. Not this blood. Not why someone pumped me full of--"
"What do you remember? The last thing?"
It takes her a couple of minutes. I wait as patiently as I can.
"I ... I went out ... No, that was ..."
"Let's go back further. Dinner."
She smiles in relief. "That's easy. I had dinner with you, here."
"And I left at eight ..." I prod.
Just after I left, Diana decided to go out and had an encounter with Jen.
"I swear, she lies in wait just to give me crap," Diana says. "Once, she actually complained that I brush my teeth too loudly. I really need to get another place or I'll be taking a stall in the stables just to get away from her."
She smiles, and all I can do is pray she's innocent ... or she'll be sleeping someplace worse than a stable stall.
After escaping Jen, Diana hung out with a few others, playing cards. At eleven, she headed home.
"And ... that's it. That's all I remember." She tugs at her earring as she thinks. "No, wait--I heard something. I was walking along the road near the forest, and ... That is the last thing I remember. Someone must have come up behind me and knocked me out."
Beth appears at the door. I go out with her where Diana can't overhear.
"Diana thinks she was knocked unconscious," I say. "Were there any signs of that?"
She frames her response with care. "Knocking someone out isn't as easy as it seems in movies. There would be evidence on the skull."
"And there's not. Also, Kenny saw her walking into the shed."
She nods. "Which lends credence to another explanation for why she can't remember anything. One ... better supported by my examination."
"Which is?"
She pops her head back into the room and says, "I'm going to speak to Casey outside."
"No," Diana says. "If this is about me, say it here."
We walk back into the bedroom and Beth says, "Diana was heavily under the influence of rydex. The dosage--"
"What?" Diana swings her legs out of bed. "No, I've never--"
Dalton clears his throat. She looks over at him, and hate blazes from her eyes. "I explained that." She turns to me. "I was at a party the night before last. I got drunk, and someone gave me dex. I was walking home afterward and your sheriff waylaid me."
"I heard a woman stumbling around at three in the morning," Dalton says. "I wouldn't be a very good sheriff if I ignored that. I helped her home and--"
"You dragged me home," she squawks. "Chewing me out the whole way. Telling me how I was making things tough for Casey--poor Casey--and you weren't going to tell her about the dex because she 'doesn't need that shit,' and this was my second strike, if you ever caught me using again, you'd ..." She trails off and swallows.
"I said I'd give her a week on shit duty," Dalton says.
"Was there rydex at the get-together last night?" I ask.
"No, there--" She catches my look and glances toward Dalton.
"Getting your friends in trouble is the least of your concerns right now, Diana," he says. "Mick's dead."
"What?"
"Mick is dead. You were found ten feet from his body. In a burning woodshed. With a bloody knife in your hand and an empty gas can beside you."
Diana reels back onto the bed, saying, "No, that can't be--Casey, tell him--That's not--" As she spins on me, the horror in her eyes hardens to anger. "Someone's framing me. The killer knocked me out--"
"There's no evidence of that," Dalton says.
"According to who? A doctor who was sued for malpractice and is arrogant enough to admit it?"
"Diana!" I say.
"If you got knocked out, there'd be a lump," Dalton says. "Show me that, and we'll have a very different conversation."
She rubs her hands over her head, scowling at him, and saying, "It must be here. And if it's not, then it was knockout gas or ... or I was roofied at the party."
"Roofied?" Dalton says.
"Rohypnol," Beth says. "It's a sedative that can induce anterograde amnesia. But I don't have it in the pharmacy, and there was no evidence of anything except rydex in her bloodstream."
"Then it's the drugs," Diana says.
"Rydex doesn't render you unconscious," Beth says. "But it can cause blackouts and memory loss. Which doesn't mean that you aren't responsible for your actions. Only that you honestly don't remember--"
Diana flies at her, catching us all off guar
d. I recover first, just as she grabs Beth, and I pull her off.
"Did you hear her?" Diana says. "Telling me I might have killed Mick and forgotten it. She's a cold, sanctimonious bitch. I didn't kill anyone. You know that, Casey." Before I can open my mouth, she spins to me. "I did not kill--"
"I never said you did, Di. You need to let me investigate, and for that, I must be as dispassionate as possible."
"God, no wonder you two get along so well. You're like robots. I'm accused of murder and--"
"Stop." That's Dalton. He gets to his feet.
"You stay out--"
"No, you shut your damn mouth, Diana. Because if you're accusing Casey of not caring about you, I'll ask you to remember why she's here in Rockton."
"You asshole--"
"Diana," I say. "Don't."
"Don't what? I'm accused of murder, Casey. Murder. I'm not going to be framed by some fucked-up psycho sheriff. Ouch!" She jumps and turns to see Beth there, holding a syringe. A drop of blood soaks through the sleeve of Diana's shirt.
"You bitch!" she says.
"You're overwrought," Beth says. "A result of the lingering rydex, I suspect. You should get some sleep."
Diana makes a move to go after her, but it must have been a hefty dose, and she's already weaving. I help her back into bed, and she seems to have forgotten what she was doing and lets me. As I pull up the sheets, she clasps my hand and slurs, "I didn't kill Mick, Casey. I swear I didn't." Then she drops off to sleep.
We get a full update from Beth back at the clinic. She hasn't had time to autopsy Mick, but the manner of his death seems clear. Six stab wounds to the back, most of them shallow but a few shoved in with enough force to do the fatal damage. She'll run a tox screen. His eyes and breath, though, suggest he hadn't been drinking or using last night. She suspects he was attacked from behind, possibly as he was sleeping. By the time he woke up, his attacker would have done enough damage that he'd have been unable to escape or adequately defend himself.
Stabs to the back. Attacked while asleep. Any theory that Diana acted in self-defence is disintegrating fast.
"Sleeping in the shed would suggest sex in the shed," I say. "Were there signs of that?"
She nods. "Signs of protected sex--seminal fluid but not vaginal. I'll be examining Diana to see if there are signs with her. Presuming Mick used a condom, it'll be tougher to tell. I'll mainly be looking for any suggestion of non-consensual sex, as Eric asked."
I glance at Dalton, but he's busy across the room on his radio. Rape is one possible reason why Diana might have attacked Mick in his sleep. Dalton is giving her the benefit of the doubt. Which is more than she's ever given him.