Widowmaker (Mike Bowditch #7)(61)

“The wardens are assisting our department in the search for Langstrom,” Clegg said patiently.

I counted ten men in all seated at the tables. So there had been eleven in the camp when Adam was here.

One pudgy, pink-cheeked guy raised his hand. “Why are we being interrogated if Langstrom was the one who skipped?”

“These are interviews, not interrogations,” said Detective Clegg. “We’re asking for your help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Information—what do you think?” said Shaylene Hawken. She swayed from side to side, her hands clasped behind her.

“So we don’t have to talk?” asked another man.

“Fuck yeah, we do,” said a third. “You think they won’t violate your ass back to Bucks Harbor if you don’t say nothing?”

Foss raised his huge hands in a placating gesture. “The officers have given me their word this isn’t a pretext to violate anyone’s probation.”

“Sure, they say that now, but what happens when you ain’t there?” asked the suspicious one.

“I will be in the room for each interview,” said Foss.

I heard one man at the nearest table whisper to another, “He just wants to hear everything we say.”

Foss continued: “I’ve told the officers I’m prepared to end the interviews if there is any coercion.”

“Are they going to search our lockers, too?” asked the pink one.

“We’d prefer not to have to do that, Dudson,” said Hawken.

I could tell that the implied threat rubbed Foss the wrong way. “As all of you know, the officers have the right to inspect your belongings at any time. But given that the focus of these interviews is the whereabouts of Adam Langstrom, I see no need for a sweep of the bunkhouse. Isn’t that right, Detective Clegg?”

“All we’re asking is that you answer our questions truthfully—no bullshit, no evasion—and we’ll be on our way.”

“Yeah, right,” said one of the men at the tables

“This is bullshit.”

“You know someone’s going out of here in handcuffs,” whispered the quiet man near me. “They’re just looking to violate one of us so we don’t take off like Langstrom.”

Beside me, Pulsifer had remained quiet, but I could sense the tension in his muscles, the same way you can sense when someone beside you in bed is still awake.

Hawken had reached the end of her already-limited patience. “Don’t be shy, boys. Someone’s got to be first.”

The pudgy man, Dudson, stood up. He articulated his words carefully, striking every syllable. “I’ll go first. Worst thing that can happen is they send me back to Bucks. At least my cell there was warm and didn’t smell like farts all night.”

“Hail, Fartacus!” one of the men said.

Foss opened and closed his hands, as if to keep the blood circulating through those sausage-size fingers. “Enough!”

It might have ended there if not for Hawken. “What’s the matter, Dudson? You have a better job offer than cutting trees?”

Dudson flushed a shade brighter. “You think it’s funny, but you’re not working outside all day in the freezing cold, waiting for a tree to fall on you like it did on Lovejoy.”

Who was Lovejoy?

“That’s enough, Dudson,” said Foss.

“Yessuh, massa!” said the sex offender.

“I said that’s enough!” The floor shook as Foss stepped down off the dais and crossed the room to Dudson’s table. He seized the soft-looking man by the arm and pulled him away from the table.

“Ouch! Ouch!”

Each of the other sex offenders in the room had frozen in place, as if playing a game of statues.

Foss looked like he could have flung Dudson into the next room if he had chosen to. The man was seriously angry. “The rest of you, remain here,” he boomed. “You’ll be called when it’s your turn to be interviewed. You have my permission to step outside briefly if you need to smoke. But don’t force me to go chasing you.”

There could be no doubt: The men who worked for Foss were terrified of him.

Foss dragged Dudson into an adjoining room. Clegg and Hawken followed close behind. The door swung shut.

I could hear the sound of breath being exhaled.

“What are we supposed to do?” I whispered to Pulsifer. “I thought we were going to be part of the interviews.”

“Hang out for a minute while I go see what’s up.”

Pulsifer disappeared through the far door. The men began to whisper among themselves and cast furtive glances in my direction. I had dealt with enough felons to know that most of them had no fear of law-enforcement officers, but these ex-cons were as timid as jackals. That Dudson character might be defiant, but the rest were frightened of doing anything that might result in their probation being revoked.

And why shouldn’t they be frightened? As long as he had Shaylene Hawken backing him up, Foss could work these men into the ground and risk no fines from the government, because who among them was going to report that their work conditions were unsafe or they weren’t being paid a minimum wage? As long as POs like Hawken kept sending him warm bodies, Foss would turn a profit.

If Adam had been even half as rebellious as I was, he wouldn’t have stood for it.