This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(80)

“Don’t worry, I didn’t cook it,” I say. “Isabel wouldn’t let me.”

He shakes his head.

I take the plates of rewarmed dinner onto the back deck, and we eat in silence.

I wait until he finishes before I say, “Kenny left a note.”

Dalton’s head jerks up at that. Then he snorts and says, “What? Telling us we were fucking idiots for not keeping a closer eye on him?”

Which isn’t what he expects at all. He’s just bracing for the worst. This was a person Dalton trusted. He feels betrayed, and so he wants to believe Kenny was not the man he thought. It makes this easier than any of the alternatives.

Tell me he betrayed us. That he deserves whatever happens to him in that forest.

I hand him the note. As he reads it, I watch him, his cheek twitching, gaze skimming the first time through and then slowing to reread. When he finishes, he crushes the paper and whips it across the back lawn.

“God-fucking-damn-it, no,” he snarls, pushing to his feet. “Is he an idiot? Yes, obviously he fucking is. The biggest goddamn idiot . . .”

Dalton can’t even seem to continue, and he starts pacing instead. Storm scratches at the back door. I’ve left her inside, and I know she’s hurt and confused, certain we’ve accidentally forgotten her, patiently waiting for us to realize our mistake. Now she hears Dalton curse and she scratches, a tentative whine seeping through the wooden door.

Dalton wheels on me. “This is what I need. Exactly what we both need. Because clearly we’re not doing fuck-all here. Hey, why don’t I just take off into the goddamn forest and give you guys something to do. Or maybe no, we won’t chase him because we don’t give a shit. That’s why he had to take off. Catch this murdering asshole himself. Because we aren’t trying. So he’ll do it for us and prove he wasn’t Brady’s accomplice, because otherwise, we’ll just punish him and not bother with a fucking investigation.”

I let Dalton rant. Let him express my own frustration and my fear and my rage. I still recall every word of that note.

Casey,

I’m going to fix this. I’m going to find Brady and bring him back for you. It’s my fault he escaped and killed Val and your friend and those settlers. I didn’t help him. I swear I didn’t. But I’m going to bring him back. I’ll catch him, and he can tell you who was his real accomplice.

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.

Kenny



“Trouble he’s caused,” Dalton says. “He’s sorry for the fucking trouble he caused, so the best way to fix that is to cause more. Poor Kenny feels guilty. Blames himself. Fucking awesome. Let’s share that blame. Let Jen have some when Kenny dies, for letting him escape. Let you have some for suspecting he was the accomplice. Let me have some for trusting him enough to let him out of that cell. Let’s all take another helping of the fucking blame pie, because it’s clear we haven’t eaten enough of it already.”

He spins on me. “What am I supposed to do here, Casey? I feel like we’re spending this whole damn case searching for people. Brady, Val, Jacob, now Kenny. I tell them not to go into the forest. I regulate every damn step out there until I feel like a paranoid parent. But they keep doing it. They walk out of this town, and they die. Do I need to build a fucking wall? A barbed-wire fence? Post armed guards? Shoot anyone who tries to leave? These are supposed to be responsible adults, but they come here and they act like fucking children, which means we have to be the fucking parents. No, not children. Teenagers. And we’re just obstacles standing between them and whatever shit they want to pull. Well, if that’s the way they want it, then fuck yeah, that’s what they’re getting. Prison guards.”

My gaze flicks from Dalton as I notice something to the side. A figure stands just around the rear corner of our house. Watching Dalton rage. Listening to him rant. Observing and judging.

I get to my feet. “Can I help you, Phil?”

Dalton spins with a “What the fuck?”

“I wished to speak to you both,” Phil says as he walks into the yard.

“It’s almost four A.M.,” I say. “We’re on our own time, and our own property. This is a private conversation.”

“At that volume, no, I don’t think it is.”

There’s more judgment in his voice, and I want to snap at him, but I only say, “Then I’ll repeat that we are on our own time. We’ll speak to you in the morning.”

Phil walks over as if I haven’t spoken. “I take it you didn’t find Kenny?”

“No,” I say, as evenly as I can. “We will resume the search tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Excuse me?” Dalton says.

“I understand you suspected him of being Oliver Brady’s accomplice.”

“We did,” I say. “The evidence fit, but it was all circumstantial. That’s why we let Kenny out of the cell on work duty. If you wish to debate that decision, I’ll suggest it’s unnecessary. We already realize that might not have been wise.”

“I don’t care what choice you made regarding Kenny’s incarceration. My point is that the only reason to pursue him is in hopes he’ll lead you to Oliver. That is unlikely. Oliver has staff, not partners. He conned this man into helping him, and now he will have abandoned him as unnecessary. Otherwise, Kenny would have fled with him. Correct?”