Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(68)

“No,” Dalton says. “I don’t speak to my detective like that. I mean you, Roy. You’re done here. Go home.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that. The minute I walk out, you’re going to say I escaped and throw a punch at me.”

I shake my head. “Here’s a tip for life in Rockton, Roy. Don’t presume others are like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dalton rolls his eyes at me. Then he steps outside and says, “You! Come here.”

It’s two random residents, just passing by. They carefully approach.

“I want witnesses,” Dalton says. “I’m letting Roy leave. I will not penalize him in any way for leaving.”

“So I can go?” Roy says.

“From the holding cell, yeah. I’m passing sentence. You attacked my detective, and I needed a cooling off period or my judgement might have been overly harsh. Now I’m ready. Roy, in front of these witnesses, you are sentenced to six months of sanitation duty.”

“What? Six months emptying toilets?”

“That’s the penalty for assaulting an officer. It always has been. Feel free to ask around.” Dalton steps out the door. Then he stops. “Hold on. I might be jumping the gun here. There is one defense to the charges. You mentioned that Detective Butler attacked you first. If she did, then you have the right to defend yourself.” He turns to Roy. “Was that right?”

Roy drops his gaze and mutters under his breath.

“What’s that?” Dalton says. “This is your chance to escape six months of shit duty, Roy. Tell me that Casey attacked you first, and I’ll check with the witnesses, and if it’s true, you’re a free man. If you’re lying, though, that doubles the sentence. So, who threw the first punch?”

Roy’s answer is inaudible.

Dalton motions for him to speak up as the witnesses snicker.

“Me,” Roy says.

“Then I think you owe our detective an apology.”

“I was mistaken,” Roy says.

Dalton opens his mouth. I silence him with a look. I know he’s making a point, but a forced apology is worse than none at all.

As we walk away, Dalton says, “Can you believe that asshole?”

“Are you asking whether I believe his defense against shooting Garcia? Actually, yes. As much as I’d like the excuse to ship his ass out of Rockton, he makes a lousy suspect. I can’t see anyone coming to Rockton after him, and I can’t see him realizing the door is open and formulating a murder plan on the fly.”

I look over at Dalton. “If by ‘can you believe him,’ you meant colloquially—can I believe he’s such an asshole, again, actually yes. When I first came to Rockton, I remember thinking of Jen as a real-life troll. You get people like her online all the time. No matter what you say, they’re going to argue with you and mock you in a way they wouldn’t do to your face. The internet is anonymous. You can be whoever you want to be. You can also be whoever you really are. That’s what Roy is. He probably used to hide his true colors in public and let it spew online or among friends. Here, he doesn’t feel the need to filter. If you asked him, he’d say he’s just being real, speaking his mind, saying what others think but are afraid to say.”

“Is he right?”

“I would love to say no, and hardly anyone thinks the way he does. The truth . . . The truth is more complicated than that. Scarier, too, for someone like me. We deal with chauvinism and racism in real life, but we tell ourselves that’s a minority opinion and then we go online and . . .” I shrug. “I still don’t think it’s a majority opinion. I have enough faith in people to believe that. It’s just becoming a louder and louder minority, which lets people like Roy feel like they’re voicing a common opinion.”

We walk a few steps in silence, then Dalton says, “Should I be worried? He had his posse for that fucking lynch mob.”

“I think that’s mostly about violence. An excuse to vent another unsavory impulse. I’d like to believe even Roy wouldn’t have gone through with it. But mob mentality is a dangerous thing. We know who was in his posse. We’ll keep an eye on them, and we’ll let them know we’re keeping an eye.”

“Already doing it.”

*

We want to interview Sebastian next. We can’t. He’s off on chopping duty.

“Chopping duty?” I say when we find out. “I thought he hadn’t caused any trouble.”

There are two jobs Dalton uses for punishment. One is sanitation—emptying the portable toilets. When we don’t have anyone serving that as a sentence, we offer triple wages to whoever will do it in the interim, and even then, we only get those desperate for credits. The next step down is chopping duty. It’s not nearly as unsavory as emptying toilets, but it’s back-breaking work. At this time of year, between the mosquitos and the black flies, few people do it even for double wages.

“He offered,” Dalton says.

“He needs credits already?”

“No, he didn’t realize you get extra for logging. He just volunteered. We don’t have a regular job for him yet, so he said he’d like to try everything. Will joked about chopping duty, and Sebastian said sure. He’s been on it for two weeks. I’m sure the extra credits don’t hurt, but we’ve told him he can quit. He said he’s fine with it for a while longer. The only job he won’t do is hunting.”