Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(18)

In about a minute, Kezia opens the door between the counter and the rest of the police station, and waves us through. She’s a polished young African American woman who’s lately taken to wearing her hair in a thick, natural Afro around her head, and it looks proudly spectacular, especially out here in the sticks. The individuality of hairstyle contrasts sharply with the conventional tan pantsuit she wears; it almost conceals the shoulder holster. Her badge flashes on her hip as she turns, and I hold the door for Gwen as she follows Kez into the detective area.

It isn’t impressive—not surprising, considering the size of Norton. But as in all small, rural towns, this one’s battling drug cooking, addiction, and the associated crimes. It doesn’t prepare her for the discussion we’re about to have.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.” Kezia gestures us to the worn chairs on the far side of her desk. “About the snake?”

Gwen sighs. “Not entirely. You saw the Howie Hamlin Show.”

“Yeah,” Kezia says. “They kneecapped you live on air. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“This documentary they were talking about . . .” Kezia leans back for a moment, considering. “They’ll be coming here. You get that, right? They’ll want town footage, local interest, probably talk to some of the locals who aren’t your biggest fans. And there’s nothing we can really do about that. You might go to the city and try to get some kind of injunction, but I doubt it’ll work.”

“Yeah, we didn’t come about that,” I say when Gwen doesn’t answer.

“I have news about the snake, though. We found a fingerprint, matched it to Jesse Belldene. Jesse’s one of those hillbillies I told you about, good at catching all sorts of critters. The problem is, Jesse says he didn’t do it, and a single fingerprint doesn’t get us where we need to be to charge him even for criminal mischief.” Kezia shakes her head. “The Belldenes are a nasty bunch, and it looks like they’ve taken a dislike to you. Any reason why . . . ?”

Gwen says she doesn’t know. I don’t immediately answer, because . . . I think I do. And I think it’s my own fault.

I clear my throat. Both of them look at me. It feels like two spotlights hitting me at once. “Belldene,” I say. “This Jesse. Does he happen to come to the shooting range much?”

“He did once,” Kezia says. “Then he got banned. He came in drunk a couple of weeks ago, and someone on the range took his gun away and laid him out flat when he tried to get it back. He didn’t file charges, but I heard they had to fix some teeth. Why?”

I slowly raise my hand. “I’m the one who slammed him face-first into the counter,” I tell her. “He was acting crazy and unsafe. Javier was up front or he’d have handled that better. I guess Jesse holds a grudge.”

“Wait,” Gwen says. “You mean . . . it wasn’t about me?”

I raise my eyebrows. I don’t remind her that not everything is. She gets the point, and puts a hand to her mouth to cover what I think might be a laugh. I’d told her about the incident when it happened, but when the mountain man—Belldene—had bolted out of the shooting range, I’d never gotten his name. And I didn’t know I’d broken his teeth.

Kezia must have caught the relief from Gwen, because she says, “Well, I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Sam. The Belldenes sure love to mess with people. I don’t expect this will be the last you hear from them.”

“Anything you can do about them?”

She shakes her head. “Catch them in the act. You’ve got surveillance, right?”

“Of the house, not the mailbox.”

“Point a camera that way, is my advice. If they mess with it, at least we’ll have evidence.”

I like that a lot better. But it doesn’t solve the immediate problem. “Thanks for that, but . . . it isn’t why we came. We came about the threats. You think the Belldenes might be behind those too?”

Kezia sits forward again. “Hit me.”

Gwen takes the folder out and slides it across. Kezia flips open the folder, and her instant focus is on the photoshopped picture. She studies it for a moment, then deliberately turns to the next page. That’s a death threat against Gwen for being Melvin’s partner. It’s long, and it dwells way too much on how they plan to exact justice.

The next accuses both me and Gwen of being some kind of fakes carrying out a government conspiracy to convince the public that serial killers are real. It threatens to kill the kids (also actors, apparently) if we don’t come forward and confess about the government’s secret agenda—which they then go into great detail about, including rants about the secret cabal of the ultrarich and the chips in our debit cards. That one is full-on unhinged, and clearly the work of someone with serious mental issues.

There are a lot of threats that Gwen’s gathered, and Kezia studies each one in silence before she closes the folder. “Wow,” she says. It seems like an understatement. “How long a period is this?”

“I just took the last weeks’ worth,” Gwen says. “I expect it’ll ramp up now that the Hamlin segment is available on the internet for people to pass around. That always cranks the crazy up several notches.”

“Uh-huh,” she agrees, and leans back. “So. I can put in for warrants and traces on these IPs, but you know how it is: not a lot of chance they’re doing it from an open account that’s easy to find, and if we do get them, there won’t be much in the way of charges. If there are charges, there probably won’t be a trial. So in the end . . .”