Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(70)

We exchange stares. He leaves.

Connor cracks open the bottle and drinks thirstily, like he’s been without for a day. I want to tell him to slow down, but I don’t. When the bottle’s drained, I take it. I don’t throw it away. The last thing I want is for them to fake some DNA thing to implicate my son down the line, and from what I’ve seen so far, I’m convinced that the police chief is probably behind this ugly push. It’s not really about my son.

It’s about showing me who’s boss.

I realize that I’m indulging my natural paranoia again—they could get touch DNA from the pen he used, or the paper he’s just signed—but I have to try to keep him safe. The fact that even now we’re locked inside this room makes me feral.

My cell phone rings. I check the number. It’s from Hector Sparks. “Ms. Proctor? Yes, I wanted to let you know that I’m here at the hospital. Mr. Cade is awake. They’ve just taken him for an X-ray of his skull, but he says he feels all right. He has five stitches in his scalp. Knowing Chief Weldon, I’m sure he has some story about Mr. Cade violently resisting arrest. There’s really no point in trying to challenge that, not in this town when the only witnesses are fellow police.”

I breathe a little easier, not that it doesn’t make me angry all over again . . . and then I freeze. “Wait. The chief of police is named Weldon?”

“Yes,” Sparks says. “Why?”

Weldon was one of the voices back at the garage, along with the owner, Carr. I don’t like where this is going. Not at all. “You’ll stay until I can get there?”

“I can stay for another”—I can almost hear the watch check—“two hours. However, according to Officer Helmer, as soon as the hospital clears him, he’ll be taken straight to the police department. I assume you’re there already?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Then as soon as he’s released, I’ll be on my way. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Pall to have to wait dinner.”

Heaven forbid, I want to snap, but I somehow manage not to. Sparks’s legal help is probably superfluous right now, but I can’t afford to alienate the only lawyer I know.

I knock on the door again. The same cop opens it. “My son’s just turned twelve. He’s had a traumatic day. He’s given his statement. Either give him some food, or let us go.”

“Wait inside,” he orders me, and shuts the door in my face. I do, pacing; I’m like a lion in the cage, while Connor is calm and quiet. I want to force their hand before Sam gets here.

I get my wish, because the cop opens the door in five minutes, and says, “You can go. But orders of the chief: don’t leave town.”

That’s bullshit and I know it. Connor’s not a suspect; he’s a witness, and they can’t pull that on a minor child. I don’t push my luck, though. I get Connor out the door, into the hall, and out into the reception area. Lanny’s slumped in a seat, headphones on, but she jumps to her feet the second she sees us. She runs to Connor and wraps him in a bear hug. “Don’t scare me like that,” she whispers to him. And he hugs her back. I feel a burn in the back of my throat that might be tears, if I let myself go there. They’d be good tears for a change.

Lanny rushes to give me a hug too. “Are we leaving? Can we go see Sam? Is he at the hospital?”

“We should wait here,” I tell her. “Sam’s going to be brought in as soon as they’re done with him. I’m hoping that they’ll be in a hot rush to charge him.”

“You hope what? Why?” Connor looks mystified. I give him a smile.

“Because the sooner they charge him, the faster his bail can go through,” I say. “And the sooner we can get the hell out of this town.”

“But . . . what if he doesn’t get bail?” Lanny asks anxiously. “What if—”

“One crisis at a time,” I tell her.



Sam is brought in—and we’re not allowed to get near him, but he’s walking, and our eyes meet and lock for a priceless few seconds, and he mouths It’s okay at the same time I say, “I’ll be here”—and then he’s taken straight back to the cells, for questioning. We wait until I overhear at 10:00 p.m. that they’ve arrested Sam for manslaughter.

The arraignment comes at midnight. Lanny’s proven correct. There is no bail. And no chance to talk to him. I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am, and horrified; I don’t want Sam in jail tonight, in this town. I should have realized they’d get the judge onside for this and planned accordingly. But I’m tired. And scared. And I’m feeling very, very exposed.

The saving grace is that Mike Lustig arrives at the courthouse just as Sam’s taken away. Mike’s a good man. And a black man with an FBI badge, which will be—I’m pretty sure—Chief Weldon’s worst nightmare. We spend ten minutes huddling, and I give him every piece of solid information I have, including the conversation I overheard in which Chief Weldon played a role. I tell him my speculation, too, that Marlene Crockett knew about a wreck that was quickly made to vanish by the police, Mr. Carr, the garage owner, and some third party named Carl that I can’t identify yet. There’s payoffs in the making, big enough to kill for.

“I wonder if it’s . . .” He starts that thought, but he doesn’t finish it. “Never mind that right now. Let’s just get through the night. Listen, I want you to get those kids out of this town. Take them home.”