The Broken Girls(85)

Fiona stared at him, shocked now. “Garrett Creel?”

“In the flesh,” Lionel said with contempt. “That old fucker never liked me. Never liked that I go my own way, living on my land, and I don’t care about his rules. He’d come here plenty of times, asking if I’m growing weed out here or cooking meth or something. As if I’d do that shit after what happened to my boy. But that night was different.” He turned back to Fiona. “He came walking up the drive, you see. From the bottom. Parked his cruiser down on Old Barrons Road and walked the rest of the way instead of driving. Why’d he do that?”

Fiona shook her head. She didn’t know. None of this had ever been covered in the papers, in the trial. She felt like she was Alice in Wonderland.

“So Creel comes up here, scares the shit out of the few drunk kids who were sitting here, gives them a lecture. Something about lighting fires—suddenly he’s Smokey the fucking Bear. He turns to me, tells me I’m liable if anything happens, just the same as if I was sitting there drinking shitty brew with those kids. All bluster. He took his time. He thought I didn’t notice, but I did. So when he walked away, going leisurely back down my drive, I cut across the hill over here”—he motioned to the left, where all Fiona could see was overgrown weeds—“and got a view of the road. It was dark, and Creel didn’t see me. His cruiser was parked on the side of the road. He got in, and the interior light went on for a second, and I saw Tim Christopher. Clear as I’m looking at you right now. Sitting in the fucking police cruiser with the chief of fucking police. Then Creel turned the car around and drove away.”

Her head pounded. This was like a crazy dream. Tim Christopher in Garrett’s police cruiser, and twenty years later, through the media coverage and the trial, no one had heard it. “Why would you lie about this?” she asked Lionel. “What reason would you have?”

“Why would I lie about anything?” Lionel said. “Ask around about me, Sheridan girl. Ask your daddy if you want. I’m an open book, always have been.”

“Then why wasn’t any of this evidence in Tim’s case?”

“Because I was told to shut up about it,” Lionel said. “Clearly. By people who meant business. Those kids never saw Garrett’s car, but they saw Garrett. He lectured them. But when they were interviewed, not one of them mentioned it. Because the people who got to me got to them. It was Garrett’s force, and they were Garrett’s cops, every last one of them—none of them was honest. Kids are easily scared. I’m not, but I know when to shut up for survival. And that was one of those times.” He looked at her carefully. “Besides, they got him. Tim Christopher’s been in jail for twenty years. I had to choose the lesser evil.” His gaze cut over her shoulder, and she heard the hum of a motor. “Come to speak it, I think the greater evil is on its way.”

Fiona turned to see a boxy brown Chevy come up the drive and stop behind her own car, the engine idling. The driver’s door opened, and the big, heavy frame of Garrett Creel unwound itself from the driver’s seat and stood. He stared at her, squinting through the flakes of snow in the gray light.

“Fiona,” he said, his voice mild, ignoring Lionel Charters. “You don’t look so good, dear.”

Fiona looked at Lionel. His face was unreadable. He said nothing. He still cradled the rifle.

“I’m . . . I’m okay,” she said to Garrett, forcing the words out past her sore throat. The wind blew down the neck of her coat, and she shivered.

Garrett shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re gray as a sheet. There’s something going around, you know.” He nodded. “Something real bad.”

Her brain tried to work—why was Garrett here? What did he want? But it was starting to feel like someone had placed hot coals in the spot where her skull met the back of her neck, and she felt sweat trickling down her back the same time as she shivered with cold. “I just need some aspirin,” she managed.

“I don’t think you should be driving, dear,” Garrett said. He hadn’t called her dear before, and something about it repulsed her. “You look too sick. I’ll take you home.”

“Garrett,” Lionel said.

“Shut up, Lionel, or I’ll have you shut down,” Garrett said casually. “Those junkies you let stay in your trailer—you think the cops won’t find a fucking pharmacy if they raid that place?”

“My trailer is for people going clean,” Lionel said. “You know that.”

“Going clean?” Garrett said. “Sure, like that son of yours? Died with enough coke in him to kill someone twice his size. Sounds clean to me.”

Fiona could feel the hostility radiating from Lionel like a vibration. “Get off my property,” he said. “You’re not police anymore. You’re not anything. This is private property. I own it. Get off.”

“You broke our deal, Lionel,” Garrett said. “It took you twenty years, but you broke it. You talked. I thought Fiona might find you, ever since she came to dinner at my house, full of accusations. So I’ve had a few of my friends keep an eye on her as a favor to me. Turns out, I called it right. We’re leaving now.” He stepped forward, his footsteps loud on the gravel in the cold air. He put a big hand on Fiona’s upper arm. “Come with me,” he said.