trucks?”
“You know that kid been stopping there in the mornings with his brother?” Joey asked. “Name’s Eric?”
I did. I’d been in the BP more than a few times when the two boys from Away had stopped for their smokes and snacks. Kate had taken an interest in them (had even gone so far as to consider writing their names in her book), but it was Andy who’d taken to looking after the boys.
“I know him,” I said. “He there?”
“Was. He’s gone, Jake. Got stabbed. It’s a mess down there at Andy’s. You’re gonna have to call in some help.”
“I will.”
Joey was still talking when I closed the phone. My heart felt like an anvil in my chest. I felt the world slip away. There was a killer on the other side of that steel door, and it was my job to bring him out. Mine, no one else’s. That was a far cry from taking the Widow Cash to market every Monday morning and waving to parade-goers.
I said I’d been afraid of Phillip since the day he died. That’s true in a way. Closer would be saying I’d been afraid of everything since that evening in the Hollow twenty years before. Terrified, not only at the thought of what I did to Phillip coming out, but that the truth of the man I was would come out with it. The only thing worse than sinning is living with it after, and in that regard you could say Phillip McBride had taken even more from me than I ever took from him.
Timmy stood watching me. His finger rested just over the trigger guard and his eyes held steady, waiting for me to do my job. A slow realization that I could not crept over me like rising water. In that moment I longed for my father. I heftedBessie, turned her head so the hammer pole faced the door, then banged three times.
“This here’s Sheriff Jake Barnett. I’m gonna open up this door now. I don’t want no trouble. You hear me?”
Silence.
Bessie shook in front of me. I slipped the pin from the handle and pulled hard on the door. The room inside was still but for the bobbing head in the back, behind a wall of frozen chicken containers. One of the men who’d beaten Timmy sat on the cold concrete floor, head rocking back and forth, whimpering into an arm so cold it had turned blue. Blood crusted into a serrated line from his right eye to his jaw. His shirt was torn at the chest.
I forced my feet inside. Cold air blew down from the vents above, pushing my hat down over my eyes. Gooseflesh sprouted on my arms. I rushed ahead, propelled more by adrenaline than purpose, and grabbed the man by his hair. He let out a cry that was all fear and no threat as I jerked him to his feet and spun him against the wall. I pinned him there with Bessie.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
No answer.
“Where’s the other guy?”
“He gone,” was all he said.
I kept Bessie’s blade to the back of his neck and searched his pockets. There were no weapons or identification, only fifteen dollars in cash.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
“Don’t matter. He gonna kill me. Said so. You won’t even finish readin’ me m’rights.”
His rights. I shook my head, not having even thought of that. I holstered Bessie and said, “You are under arrest for . . . robbin’, attempted robbin’, almost killing Andy Sommerville,and killing Eric—” It occurred to me that I didn’t even know Eric’s last name. I left it at that. “You have the right to remain silent. If you don’t be silent . . .”
I closed my eyes and cursed as the cold air blew down on us. The man turned his head as much as he could. The look on his face was a mix of amusement and shock.
“What kinda dumb hick cop are you?” he asked.
I barely heard him. I was still trying to think of the last half of the Miranda warning, something about getting a lawyer or a judge. I didn’t know because I’d never had to speak it. I spun him around and led him out through the store.
Timmy raised the shotgun as we approached.
“Never mind that,” I said. “Put that scatter-gun
“You know that kid been stopping there in the mornings with his brother?” Joey asked. “Name’s Eric?”
I did. I’d been in the BP more than a few times when the two boys from Away had stopped for their smokes and snacks. Kate had taken an interest in them (had even gone so far as to consider writing their names in her book), but it was Andy who’d taken to looking after the boys.
“I know him,” I said. “He there?”
“Was. He’s gone, Jake. Got stabbed. It’s a mess down there at Andy’s. You’re gonna have to call in some help.”
“I will.”
Joey was still talking when I closed the phone. My heart felt like an anvil in my chest. I felt the world slip away. There was a killer on the other side of that steel door, and it was my job to bring him out. Mine, no one else’s. That was a far cry from taking the Widow Cash to market every Monday morning and waving to parade-goers.
I said I’d been afraid of Phillip since the day he died. That’s true in a way. Closer would be saying I’d been afraid of everything since that evening in the Hollow twenty years before. Terrified, not only at the thought of what I did to Phillip coming out, but that the truth of the man I was would come out with it. The only thing worse than sinning is living with it after, and in that regard you could say Phillip McBride had taken even more from me than I ever took from him.
Timmy stood watching me. His finger rested just over the trigger guard and his eyes held steady, waiting for me to do my job. A slow realization that I could not crept over me like rising water. In that moment I longed for my father. I heftedBessie, turned her head so the hammer pole faced the door, then banged three times.
“This here’s Sheriff Jake Barnett. I’m gonna open up this door now. I don’t want no trouble. You hear me?”
Silence.
Bessie shook in front of me. I slipped the pin from the handle and pulled hard on the door. The room inside was still but for the bobbing head in the back, behind a wall of frozen chicken containers. One of the men who’d beaten Timmy sat on the cold concrete floor, head rocking back and forth, whimpering into an arm so cold it had turned blue. Blood crusted into a serrated line from his right eye to his jaw. His shirt was torn at the chest.
I forced my feet inside. Cold air blew down from the vents above, pushing my hat down over my eyes. Gooseflesh sprouted on my arms. I rushed ahead, propelled more by adrenaline than purpose, and grabbed the man by his hair. He let out a cry that was all fear and no threat as I jerked him to his feet and spun him against the wall. I pinned him there with Bessie.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
No answer.
“Where’s the other guy?”
“He gone,” was all he said.
I kept Bessie’s blade to the back of his neck and searched his pockets. There were no weapons or identification, only fifteen dollars in cash.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
“Don’t matter. He gonna kill me. Said so. You won’t even finish readin’ me m’rights.”
His rights. I shook my head, not having even thought of that. I holstered Bessie and said, “You are under arrest for . . . robbin’, attempted robbin’, almost killing Andy Sommerville,and killing Eric—” It occurred to me that I didn’t even know Eric’s last name. I left it at that. “You have the right to remain silent. If you don’t be silent . . .”
I closed my eyes and cursed as the cold air blew down on us. The man turned his head as much as he could. The look on his face was a mix of amusement and shock.
“What kinda dumb hick cop are you?” he asked.
I barely heard him. I was still trying to think of the last half of the Miranda warning, something about getting a lawyer or a judge. I didn’t know because I’d never had to speak it. I spun him around and led him out through the store.
Timmy raised the shotgun as we approached.
“Never mind that,” I said. “Put that scatter-gun
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